Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The play, in Archie’s opinion, was rather boring. The fact that he was scanning the rest of the theater for Frossard instead of actually paying attention wasn’t helping his ability to follow it.

“There,” he murmured, upon spotting their quarry. “Down in the stalls.” He tried to get a better view without leaning clear out of their private balcony. He waited for a comment about this, but when he glanced back over his shoulder, Daniel was asleep, listing slightly in his gilt chair. Archie nearly dropped his opera glasses. Daniel was asleep.

He’d watched Daniel sleep before, but not as often as he’d have liked. In the nearly four years they’d been together, Daniel had vocally opposed every overture to move their relationship into a more domestic direction, even though they spent the night in one or another of their rooms with a frequency approaching routine.

Archie had been longing for something more permanent, something more intentional than Daniel staying over because he didn’t want to walk back to Bloomsbury. It was far too easy to lose himself in moments like this, when he could linger on Daniel’s even breathing, his relaxed expression, the strands of hair on his forehead just asking to be brushed back…

But reality reclaimed him as the curtain fell: if they didn’t get out of the box, they were going to lose Frossard.

“Wake up!” Archie hissed.

Daniel’s chin slipped off his hand as he jerked awake, looking confused. “What’s—”

“The play’s over. We’ve got to catch him.”

Daniel was on his feet in an instant. Archie yanked the door open, tossing a half crown to the startled box attendant. Daniel matched him stride for stride as they plunged into the crowd.

“Where was he?” Still furiously blinking sleep from his eyes, Daniel was nonetheless keeping up as they hurried down the marble steps toward the lobby.

“In the stalls.”

The crowd was beginning to flow out of the main part of the theater. Archie and Daniel pushed through the front doors, racing for the exit. Once outside, Archie pulled Daniel into the shadows, hoping they hadn’t already blown their cover with their haste. Any of the people loitering around could be in Frossard’s employ, and Frossard had to know that the Private Bureau would be following him.

“Did he accept something from someone?” Daniel asked. “Did you see?”

“No. I’d only just spotted him at the end of the performance. I’m not sure he was even here the whole time.”

He did not voice the thought that had Daniel been awake, they might have seen him sooner. He didn’t want to start an argument about that, especially when he was actually worried about Daniel’s health. This was the first time Daniel had actually gone so far as to fall asleep where he hadn’t meant to, though now that Archie was thinking about it, Daniel had uncharacteristically dozed off on the chaise longue two weeks before, when they’d been about to embark on something else entirely.

“Do you see him?” Daniel’s head jerked back and forth as he studied the crowd.

“No.” Archie cursed himself for not having taken action earlier—namely, wading directly into the stalls and dragging Frossard out by his absurd cravat.

They watched until the crowd on the pavement had cleared, but there was no sign of the man they’d been tailing for weeks already, or any of his associates.

Archie sighed. “I suppose we’ve lost him.” There was no response. He looked at Daniel.

Daniel’s eyes were nearly closed and he was breathing slowly, in through his nose and out through his mouth. His hand was pressed to the wall, as though he needed its support to stay standing.

“Are you all right?” Archie asked.

“I’m fine,” Daniel said, with force. “Let’s go.” He pushed off the wall and stalked away.

Archie had expected more elaborate invective about their failure, and Daniel’s body language wasn’t “fine” at all. Something was seriously wrong.

Daniel looked faintly green by the time they reached Cranbourn Street. Archie put a steadying hand on his elbow as they went inside; Daniel leaned into the touch ever so slightly. In the lift, his eyes were shut and he showed no reaction at the lift operator’s greeting, though he normally would have bristled to have been recognized by name as Archie’s frequent guest.

Once inside Archie’s flat, Daniel went to the sofa immediately while Archie flicked on the electric lights.

“Drink?” Archie hazarded. He opened the window to relieve some of the stuffiness of the flat, which had been shut up the whole August day. He closed it again a few moments later, however, when he realized that he was letting in a great quantity of smoke which had been hanging thickly outside.

Daniel shook his head. Archie poured himself a whiskey and soda and was contemplating his next step when Daniel spoke.

“Would you mind terribly making some tea?” His eyes were on the rug, and Archie could tell it was an effort for him even to make the request—both physically and mentally. “I might be able to keep tea down.”

Archie frowned, but he got up and went into the small kitchen. “You’ve been ill again?” More than once over the past few weeks, Daniel had fled to the toilets at the appearance of a pot of strong-smelling coffee in the agents’ room.

“Earlier in the evening, before we went to the theater. Tea might… settle me.”

The first winter cold he’d seen Daniel through had taught Archie that Daniel hated nothing more than the betrayal of his own body. Archie didn’t want to harp on it, but he also didn’t want Daniel to ignore what was unpleasant so long that it became a problem.

“You fell asleep,” he said. “You don’t nap, not normally. And you would never fall asleep on a mission.”

“Quiet,” Daniel snarled.

“But you did.”

Daniel’s jaw tensed. Archie could have borne what he was about to say, and Daniel knew it. His silence was even more concerning. “I’ll go back to my place,” he finally said.

“You’ll do no such thing.” Archie took down the tea tin. “I can’t send you out into the night if you’re ill.”

“I’m not—” Daniel stopped, visibly realizing that his protest was patently ridiculous. “I’m sure it’s just something I ate.”

