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Daniel sits on the edge of the tub, lower lip trapped between his teeth, as he stares down at his clasped hands. His leg keeps bouncing – hasn’t stopped bouncing for the past two minutes – and he can’t seem to get himself, or his nerves, under control.
The bathroom feels oppressive, and the walls close in around him until he feels like he’s going to throw up. (That’s not a new feeling, though – it’s actually why he’s at home today and not working at the library. The nausea was the first clue in this nerve wracking little mystery, and Daniel’s frankly embarrassed that it took him this long to put it all together. He’s supposed to be the smart one.)
His hands feel numb, fingers cold like he’s standing over the precipice of a bottomless quarry with sharp, craggy rocks dragging him down to a black, endless abyss. Wind rushes past his face, and he’s finding it very hard to breathe all of a sudden. His chest is tight, and he can’t enough air into his lungs, and he squeezes his eyes shut, hoping to just wait out the vertigo tugging at his heart.
How could they be so stupid? So careless?
Pressing his fist to his head, Daniel forces himself to take a deep breath – he exhales slowly, shakily, and swallows, dry throat clicking loudly in the silence of the bathroom. What are they going to do? This was never part of the plan. He chews mercilessly on his bottom lips, savaging the skin with his teeth until it’s a bruise. God, and they moved in together only a few weeks ago. They had found a nice place with enough space for Robby, Sam, and Anthony, and it was equally close to the firehouse and the library.
It was perfect.
With a sigh, he places a hand low on his belly. Tears prick at his eyes, and he sniffs. He is not going to cry in his bathroom at one in the afternoon. He is not going to do it. Screwing up his face, Daniel tips his head back and stares stubbornly at the ceiling.
On the bathroom counter, the timer on his phone goes off.
All right.
Moment of truth.
Fuck.
- - -
Goddamn Lieutenant Johnny Lawrence and his stupid dopey smile and his stupid blue eyes and his big stupid hands and his big stupid dick. Making Daniel forget the important things. Like condoms.
- - -
So.
Pregnant.
Awesome.
It’s not like Daniel doesn’t like kids – he has two of them! (Three, counting Robby, which he does, but he doesn’t really know if Robby is ready to have a conversation about that. He’s been staying with Johnny for six months now, and he’s finally settled in. Even if it took himway too long to stop calling Daniel ‘Mr. LaRusso’.)
But is he ready to do it all over again? He likes having older kids now – likes seeing how they’ve grown, and how they’re actual people with interests and opinions and goals. Is he ready to do the new baby thing all over again?
Is Johnny ready to do the new baby thing all over again?
That’s probably the most important question.
They never talked about expanding their family. Three kids in the house is enough (even if two of them only live there part time). Do they want a fourth? Daniel looks down at his abdomen, trying to adopt a clinical sort of approach.
This would be theirs – a perfect combination of his and Johnny’s best traits. A little brown-eyed blonde. Or blue-eyed brunette. Or who even knows. Johnny said his mother’s hair shone strawberry in the sunlight – maybe that’ll come through. Or curly hair from Daniel’s side of the family. He hopes the munchkin has Johnny’s nose.
Daniel sighs, propping his elbows on his knees and cupping his face in his palm as he stares at the offending test sitting on the counter next to his phone. The good thing about Johnny’s twenty-four hour shifts at the firehouse is that Daniel still has plenty of time to plan. Because, there’s no doubt that he needs to figure out plan for this one.
But first.
He’s going to make a fruit tart.
- - -
Miguel and Robby are hanging out at the breakfast counter when Daniel gets back from the store – he needed fresh berries for the tart, and it was a nice distraction to get out of the house for a while – and both boys startle when he walks into the kitchen. Since they met back in December, they’ve been almost inseparable. And, now that they’re on summer break, they spend most of their days bouncing back and forth between their houses. Daniel thinks it’s very sweet.
“Gentlemen,” he greets them casually as he unloads the groceries.