“Something you ate, across two weeks?” Archie set the tea tray on the table.

Daniel sighed. “You’re too observant by half.”

Archie kissed his temple and poured him a cup of tea. “Milk?”

There was a pause. “No.”

Daniel usually added a copious quantity of milk. Worry settled heavily in Archie’s stomach as he watched Daniel slowly sip his cup of black tea.

They went to bed without having sex. Archie had hungered for this—for signs that their relationship was making progress domestically—but this particular situation was no such thing. Studying the slim form in his spare set of pajamas, he couldn’t tell if Daniel had lost weight. It was with a great sigh of relief that Daniel sank into bed. He appeared to be asleep before Archie turned out the light.

Archie lay awake most of the night, not dropping off to sleep until shortly before dawn. He managed only a few winks before he heard the sound of Daniel retching in the bathroom.

“See a doctor,” Archie said at breakfast. This was no time for anything but blunt straightforwardness.

Daniel looked at him, hollow-eyed. Archie could tell that he didn’t even have the energy for venom.

“Please,” he added, not caring if he drew Daniel’s contempt.

Daniel stared at him for a moment, cup of black tea in hand. “You think I ought to?”

“Yes.” Archie swallowed hard. “I’m worried about you.”

Despite his obvious misery, Daniel smiled. “You have been asking me to get you out of your annual physical for four years.”

Archie felt himself flush. “I know. Don’t like doctors.” The reminder was enough for a twinge of pain to manifest in his knee. “But you probably ought to find out what’s wrong with you. Two weeks, Daniel, and it’s getting worse if I’m not wrong. I don’t want… anything to happen to you.”

Daniel contemplated the naked piece of toast that was the only thing on his plate. Archie braced himself for an objection—he had taken the chance of confessing his worry, for God’s sake. Had he gone too far?

“All right.”

“Really?” Archie nearly dropped his sausage.

“Really.” Daniel took a small bite of toast and chewed slowly. “But you needn’t escort me. I don’t want you to have to go down to Macmillan’s domain if you can avoid it.”

“This would certainly count as unavoidable in my book!”

Daniel smiled, and Archie felt some of his worry ease. “Your concern is deeply appreciated, my dear. But I can get myself at least that far. And then we’ll proceed based on the good doctor’s recommendation.”

It sounded forced, even for Daniel, but Archie did not bother to object. As long as Daniel was going to see someone, that was what mattered.

Macmillan kept his offices in the basement of the Private Bureau for the twin purposes of patching agents up after missions and declaring them fit (or unfit) for service. Daniel had never visited them for reasons other than the dreaded annual physical. It wasn’t quite a bad basement as basements went, but neither was it reassuring.

Macmillan had absolutely no bedside manner, which suited Daniel perfectly, as he had no interest in being fussed over. He wanted to receive his diagnosis and get out with either a cure or death sentence, the better to manage his remaining time with Archie’s cock.

Macmillan made him recite his symptoms and their time of onset, and then proceeded to poke and prod at him, both inside and out. Daniel held back a cutting remark about over-familiarity, saving it for the full accounting of the proceedings he was going to have to provide to Archie. He had not been oblivious to Archie’s anxious inspection of him at bedtime and at breakfast; his enormous mother hen would want to know every word that had come out of Macmillan’s mouth.

He was so wrapped up in thinking of how he would explain the doctor’s examination to Archie without upsetting him that he barely noticed Macmillan leaving the room. The physician was gone for so long that Daniel was considering getting dressed again when Macmillan at last returned. He was carrying a large book. Daniel caught the word Child stamped on the cover before Macmillan flipped it open to a page at the back and showed Daniel the most disagreeable diagram he had ever seen in his life.

“You’re pregnant, da Silva,” Macmillan said without preamble.

“I beg your pardon?” Daniel sat up, blinking back the nausea that had surged with the sudden movement, even though a part of him liked the idea of spewing all over Macmillan.

Macmillan flipped the book shut, utterly no-nonsense. “Pregnant. Don’t tell me you didn’t know it could happen.”

“I had understood that worrying about that was akin to worrying about being struck by lightning every time one went outside.” Defensiveness was his first instinct; it kept him from having to think about what Macmillan had actually said. He couldn’t be pregnant.

“Yes, and people do get struck by lightning.”

Daniel fixed his gaze on Macmillan, but no further information seemed to be forthcoming. Macmillan was writing something on Daniel’s file; not being able to see the words made Daniel’s skin prickle with frustration. A permanent record of Macmillan’s diagnosis was the last thing he needed. Men didn’t get pregnant without having committed an illegal act, and it wasn’t something one did alone. He was uninterested in fielding questions about his accomplice.

Daniel slid off the table and began collecting his clothes. If Macmillan had no more to say to him, he had no more to say to Macmillan.

It was Saturday, and Archie had not gone into the office. Daniel was glad of this, as it gave him time to come up with something to say. Despite his avowal that he needed to plan an explanation, his feet carried him from Whitehall to Cranbourn Street automatically, his head vacant of thoughts.

It wasn’t until Archie was ushering him in and fussing at him for not having an umbrella that he realized it was raining.

As Archie peeled off his wet jacket, Daniel blurted, “I’m pregnant.”

Archie’s tawny eyebrows rose. “You’re what?”

“Pregnant,” he spat, feeling suddenly spiteful. “With child, increasing, in the family way. You had a hand in it, you know.”

Archie’s left hand went into his hair. His face still wore a bewildered expression that Daniel’s mood was foul enough to resent. Could the block of wood not understand simple English? “I suppose I did.” He paused. “That’s… that’s quite the thing.” He gave a little laugh. “Are you sure?”

Daniel gave him a withering look.

“Yes, I expect you are,” Archie said faintly, all trace of amusement gone from his face. “This… This is what’s been causing all the trouble?” He looked slightly doubtful, and Daniel realized that with his exclusively male upbringing, with no siblings, no cousins, Archie had very likely not been around a pregnant person before. Daniel suppressed the waspish thought that it was a miracle that he knew where babies came from or that two men sometimes made one. “I’m glad… Well, I’m glad we know what the reason is.” He paused. “Christ, Daniel, a baby. What will we do with a baby?”

“There won’t be a baby,” Daniel snarled. How could Archie think a child even had a place in Daniel’s life?

“That’s—” Wisely, Archie stopped. “That’s up to you, I suppose.” His face didn’t quite crumple, but it came very close.

The thought came as solidly and suddenly into Daniel’s brain as though he had been struck by lightning: Archie wants to be a father. He had never entertained that possibility before—because, really, how could one plan for pregnancy? Then he shouldn’t have chosen me, he thought dismissively.

“Do you, er, know what to do?” Archie’s eyebrows were still in danger of being lost in his hair.

“Yes,” Daniel answered promptly, even though what he planned to do was go to his mother and find out what his next step was. Even though he dreaded telling her, and the berating he was sure to receive from doing so, she would know what to do.

“I’m sorry,” Archie said suddenly.

“Whyever are you apologizing, my dear?”

“I don’t know.” Archie looked lost. “It seemed the thing to do. I’ve… inconvenienced you. This wouldn’t have happened to you if not for me.”

Daniel shrugged. “It could just have easily been you.”

He tried not to think of what a different conversation they might have been having, had Archie been pregnant. Archie, who probably would have worded the news in a much more awkward, much less direct fashion. He tried to picture Archie entering the flat, saying, “Well, it seems that come spring, we’ll have our own little bundle of joy.” A bundle of joy might as well have been a ball and chain when Daniel was clinging tooth and nail to the idea that he might be good at his job. He refused to be dismissed to the nursery.

Archie looked suddenly sober. “I really am sorry, Daniel.”

“I know. It’s not your fault.” He stepped forward and kissed Archie with a chasteness that surprised even himself. “I’m sorry, too.” His hand rested on Archie’s cheek. “I’ll deal with it.”

Archie’s hand tightened on Daniel’s wrist. He said nothing further, but he didn’t need to.

His mother looked up from the bread dough she was kneading when he stepped into the kitchen.

“What’s wrong with you?” she said by way of greeting.

Daniel leaned Archie’s umbrella up against the table and sat down. The rain had dulled London’s stench somewhat, but traveling through it had still offended his senses, and he didn’t want to begin the inevitable argument over the sink. Even as he thought this, he had to suppress the urge to retch, though he was almost certain that he’d thrown up all the toast and tea from breakfast.

His mother said, “If you’re going to be sick, do it outside.”

Daniel waited until the nausea had passed. “I’m not going to be sick.”

She poured him a mug of water from the jug on the counter and slid it across the table to him. Then she went back to her bread. “So, are you going to tell me what’s wrong with you? Is your fellow too stingy to send for the doctor?”

He bristled. Obviously he would not be able to do this as delicately as he had hoped. “I went to the doctor this morning.” Perhaps it would be easier to tell her if he broke it into its constituent parts. “He said I was pregnant.” It felt strangely distancing to phrase it as though it had been just a wild hair of McMillan’s.

His mother’s mouth tightened. “Why did you go and let a thing like that happen to you?”

“It’s nearly unheard of,” he hissed. “You cannot possibly tell me I ought to have planned for it, and you know it.”

“Well,” she said, hand going to her hip. Daniel hoped he could come up with the energy to match her if they were going to start screaming, but right now he was mainly praying not to start heaving again. “What are you planning to do about it?”

The part of Daniel that had been seeking an argument was almost regretful. “Get rid of it,” he said numbly. “I, uh…”

“Cousin Sarah.” He must not have been able to hide his surprise quickly enough, because she said, “She’s a midwife, but she does that, too.” Daniel nodded. He wasn’t going to think about how he felt about it, much less how Archie felt about it.

Presently, he felt his mother’s hand on the back of his neck, rubbing slowly. “You worried about how he’ll take it?”

“No,” he spat, feeling his anger rise. That, at least, he knew exactly how to manage.

“You don’t have to come with me.”

“I do.” Archie didn’t look at Daniel; his gaze was resolutely fixed on the back of the driver’s head through the cab window. “I don’t want you to faint in the street.”

“I won’t faint in the street,” Daniel snarled.

He had only had to sit down three times on his way back to Mrs. Barzyk’s, which he had made the mistake of admitting to Archie when he’d called on Daniel, unannounced, that evening. Finding him sprawled on the chaise longue, exhausted, Archie had promptly invited himself to spend the night, even though he wouldn’t be getting anything out of it. He had simply held Daniel all night in his narrow bed, though he’d known full well what Daniel intended to do in the morning. And then had insisted on accompanying Daniel to do it.