“Hey Mr. LaRusso,” Miguel beams at him, polite as always – Daniel’s been working to get him to relax around him, but it’s proving difficult. Dating a firefighter lieutenant from his firehouse makes Daniel an authority figure in Miguel’s eyes, and it’s been almost impossible to get him to see it differently. (Johnny, of course, thinks the whole thing is hilarious.) “My mom said you called out today. Are you feeling all right?”
Robby fixes him with a narrow-eyed stare, as if searching for any sign of illness, and Daniel gives them both what he considers to be a winning smile.
“I’m fine. Just woke up with a headache, but I’m feeling much better now. Thank you for asking, Miguel.” Miguel bobs his head, completely at ease, but Robby is less inclined to let it go. He’s an empathetic kid, and he always feels responsible for the people around him. Like he has to earn his place wherever he goes.
“Did you tell my dad? He would’ve stayed home if you were sick.”
“I didn’t want to worry your father,” Daniel tells him, trying not to think about what happened the last time he didn’t want to worry Johnny. “Really, I’m fine. I promise.” Robby squints at him but doesn’t say anything else – Daniel can see the exact moment when he chooses not to push the issue and has to hold back a laugh. “In fact, I am feeling so good that I’m making a fruit tart.” He braces his hands on the counter and leans in close to the boys. “Feel like helping me out?”
To their credit, they both jump right in.
Miguel is used to helping his mom and grandmother (Yaya, he calls her) in the kitchen, and Robby has enough experience cooking and baking for himself that Daniel isn’t actively concerned about food safety. He pulls out his insanely heavy stand mixer and his food scale, all the while explaining that the best way to bake anything is by weight, rather than volume, because it’s much more precise.
“We used a scale like that in chem class,” Miguel interjects when Daniel shows them the “tare” function. “Remember?” He nudges Robby’s elbow until Robby nods.
“Then you already know what you’re doing.” Daniel says with a grin as he pushes the container of flour towards them. “Now, measure out 140 grams of that, and we’ll get started.”
He walks them through making the pastry dough, and they dutifully pour the ingredients into the mixing bowl without making a mess. (Which is more than he can say for the first time he and Sam made this recipe, though she was much younger than Miguel and Robby at the time.)
“This has to rest in the fridge for about an hour,” he shrugs at them. “Such is the way of pastry dough, unfortunately. I can take it from here if you don’t want to hang around – I’m sure you guys have better things to do.” Daniel’s honestly counting himself lucky that they’ve stuck around for as long as they have, and he doesn’t want them to feel trapped. “It’s so nice out, why don’t you go skateboard around the neighborhood?”
Miguel and Robby look at each other, having some sort of conversation entirely through eye contact, and Daniel busies himself by measuring out 400 grams (or one and two-thirds cup) of whole milk.
Robby was a little weird when Daniel and Johnny first moved in together, like he needed Daniel’s permission to exist in his own house. It’s only been a few weeks, so they’re still working on it – Daniel just makes sure he’s very clear with what he expects of Robby. (Which is, honestly, not a whole lot. He just wants their house to feel like home for him, where he doesn’t need anyone’s permission – not even Daniel’s – to just be.)
But, for now, if he needs to tell Robby that it’s okay for him to go hang out with his friend, then he’ll do it.
“We’ll stay,” Robby says finally. He has his hands jammed in the pockets of his jeans, but the grin on his face is genuine. (He looks so much like his dad when he smiles – it was a punch to the chest when Daniel first saw it.)
“You’re sure?” Daniel asks as he pours the milk into a saucepan and turns on the stove. “I don’t want to bore you two.”
“Nah, this is fun, Mr. LaRusso. Let us help!” Miguel bounces on his toes, eyes shining. Robby glances at him and immediately looks away as the tips of his ears go pink. Daniel presses his lips together to disguise an incredibly knowing smirk.
“All right. You asked for it – let me show you how to make the cream.”