All the while not stopping him. Part of Daniel was still baffled by his behavior. He had a vague idea of what men of Archie’s class did when they knocked up lovers they couldn’t marry, and it involved fists—not getting up early to prepare toast and weak tea before handing them into cabs with almost unseemly solicitousness.

Daniel had always been too self-conscious to bring Archie into the East End. Now, he was regretting that Archie was going to meet his mother’s midwife-cum-abortionist cousin before he had met Daniel’s mother.

He sighed and pressed a hand to his abdomen. He’d have been lying if he’d said that he didn’t appreciate the swift, discreet passage through London. It would be quick getting there and quick getting back, and perhaps by the end of it he could convince Archie to go away. He was certain that when Cousin Sarah was through with him, he would want to be left alone. Probably for the next decade.

“You’d do the same if it was me,” Archie said.

“My dear, I can say with certainty we would not be doing this if it was you.”

“Well.” Archie shifted awkwardly in his seat. “You’re probably right.” His hand found Daniel’s. “But we’re doing it now.”

Daniel turned to look out the window as the cab crawled down High Holborn. He was thinking about the phrase “a bundle of joy.” In Daniel’s experience, “bundles of screaming and shit” was more apt.

But they didn’t stay that way, of course.

Daniel suddenly felt almost as though there was a small form in the cab, sitting between him and Archie. The sensation was so strong that he actually looked down, but, of course, there was no little cap at his shoulder. His imagination was running away with him, making him curious about what his and Archie’s child might be like. Fair or dark? He wondered what Archie had weighed at birth. No doubt something ridiculous like one stone and then Daniel would be expected to birth that.

Or the child might start life small, even if it got bigger later. His nephew Felix was threatening to do that—he’d weighed practically nothing at birth and now got mistaken for years older than he was. Children grew, he knew that well enough. His older nieces and nephews could carry on conversations, and he enjoyed spending time with many of them. He could encourage a child’s love of learning, share his favorite books…

He glanced at Archie, who was still pretending interest in the passing shopfronts. Archie would be a wonderful father. The image of him holding a baby was almost too saccharine to entertain. No doubt he would be no actual help, but it made a very pretty picture indeed.

The small person was still in his mind when the cab came to a stop at a pub on Old Montague Street. Daniel hadn’t given the driver Cousin Sarah’s specific address, partly out of habit, and mostly because her house was in the middle of a maze of alleys no vehicle could reach. As they descended to the street, the cap in his vision shifted into an oversized bow. He’d helped with his younger sisters often enough to consider himself competent with braids and ribbons, and he could practically touch the thick hair on the child’s head… It would be unlikely that they’d produce a blonde offspring but he couldn’t dismiss the image from his mind. He remembered being told as a child his eyelashes, his hair, were wasted on a boy, so they’d be put to quite good use on a daughter.

“What was your mother’s name?” Daniel asked Archie.

“Hm?” Archie was paying the driver. Belatedly realizing how out-of-the-blue the question was, Daniel almost said “Never mind,” but instead, he repeated it.

Archie blinked and seemed to think for a moment. “Alice. Alice Vaizey.”

Daniel nodded. Alice da Silva, he thought, and as he led Archie towards Cousin Sarah’s, he saw little Alice in new kidskin boots, on the way to see her grandparents, with Archie and himself lifting her over gutters to preserve her pretty footwear.

Cousin Sarah did not have any sign on her house. She was well known for her primary profession, and the side operation could not be advertised. Daniel knocked briskly, as though they were investigating a case and paying a call to ask her questions.

“Daniel.” His arrival did not seem unanticipated. She ushered them in, shutting the door nearly on Archie’s arse.

“I don’t get many male visitors,” she said by way of explanation. She gazed at them assessingly. “Your friend isn’t too discreet, is he?”

“He is terribly noticeable.” Daniel wondered how much his mother had told Sarah. “I need your help.”

“So I gathered.” She waved them onto a flowered sofa. Sarah’s front parlor was somewhat shabby, but meticulously clean; Daniel imagined it was reassuring to most of her patients. “You’ve got yourself in trouble?”

Archie stiffened.

“Yes,” Daniel said. “I need help with it.”

Sarah nodded. “Come on back.”

Archie made to rise with Daniel, but Sarah waved him back. “Just him.”

Daniel was aware of Archie staring resolutely and expressionlessly forward as he followed Sarah.

“What do you need, dear boy?” she asked, once they were alone.

The options both seemed so real and complete to him. No turning back now. “Something to stop the nausea.”

Cousin Sarah blinked once in surprise. “That’s not the impression I got from your mother.”

“I changed my mind.”

She jerked her head at the door to indicate Archie. “He’s not the problem, is he?”

“No,” Daniel said, though he understood why she didn’t trust Archie. “He hasn’t said a word, but I think he wants to keep it.”

“Is that what you want?”

The possibility of disaster loomed before him. Did they truly want to take on this responsibility? Their lives were far from perfect, but Daniel had fancied what they had was working, or on the way to working. A baby would upend everything.

But Daniel could no longer deny that he wanted this, with an intensity that alarmed him—the same intensity with which he’d wanted Archie in the first place. Perhaps it was out of vanity that he wanted to know what kind of child he and Archie might make—or curiosity. God knows he was guilty enough of both.

He knew what he ought to do, but avoiding what he ought to do felt as natural as breathing.

“Yes.” He didn’t offer any further explanation.

Sarah regarded him for a moment, and then turned to her apothecary’s cabinet. “It won’t be easy.”

“I know,” he bit out, thinking of work, of Vaizey, of the agents champing at the bit to see da Silva slip.

“I mean physically. You aren’t made for easy delivery.”

“I know.” If he came to regret this come spring, so be it. “Are you going to help me or not?”

“Of course I am.” She was smirking. “Your mother would never forgive me, for one thing, and I don’t want to be on her bad side. Now, lie down and let me see what I’m dealing with.”

So, for the second time in as many days, Daniel found himself being poked and prodded by a medical professional. Sarah had a lighter touch than Macmillan, but he was still glad when she was finished.

“I should think you’re looking at April.” She handed him a small bag. “Ginger. Make your tea with it. It should help. Come back and see me if it doesn’t, or if you change your mind.” That was reassuring, even though Daniel didn’t plan to reconsider this choice.

Archie rocketed out of his seat on seeing Daniel. “That’s it?” he said. He stopped, cowed. “I thought it might take longer.” He handed Daniel his hat.

“She gave me something. Something for nausea,” he added, when Archie looked pale. He didn’t want fifteen stone of squeamish Viking crashing down on him.

“But you—” Archie swallowed. “You’re surely not—”

“Going to keep it, yes.”

Archie’s mouth dropped open.

“Don’t tell me you changed your mind,” Daniel hissed.

“I never said—”

“Yes, but I saw your face, and it was plain as day. You didn’t want to evict the passenger.”

“It’s not my—” Archie stopped. “I’m not the cab.”

“Yes, well.” Having made his decision, Daniel felt suddenly absurd. He was actually going to go through with it. “I am allowed to change my mind.”

Archie’s stunned expression turned into a faint smile. “It’s just not often that you do that.”

Although he agreed with that statement, Daniel opened his mouth to lodge a protest, but Archie’s arms descended around him, nearly lifting him off his feet.

“Stop.” Sarah had surely guessed all that there was to guess, but only a set of white lace curtains hid them from the rest of the world.

“Just give me this moment. Please.”

Daniel reluctantly complied, allowing himself the comfort of Archie’s warmth, but at length, he said, “Let go of me. We have work to do, and we only have until April.”

Chapter Text

Daniel consented to Archie paying for another cab ride to see him back to Mrs. Barzyk’s. As the cab retraced in reverse their route of the morning, Daniel hunched beside Archie, his hand pressed to his belly throughout the entire journey, his gaze pointed very far away.

“Sick?” Archie asked hesitantly. Daniel shook his head and said nothing.

Archie’s mind was whirling with questions, but he could tell that Daniel would not be receptive to them yet. Where would they live? What would the baby be named? He knew better than to start the conversation now, though. Still, the thoughts obsessed him, and he could not set his mind to anything else. A baby. They were going to become parents next year, if all went well. Surely… Surely Daniel would agree that they had to live together, to raise their child as a family.

Except Daniel was still Daniel, of course. Archie could imagine being pregnant wouldn’t change a thing—or, it might make him more prickly, although Archie would be fine with that. He was absurdly grateful that Daniel wanted to take this chance, and that Daniel had taken a chance on Archie in the first place.

But that first long winter together had taught him a few things. Archie had learned the hard way that escalating things too quickly sent Daniel running. April was a long way away, though he knew that it would be here before they knew it. He’d have to figure out how to strike a balance between letting Daniel have his space and not letting him give birth in the boarding house.

Daniel climbed the stairs to his room briskly, leaving Archie to smile and nod at the other boarders they met on the stairs.

Archie quite liked Mrs. Barzyk’s, but even Daniel couldn’t deny it was small. There was barely room to maneuver in his room as it was, with his table, bed, wardrobe, and chaise longue. Assessing the space, Archie couldn’t envision adding a bassinet, much less anything else for the baby

He would have to find out what else was needed, and he wouldn’t be able to ask his uncles without arousing suspicion. Christ, they didn’t know about Daniel! They would think that he’d knocked up some woman if he started talking about babies.

Daniel was standing by his table, staring aimlessly at the papers scattered on its surface.

“You’ve kept breakfast down,” Archie said thoughtfully.

“Yes,” Daniel agreed. He paused; Archie could see that he was rehearsing what to say in his head. Archie braced himself. Daniel had already given him so much already today.

“I’m going to my mother’s,” Daniel said. He kissed Archie on the cheek, dismissing him.

“Are you sure…” The words left his mouth before he could stop himself. He clamped his jaw shut.

Thankfully, Daniel was amused rather than annoyed. “I want to walk. If I get tired, I can take the ’bus.” He was smiling as he drew closer to kiss Archie properly. “I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. Me and the passenger. But I’ve got to see her right away.” He grimaced. “I will never hear the end of it if she hears from Sarah first.”

#

Daniel almost regretted sending Archie away once he was alone with his thoughts. What had he been thinking? He plunged his hands into his hair and tugged, then stopped himself. Now was not the time to revert to bad habits. Perhaps he could avoid exposing his child to them.

His child.