This is the most precise part of the whole recipe, and Daniel walks them through it with painstaking specificity. He’s lost count of the number of times he’s messed it up in the past – either the cream split, or the eggs turned out scrambled, or something else happened that ruined the tart filling. But he’s not going to let that happen this time.
The boys listen attentively as he explains the directions: heating the milk until it almost boils; mixing sugar (150 grams), corn starch (25 grams), and salt (just a few pinches) together; and then whisking the sugar mixture in with the egg yolks (six of them in total).
“The corn starch keeps the sugar from clumping when you add it all to the eggs,” he explains, as Robby whisks it all together. “How’s the milk looking, Miguel?”
“Good, I think,” he hasn’t moved from his spot at the stove – he takes his responsibilities very seriously. That’s probably why he’s such a good Junior EMT. “I’m pretty sure it’s ready.”
“All right then,” Daniel nods to himself, “this is the hard part, so get ready.”
He talks Miguel through adding the milk to the eggs – “You want to go slow, okay? Don’t pour too fast, just take it easy.” – as Daniel whisks everything together. Miguel makes panicked noises the whole time, convinced that he’s going to ruin it as Robby cheers him on, and Daniel repeatedly promises that he’s doing just fine, he’s not ruining anything.
Who knew that cooking could be so stressful?
Polpetta watches all of this from her perch on the couch, where she is kneading kitty biscuits into a blanket. It took her a little while to get used to having two extra people constantly in her space, but she adapted quickly. Daniel thinks she’s grateful to have her papa (as Johnny calls himself) around for constant affection, and she’s taken to climbing into Robby’s lap whenever he sits still for more than half a minute.
His tabby lives a very spoiled life, and she deserves nothing less.
It doesn’t take long to finish the cream after that – Robby whisks it on the stove until it’s thickened, and then it goes in the fridge to chill. Then, they roll out and bake the pastry crust. After it goes in the oven, Daniel releases the boys to the outdoors, because it’s going to be a solid chunk of time before everything is cooled down enough for assembly.
He watches from the front porch as they skate off down the street – their laughter comes back to him on the summer wind, and Daniel smiles to himself as he heads back inside. His hand falls to stomach, almost without him realizing. Spending the afternoon baking with Robby and Miguel helped make him feel centered after his near-breakdown in the bathroom, and Daniel’s starting to realize that he wants to keep this new baby. Wants to raise them and see what kind of person they’ll grow into.
“What do you think, Polpa?” He asks her as he sits on the couch. “Are we ready to have another little one in the house?” She yawns, eyes squinting into slits, and takes up her preferred spot on his lap. Purring loudly, she nuzzles against his belly, and he settles a hand on her head. “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking too.”
- - -
Hey is it cool if me and Miguel go see a movie?
Of course, Robby! You two have fun. Let me know if you need a ride home, okay?
Okay. Thnx Daniel.
Anytime, bud.
- - -
Daniel’s just rinsing off the strawberries for the tart when he hears Robby get home. He pauses in the doorway to kick off his sneakers and lean his skateboard against the wall. (Johnny’s been meaning to put a rack or something for him to hang it on, but he hasn’t had a chance to yet.) Polpetta jumps off the couch to accost him and smell his legs, and Robby obliges her attention with a gentle pat to her head.
“Hey there,” Daniel greets him as he plops himself down at the breakfast counter. “How was the movie?”
“It was fine,” he shrugs, picking at his thumbnail. “Just a superhero movie that Miguel wanted to see.”
“Not your favorite?” Daniel asks, deceptively casual as he sets the strawberries off to the side and starts rinsing the raspberries.
“Eh,” Robby makes a noncommittal noise and shrugs again. “Miguel was really excited about it, so.” Daniel nods to himself but doesn’t say anything.
He and Johnny have talked about the boys’ mutual but as of yet unspoken crushes on each other – Johnny said Robby came to him when he first realized he liked boys more than girls, and they covered the necessary basics of what that meant, health wise, but they haven’t spoken of any potential boyfriends. Daniel has no idea what Miguel’s situation is, and he’s not about to ask his mother what she knows about her son’s identity.