It had been barely twenty-four hours since he’d learned of his pregnancy; his decision to keep it now seemed rash. But there was no way that he was about to let his mother know that he had any reservations.

When Daniel entered his mother’s kitchen, he saw immediately that she wasn’t alone this time.

Two of his nephews were there. Ralph, eight, and Felix, five, were helping their grandmother make pretzels. Daniel could not help but view this in a very different light than he would have just two days before. Would his child be doing this in a few years? He watched Ralph painstakingly shape Felix’s pretzel into the letter F and wondered what initial he might help a small cousin with.

“Uncle Daniel!” A small, floury form collided with his legs. “Did you come to help?” asked Felix.

“Is it done?” his mother asked, opening the oven to take out an earlier batch.

“No.” Daniel patted Felix’s head absently.

“Is what done?” Ralph nudged his glasses up on his nose. He was far too clever, Daniel was already learning. He hoped his child would be more pliable.

“Nothing,” Daniel said to Ralph. Then he turned to his mother. “I’m keeping it.”

His mother’s shoulders stiffened. “Felix, Ralph, go take these to your grandfather.” She nudged some warm pretzels onto a plate.

“But, Granny, we’re not finished—” Ralph protested.

“Take them.” She shoved the plate into his hands. “You know how Granddad loves his pretzels.”

The boys left warily, and Daniel sat at the table. Absently, he began to twist more dough, memories of childhood flooding back. He could do this in his sleep.

His mother scooped the rest of the pretzels off the baking sheet with force. “What does your… your… your bit of fluff—no, lump of fluff think he’s doing?”

“Nothing.” Twisting the dough into the familiar shape was soothing and required no brainpower. His fingers knew the timing from a lifetime of practice. “I changed my mind.”

“Somehow I find that hard to believe.”

He felt himself itching for a fight; he had kept his composure—and his accent—in front of the children, but he dropped both now. “Well, you’d better believe it because you’re going to have another brat around here in April.”

“Daniel, I know how men are. I wager I have more experience—” they stared at each other “—at least with people who’ve got into your situation. You can tell your lump where to get off if he thinks he can make you keep it.”

Daniel smiled in a way that he fancied was poisonous; it had put countless people in their place. “My lump has delusions of domesticity.”

The smile didn’t work on his mother. She made a skeptical noise.

“He didn’t actually say anything,” Daniel admitted, “but he looked positively devastated when I mentioned Cousin Sarah. Kept a stiff upper lip all the way there.”

“And is he going to feed it? Look after it? You won’t be dumping it with me, that’s for sure.” She placed Daniel’s pretzels and the F and R pretzels into the bath. “Don’t look to me to raise the baby you’re keeping to keep your man.”

“That’s not why.” He regretted coming; all she ever did was wind him up. “And like hell I’d leave it with you.” That declaration might well come back to bite him, but he had months yet to figure out whom to leave it with when he was working.

She clicked her tongue, a reaction guaranteed to send him into a spitting rage. “You never stop making a fool of yourself over those blonds, do you?”

Daniel felt his spine stiffen, and the length of dough in his fingers coming apart. “You ought to see Archie. He and I are going to make beautiful children.”

His mother made a hiss of disgust. “If that’s how you see it, maybe having a baby is exactly what you need. Bring you down a peg or two.”

Daniel leapt to his feet. “I’ll tell you when it’s been born,” he snarled. If she’d wanted him out, she’d achieved her aim. His child would hopefully have enough of Archie’s docility that he would never have to worry about this happening to him. “Have you told Father?”

“No.” She was back at the table twisting more pretzels, and he felt briefly guilty for leaving her with the work. “Thought I’d let you do that. In case you didn’t want him to know you’d got rid of it.”

Daniel let this steer him to the workshop. His father’s silent disappointment would actually hurt more than anything his mother had said. If getting pregnant was going to be the next Cambridge, delaying the news would not make him feel less gutted about causing pain to his father.

The exposure of cheap patent locks was Bruno da Silva’s stock in trade. There was no malice to it; he simply considered it a service to keep people safe. Seeing him fiddle with a new model, Daniel felt a sudden fierce affection that made his tidings weigh on him all the more.

“Afternoon, son.” His father took off his glasses. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Daniel felt suitably cowed. He’d skipped Friday night dinner for the attempt to collar Frossard; appearances at other times were vanishingly rare.

He let out a breath. “Dad,” he said.

His father’s eyebrows jerked upward. Daniel had addressed him as “Father” since the age of twelve, when he’d decided that one-syllable names for his parents would hold him back from getting out of Spitalfields.

Telling Archie and his mother had been so matter-of-fact; forcing the words out to his father seemed to take actual physical effort. His voice shook. “I’m going to have a baby.”

His father’s expression betrayed nothing. “You and your fellow? The officer?”

Daniel nodded, not bothering to correct Archie’s profession. He had made an effort not to reveal any information whatsoever to his family, but his temper had got the better of him last Passover, when his brother Max had congratulated him on undermining the British Army with his big blond soldier bloke. Daniel had nearly renounced pacifism in favor of launching himself over the table, but he’d instead dumped his glass of wine on Max’s head and not returned home for two months.

His father pushed the lock across the table. Daniel reached for a pick.

He worked in silence for a moment before his father asked, “Can I ask when you’re expecting the little one?”

“April.”