So, for now, they’re waiting it out.
“Well it was nice of you to go with him,” he points out in standard dad fashion before rapidly changing the subject. “Do you mind feeding Polpa for me? It’s about time for her to eat.” Robby shakes his head and hops off the bar stool. “Thanks, bud.”
Robby freezes, eyes wide, and Daniel glances up at him. Polpetta, having sensed that food time is imminent, begins winding figure-eights around Robby’s ankles, as if to remind him of her very hungry existence.
“Everything okay?” He shakes the water off the raspberries and wipes his hands off on the dishtowel slung over his shoulder.
“You called me bud,” Robby tells him slowly, and Daniel winces. “Just now. And before, when we were texting.”
“Yeah, sorry about that,” he laughs in self-deprecation. “I can stop if you want – I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, Robby.”
“That’s what you call Anthony, right?” His face is impassive, unreadable, but Daniel’s not going to hide from whatever Robby has to say to him. He’s working up to something, Daniel can tell – he just needs the space to do it.
“Sometimes, yeah. But like I said, I won’t call you that if you don’t want me to.” Robby frowns thoughtfully and opens the pantry to retrieve a can of cat food. Polpetta trills happily as he empties it into her dish, and he watches her eat for a moment longer.
“But I’m not your son.” Daniel can’t tell if he’s saying it because he wants Daniel to argue or agree with him, so he settles for just being honest.
“Maybe not in the traditional sense. But I do consider you family, if that’s all right.” Robby looks down at his feet, where Polpetta is scarfing down her dinner, and his eyes soften as he watches the cat make happy chewing noises to herself. Daniel lets the quiet drag on, choosing instead to grab a second knife and plastic cutting board. “Want to help me cut these berries?”
Robby shrugs, shoulders creeping up to his ears, but his face remains unchanged – stuck in that wary, pensive state.
“I’m not that good at it,” he mumbles, and Daniel smiles. “I don’t usually bake with fresh fruit.”
“C’mon, I’ll show you.” He holds the knife out to him, handle first, and raises his eyebrows hopefully. Rolling his eyes, Robby pulls his hands out of his pockets and walks over to the counter. “This is called a paring knife – it’s smaller, so it’s perfect for cutting things like berries.”
They work together in silence, slicing the strawberries into quarters – Robby does a good job, and Daniel remembers Johnny telling him about Robby’s penchant for baking. Polpetta finishes eating and takes up her spot on Robby’s feet, sitting on his toes and staring plaintively up at him with huge, marble eyes. She chirps at him, pawing at his legs, until Robby laughs.
“Are strawberries safe for cats?” He asks, and she makes a little mrrp sound, like she knows they’re talking about her.
“She can have a tiny piece – they have a lot of sugar, so they’re not good for her all the time. But a little treat won’t hurt.” Robby picks up the smallest piece of strawberry he has on his cutting board and holds it out for Polpetta to investigate. Her pupils get huge, and she licks the morsel off his fingers, sniffing in search of more treats that he might have hidden.
“That’s all I got, Meatball. Sorry, girl.” He gives her a quick pat on the head and turns to the sink to wash his hands. Daniel’s heart squeezes in his chest as he watches Robby dote on the cat, and he swallows thickly around a sudden lump in his throat.
Is it too early to be getting this emotional? He needs to get a handle on this.
“Okay,” Daniel announces loudly as he surveys the bounty of strawberries they’ve prepared. “I think that’s enough – we can leave the raspberries whole. They’re small enough on their – ow, shit.” He hisses, looking down at his hand, where his knife has sliced into the webbing of his left hand, right between his index finger and thumb. “Hnng, that’s annoying.”
Robby goes still, hands dripping water, as he stares at the blood welling up from the small cut. It’s really not that bad, more of nick than anything else, but the juice from the strawberries stings. Daniel smiles, pressing a paper towel to his hand, but Robby’s face has gone pale.
“I’m okay, Robby, really.” He reassures him, peeling back the paper towel to check on the wound. (If he can call it that – it’s basically a glorified paper cut.) “It’s nothing. I just need to clean it.” Robby nods, stepping around Polpetta as he moves out of the way, and Daniel rinses his hand.
“Um, yeah – I’m just gonna go find some band-aids.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder and stumbles over his own feet as he runs to the bathroom.
Daniel sighs, shaking his head as he works a little bit of soap into the small cut. It’s barely bleeding at this point, and he doesn’t even think he needs a band-aid. But, if it makes Robby feel better about it, he’ll accept some first aid. He idly blots at his hand with the paper towel when he suddenly becomes aware of someone watching at him. Raising his eyebrows, Daniel glances up to see Robby lurking in the doorway.
He has a fistful of band-aids in one hand and the empty box for the pregnancy test in the other.
His face is pale, and his eyes are flat as he regards Daniel with a steady glare – but Daniel can see how his knuckles are bleached with tension as tremors work through his rigid arms.
Well.
Shit.
- - -
“You know,” Robby mumbles; his shoulders want to pull up to his ears, but he holds himself still as he stares at Daniel without blinking, “I can move out, if you want. It’s cool.” He’s retreated in on himself, hiding behind a veneer or indifference, but he’s digging his right thumb into his left palm with a violence that has Daniel wincing on his behalf.
“I don’t want that,” Daniel tells him, flexing his own hand to test the placement of the band-aid. “This is your home too, Robby.”
“Yeah, but,” he shrugs, blinking hard and looking away. “You’re gonna have a new baby soon, so.”
“That doesn’t mean I want you to leave. I want you to stay here. With me, and Johnny, and…” Daniel trails off, looking down at his abdomen.
“Mom had a pregnancy scare once,” Robby says, voice tear-rough and far away. “Her boyfriend at the time was stoked, weirdly enough. I thought he was gonna run,” he rolls his eyes, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek in frustration. “But he started making all these plans, you know? And it was pretty clear that I wasn’t included in any of them, so. I’m just saying, I get it.”
“I don’t think you do, Robby,” Daniel corrects him carefully, even as he scoffs and fixes his gaze up to the ceiling. “You’re family to me – I wasn’t lying about that. And this,” he gestures at his own stomach, “doesn’t change that.”
“Sure,” Robby sniffs, bobbing his head like he believes him, but his jaw is tight. “Does my dad know?”
“Not yet,” Daniel laughs under his breath, shrugging uselessly. “I kinda just found out today. I’m going to tell him when he gets home tomorrow – I don’t want to distract him while he’s on shift.”
He almost asks Robby how he thinks Johnny will handle it, but he holds back. That’s not a fair question to pin on a seventeen-year-old. Daniel chews on his lower lip, wishing he had some insight into the kid – he’s a lot like his father, responds better to actions than words, but how can Daniel show him that he’s not lying? That he’s not going to change his mind? That no matter what happens, Robby does belong with him and Johnny?
“He’ll be excited,” Robby mumbles, staring down at his bare feet, where Polpetta is rubbing against his ankles and calves. “So you know, if it’s easier for you two… I’m okay with moving out.”
“Well, I’m not,” Daniel says finally and crosses his arms over his chest as he looks at Robby with his brows raised, all but daring him to disagree. “Maybe I want you here, Robby. Maybe I want you to get know your sibling – take care of them, and teach them how to skateboard, and take them out to ice cream, and help them with problems they won’t talk about with me and Johnny. Maybe I want you to be a brother to my kid, just like you are for Sam and Anthony.”
Robby’s face crumbles, and he wraps his arms around himself tightly as he bows his face to hide his tears.