His father nodded. “Number ten for your mother and me, then. Hannah’s next is supposed to arrive in February, that’ll be number nine.”

Daniel tried to imagine the baby slotting into the whole horde, but it was too overwhelming a thought for the present.

His eyes grew heavy as he worked the lock. He would take the omnibus back to the boarding house, and then he would sleep. Thankfully, his father did not expect further conversation.

#

"You all right?" Archie asked, settling himself at his desk, across from Daniel’s. It was Monday morning at the office.

“Quite.” Daniel did not look up from the report he was writing. “The passenger and I have coexisted peacefully for the past twelve hours.” Archie supposed that meant he’d been sick before eight o’clock the night before.

“Tea?”

“It will have to wait.” Daniel laid his pen down and stood. There were bags under his eyes, but his manner was reassuringly normal. “Your uncle says we are to see him in his office as soon as you arrive.”

That boded poorly. It had to be about Friday. Their failure to catch Frossard seemed as though it had happened years ago, after all of the weekend’s activity.

It was a grim walk down the corridor to Sir Maurice’s office. Clearwater and Gudgeon were there when they entered. Clearwater was lounging in his chair with an affected casualness that might have annoyed Archie had he not realized that, like Daniel, it was all an act. Clearwater had been on the stage before being recruited; Gudgeon had been working odd jobs behind the scenes, and Clearwater had insisted on bringing Gudgeon with him as his guardian angel. Archie had asked Daniel if they were a couple—he seemed to see that sort of thing everywhere now that he knew how to spot it—but Daniel had dissolved into uncontrollable laughter. Evidently, they were not.

Sir Maurice sat behind his desk, looking thunderous. He didn’t say a word as Daniel and Archie entered. Daniel dropped gracefully into his seat, but Archie sat more slowly, not taking his eyes off his uncle. He knew that look. He had seen it enough as a boy, before being reprimanded for poor marks and other infractions.

The dizzying thought came suddenly into his mind: he and Daniel would soon have to decide how they would handle their own child when they were disappointed or angry. He didn't think he had it in him to be as formidable as Sir Maurice. Sir Henry had had high standards, but he'd always been understanding when Archie failed to meet them, whereas there was very little difference between being an agent under Sir Maurice and being a twelve-year-old nephew.

At length, Sir Maurice asked, “What happened on Friday?”

“We lost him,” Archie said immediately, hoping to stop Daniel from saying anything that would only make Sir Maurice more furious. “There were a lot of people. I wager that he spotted us—or guessed that the Bureau would send somebody.”

“Were there?” asked Sir Maurice mockingly. “Rather a lot of people at the theater. Ought I have arranged for Frossard to go to a less-populated place? Perhaps an empty field where he could await capture?”

“No, sir.” Archie felt hot shame burning on the back of his neck, as though he had just been caught tracking mud into the house.

“Then why weren’t you able to follow him?”

Archie’s heart sank. He wasn’t going to give Daniel up…

“Because I fell asleep,” Daniel said. Archie almost swore at him. Why did he have to be so damned pigheaded? “I fell asleep and Curtis was occupied in rousing me. I suppose I did have rather a late night the night before. Very little rest.” The look he gave Sir Maurice was full of enough suggestiveness to make Archie wince.

“I wasn’t aware that we were encroaching on your personal time,” Sir Maurice said coldly.

“Only occasionally.” Daniel smiled and lowered his eyelashes.

Sir Maurice made a disgusted noise. “Well, that’s why Clearwater and Gudgeon are here. You can report off to them, and I’ll see to it that you’re given less taxing work in the future.”

Daniel’s jaw was tight as he outlined the case to its new leads.

When Daniel was done, Vaizey dismissed Clearwater and Gudgeon, sending them to find and interview some of Frossard’s associates.

“And as for the two of you,” he said, fixing his gaze on Archie and Daniel, “I will give you something far less strenuous. Look through Frossard’s file. See if anything new presents itself.”

Daniel’s face was remarkably wooden. Archie wondered if perhaps he’d become nauseous again.

Daniel didn’t speak until they were back at their desks. He placed the thick file in front of him and stared at it, arms crossed over his chest.

Daniel hadn’t behaved any differently to how he normally interacted with chaps at the office he didn’t like, Sir Maurice among them, but it had a different quality when one noticed his ill appearance. He wondered if any of them had. Daniel was alarmingly blasé about his treatment; it had been four years and Archie hadn’t forgotten Sir Maurice calling him a coward. Remembering it still made his blood boil, but he had come to realize that such anger was unproductive, especially when Daniel didn’t want his honor defended or anything that would potentially compromise Archie’s reputation.

“Are you all right?” Archie asked tentatively.

“Do I look all right?”

“Not really, no. But I figured you wouldn’t like it if I assumed, either.”

Daniel narrowed his eyes at him, but after a beat, his face relaxed. “I suppose I have earned that.”

“You know I would’ve had your back if we’d just said we’d lost him. You didn’t have to tell him you fell asleep.” Archie’s mind was now running away with worry. How on earth were they supposed to explain Daniel’s pregnancy when it became apparent? Or the baby when it was born?

Daniel smiled, which softened what he said next: “The thought is appreciated, my dear, but you lie so dreadfully I could not make you do it.” Daniel put his glasses on and flipped the file open.

“Perhaps this is a blessing in disguise. Less stressful work in your condition.”