“If you ever want to leave, move back in with your mom, we can discuss that as a family – I don’t ever want you to feel trapped. But, Robby?” He ducks his head, tying to get Robby to look at him. “Never think for a second that I don’t want you here.” Oh-so-carefully, Daniel reaches for him, settling his hands on Robby’s shoulders and squeezing. He moves deliberately – makes sure to telegraph his touch as he watches Robby’s face for any sign of discomfort.
Instead, Robby throws himself at him, barreling into Daniel’s chest as he slings his arms around his waist and bawls.
“Okay, bud,” Daniel says quietly, as Robby fists his hands in the back of his sweater. “You’re all right. It’s gonna be okay, I promise.”
- - -
Later, after Robby has cried himself out, they finish making the tart. The cream isn’t quite cool enough yet, so they prep some dark chocolate to spread over the tart crust. Robby melts about half a bag of dark chocolate chips (175 grams) in a double boiler, stirring with a spatula until it’s shiny and smooth, and the kitchen smells rich and sweet. Daniel stands back and watches as Robby deftly pours the ganache over the crust.
“I like baking with chocolate,” he admits, shrugging self-consciously.
“You did good,” Daniel tells him with a big smile. “Just pop it in the freezer, and it’ll be ready in half an hour.”
While the chocolate sets, Daniel whips an additional 120 grams (half cup) of heavy cream to mix with the pastry cream chilling in the fridge. He does it by hand, because he feels like showing off, as he explains that the process goes faster if the bowl has been in the freezer for about half an hour. Robby’s a lot more at ease – he steals raspberries when he thinks Daniel won’t notice, and his smile is genuine.
“This recipe’s pretty involved,” Daniel admits over his shoulder, “but it’s one of my favorites.”
“Thanks for letting me help,” Robby says with a shrug. He has Polpetta cradled in his arms like an infant, and she paws at his face in adoration as he bounces her. “Do you think Polpa would be okay if we got a dog?”
“I don’t know,” Daniel admits slowly, as he folds the chilled pastry cream in with the heavy cream he just finished whipping. “She’s pretty mellow, so maybe. But she’s always been the only animal in the house. I don’t think she even knows what a dog is. Why?” He narrows his eyes, until Robby meets his gaze. “Do you want a dog, Robby?”
“Maybe,” he shrugs, bringing Polpetta up to his face so he can rub his nose against hers. She yawns, showing off her fearsome needle teeth, and he laughs as he cuddles her close to his chest. “I dunno, it was just a thought. What do you think, Petta? Do you want a friend? Are you lonely?” She mrrps up at him, and Daniel’s heart flips over at the sight. Robby is the only one who calls her Petta – it’s his special nickname for her.
“She might like a nap buddy.” Daniel thinks out loud, swallowing around the sudden lump in his throat. “I’ll talk to Johnny about it. He likes dogs, right?”
“My dad loves dogs,” Robby confirms. Polpetta endures his affection for a few more minutes before she gets restless, wriggling around in his arms until he sets her down on the floor, the same way that Anthony does – with the utmost, tender care – so she can scamper off somewhere. “Hey, Daniel?”
“Hmm?” Daniel hums in acknowledgment as he pulls the tart crust out of the freezer. Finally, everything is ready for assembly.
“How did you and my dad get together?” Daniel blinks, turning to look over his shoulder at Robby. He’s deceptively casual, hands in his pockets, as he rocks back on his heels. The picture of manufactured innocence.
“He didn’t tell you?” The tart pan almost burns his hand – it’s so cold, and he drops on the counter with a wince. Robby shakes his head, mouth twisted into a thoughtful frown. “We met at the library. He and Squad 84 came to do a CPR demonstration for the teens, and he asked for my number when we were cleaning up afterwards.”
“Oh,” Robby nods to himself, and Daniel squints, tilting his head. “So you didn’t know him before?”
“Nope,” he shrugs. “That was the first time we met. He really didn’t tell you?” Robby shakes his head again. “It’s not that dramatic of a story anyway. Why?” Robby looks away, face flushing bright pink, and Daniel smiles to himself.
“Just… wanted to know,” he ducks around Daniel to wash his hands. “So, um, is everything ready?” He inclines his head towards the tart crust, the bowl of berries, and the bowl of cream – Daniel lets him change the subject and instead hands him a clean spatula with a knowing grin.
“Everything’s ready – why don’t you start with the cream?”
Robby stays quiet as he spoons dollops of fluffy cream over the chocolate covered tart crust, his mouth set with concentration. Daniel wonders what sort of things he likes to bake – he hasn’t spent much time in the kitchen since they moved into the new house, but hopefully that will change soon. Once the cream is ready, they begin arranging the berries in a slightly wobbly pattern of ever-tightening circles.
“We’ll have to save some for Miguel,” Daniel comments mildly as he reaches for a raspberry. Robby glances at him, cheeks flushed, but doesn’t say anything. “He helped, after all. I’ll pack some up for him. We’ll just have to make sure your dad doesn’t get to it first.”
“Okay,” Robby mumbles, chewing on his lower lip to hide a shy smile. “Thanks, Daniel.”
“Anytime, bud,” Daniel knocks their shoulders together and grins.
- - -
Daniel’s still in bed when Johnny gets home in the morning after his shift (he and Robby stayed up way too late watching a true crime docuseries – they’re both obsessed with it, which Johnny doesn’t appreciate at all.), and he’s all sleepy-soft when Johnny sneaks under the covers behind him. He hums quietly, blinking his eyes open, as Johnny slips an arm around his waist and pulls him back up against his broad chest.
“Hey,” Johnny whispers, nosing against his jaw and pressing a kiss to the tender skin behind his ear. He settles his palm on Daniel’s stomach, fingers spread wide, and Daniel wraps his hand around his wrist like an anchor. “You okay?”
“Mhmm,” Daniel nods, using his grip on Johnny to tug him closer as he makes a happy little noise in the back of his throat. “Just tired. Robby and I stayed up late watching Unsolved Mysteries.”
“Oh my God,” Johnny mutters under his breath, “you’re both freaks.” Daniel laughs, snuggling into the warmth of Johnny’s arms. Johnny’s hair is wet, and he smells like clean, spicy soap as he drops a kiss to the back of Daniel’s neck. He must’ve showered at the firehouse before heading home.
Biting on his lower lip, Daniel looks down at where Johnny’s hand is covering his belly – spending the afternoon baking with the boys helped keep his mind off of his situation, but he can feel the nerves kicking up in his chest. He feels suddenly cold, and he exhales shakily, breath shivering in his lungs. His eyes burn, and his throat is tight around a lump of anxiety.
“Hey Johnny?” He says quietly, tapping at his wrist with numb fingers.
“Hmm?” Johnny grunts, burrowing in closer, sweetly oblivious to his internal miseries and musings.
“I have to tell you something,” Daniel says, licking his dry lips and swallowing loudly. He rolls over in Johnny’s arms, and Johnny props himself up on his elbow – he keeps his hand on Daniel’s abdomen, and Daniel runs his fingers over the callouses of his knuckles.
Johnny’s hands are so sturdy and capable. Daniel never feels as safe as he does when Johnny’s touching him.
He blinks up at the ceiling as he makes himself to take another deep breath; Johnny peers down at him, brow furrowed in concern, and he rubs Daniel’s stomach through his t-shirt. He’s generous – lets Daniel have the time to collect his thoughts, which he needs in this very moment. Even if this isn’t what they planned, Daniel wants to have this kid. And he has no reason to think Johnny will feel differently. He keeps that comfort in mind as he prepares himself for the next part.
“I’m pregnant,” Daniel says, voice catching and cracking as tears spill down his cheeks. Everything goes blurry and messy in the hazy morning glow, so he misses the way Johnny’s eyes go wide and his face lights up. He feels light-headed and dizzy, and his chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath. “Johnny, I’m – I’m pregnant.”
In a flurry of bed sheets, Johnny kicks himself free to roll on top of him and bracket Daniel’s body with his own – he gets his knees on either side of Daniel’s hips as he straddles him carefully, kneeling over him with a tender, effervescent joy. Daniel blinks up at him, eyes huge and startled, as Johnny beams down at him.
“You’re sure?” He asks in a breathless gasp.
“I mean – I took a test. We should probably do a blood test to be sure, but –” Johnny cuts him off with a frantic kiss, taking his face in his hands as he presses their lips together. He’s grinning like a madman as he licks clumsily into his mouth, and Daniel starts laughing as he pushes weakly against his shoulders. “Wait, slow down a minute.”
Johnny sits back on his heels, keeping Daniel pinned beneath the comfort of his weight, and Daniel feels vulnerable, exposed, sprawled on his back. It’s like his ribs are split open, and his heart’s on display – the red, tender parts of him laid out for Johnny to take care of.
“We’re gonna have a baby,” he whispers, reaching for Daniel and linking their fingers together, and Daniel nods, biting down on his lower lip. “Oh, Danny.” Daniel keeps nodding, as his face crumples. “You okay?” He asks in a low voice, reaching down to brush away the tears burning at the corners of his eyes.
“I’m okay,” he warbles, stretching his arms up to wind around Johnny’s neck so he can pull him down. “Just overwhelmed, I think. I found out yesterday, so. Didn’t want to wait to tell you.” Johnny kisses him gently, like he’s some sort of breakable treasure, and he pours all of his adoration into his touch as he smooths his hands over Daniel’s sides.
“I love you,” he rasps, tone reverent, as he slants kisses across his cheeks and neck. “I love you so much.”
“I love you,” Daniel whispers, threading his fingers through Johnny’s still damp hair.
Johnny pulls back, just far enough so they can look at each other, faces flushed and eyes bright. Daniel smiles, lighting up with the joy that’s threatening to burst out of him, and Johnny rubs their noses together. They lay like that for a while, grinning stupidly at each other, until they hear Robby moving around in the kitchen.
“Oh,” Johnny blinks, shifting off of him so they can both fumble their way out of bed. “Do you want to tell Robby? We can wait, if you’re not ready.” He’s rumpled from their cuddling, red t-shirt twisted around his torso and hair sticking up in fluffy little peaks. Daniel would tease him for his love-mussed appearance, though he’s sure he doesn’t look much better.
“He already knows,” Daniel tells him as he sits up. “Sort of found out by accident. I had to convince him that he didn’t need to move out.”
“Jesus,” Johnny shakes his head, dragging his hands through his hair. “That’s fuckin’ rough.”
“Yeah,” Daniel sighs, thinking of how Robby just shut down, face blank and eyes dark, when he came out of the bathroom yesterday. How he clung to Daniel, shaking and sobbing. “I got him to calm down, but you might need to check on him,” he reaches for Johnny so he can squeeze their hands together.
“Okay.” He steps in close so he can press an absent-minded kiss to Daniel’s palm. And then another to the crown of his head. “I’ll talk to him. Make sure he’s okay.” Daniel smiles up at him, watching as he stretches his arms in the air and heads to the kitchen.
“Robby!” Johnny calls out, and Robby shouts something indecipherable back at him. Like father, like son. “You ready to be a big brother?”
Daniel barks out a laugh and covers his mouth with one hand – Lieutenant Johnny Lawrence, Master of Tact. Whatever Robby says in response is muffled, but he sounds appropriately indignant. They go back and forth, too quiet for Daniel to make out the specifics of what they’re saying to each other, but their voices are happy. He can hear Robby laughing, at least. Sighing, he pushes himself off the bed and rests a hand low on his stomach.
“Well,” he says, tilting his head thoughtfully as he taps his thumb against his bellybutton, “you ready to get going, then? We have a lot to do today.”