He had stepped in it. Daniel’s head jerked up, dark eyes blazing. “Archie Curtis, if you ever use that word again—”

“Good God, I didn’t mean it like that. Only just that if you feel like death, do you really want to be poking around the docks and warehouses?”

Daniel’s lips were pressed tightly together; Archie couldn’t shake the thought that his color was wrong. He had said he didn’t feel ill, but he didn’t look well. “Perhaps not.” He looked down once more at the file. “I’ll have that cup of tea now.”

#

Daniel took the file home, as no one could prevent him from doing so. The less time spent in the office the better; it was quieter at the boarding house, and it gave him the privacy to be as sick as the passenger saw fit to make him.

Over the next few weeks, he came only intermittently to the office. He did nothing that could get him accused of withholding information from Clearwater and Gudgeon, and by the end of the first week of September, he had a near-complete copy of the file in his room. At least his nausea was beginning to subside. His appetite was starting to return and, to his dismay, his waistbands had become uncomfortably snug. Something would have to be done about that. He dug through his wardrobe until he found a pair of trousers that weren’t so typically tight. They should do until he had time to consult Uncle Ivor.

…which would spread the news to the rest of his family, if he hadn’t taken care of it by then. Daniel hadn’t shown his face in Spitalfields since he’d told his parents about his pregnancy. Vanishing was nothing new for him, of course; appearing to come and go as he pleased was how he had landed on deflecting attention from the Private Bureau’s idiosyncratic scheduling of his overseas trips. But the high holy days were coming up, which he did make a point of spending with the family if he was in London, and he wanted any announcements about the passenger to come from him, not some horrified cousin thrice removed.

And so he found himself knocking on his parents’ door the following Friday evening.

“Uncle Daniel!” As usual, various nieces and nephews rushed out to welcome him. He greeted them with headpats and friendly questions, trying to ignore the images aggressively flooding his head of the passenger as part of the pack.

“Danny!” His father was grinning the sort of satisfied patriarchal grin that he always wore on Shabbat. “Oi! Let him at least get in the house, you lot.”

The children backed off, but with a collective lack of chagrin. Daniel pictured himself setting down his son or daughter at this moment, if they were mobile, and letting them take the rest of the mobbing.

“It’s quite all right, Father.” Daniel tousled Felix’s hair.

“Are you feeling better, Uncle Daniel?” Ralph asked, with disquieting solemnity.

“Worlds.” The other children, oblivious to the seriousness of the question, resumed crowding around Daniel. He couldn’t help but see his father’s look of concern, though.

He smiled tightly. He would have to time his announcement correctly in hopes of minimal yelling and violence. He didn’t expect backlash from his brother Fabian, who was like their father in temperament, but Max unquestionably took after their mother’s side of the family (as did Daniel), with a history of throwing punches on behalf of fellow anarchists.

He enjoyed a few moments of final procrastination through the blessings and the start of the meal, and no one questioned his drinking water instead of wine. Then, when he judged there to be a lull in conversation, he set his fork down and announced, “I’m expecting.”

“Expecting what?” asked Ralph. “A package?”

“No, dummy, a baby.” His sister Lilian scrunched her face into a frown. “I think.”

“You can’t say I’m dumb if you don’t even know!”

Max jumped to his feet. “How could you let yourself get knocked up by that army dog?”

Daniel dumped his glass of water on Max. It wasn’t wine, but it was still satisfying, even though it became everyone else’s cue to start yelling. His mother was furious at him for drenching Max, and simultaneously furious with Max for his readiness to brawl.

Fabian seized Max by both arms. “At least don’t hit him ’til he’s had the baby.”

“So it is a baby, Daddy?” Ralph asked Fabian.

“But Uncle Max said it was a dog,” Felix argued. “I’d rather have a dog than another cousin.”

The family members at another corner of the table were giving Daniel disapproving looks or ignoring him entirely.

“Pass the salt please,” said Ellen’s husband.

“You don’t need any more salt!”

“I’ll put on salt when I want to!"

“Mamma, she pinched me!”

Max got an arm free, causing their little sister Hannah to surge forward.

“Don’t you lay a hand on him!” she cried. Daniel stepped in front of her; he might have cringed unbecomingly as Max raised a fist, but even he was not about to hide behind a pregnant woman to avoid Max’s wrath. Fabian’s grip remained firm, however, thwarting Max’s efforts to lunge towards Daniel.

“Danny, you should bring him for dinner,” his father said. “Let us meet the man if you’re having a child with him.”

Daniel wanted to quibble with with. There was no room for Archie at this table, for one thing. Hannah’s two daughters were sharing a chair, and Ellen’s husband was sitting on a stool.

“Bring him, Uncle Daniel,” cried Felix. “I want to see the doggie!”

“Everyone sit down!” shouted Mrs. da Silva. Her voice cut effectively through the chaos, and they all obeyed it; even Max dug into his soggy potatoes as though nothing had happened. “Are you satisfied, now that you’ve announced your next mistake to all and sundry?”

Hannah stood up, but one look from her mother brought her back down again.

“There,” Mrs. da Silva said to Daniel. “You’ve made your scene. I suppose you’ll want to have another by bringing your lump here? Sarah told me about him; he must be a slick seducer to have taken her in.”

Daniel would have laughed if it hadn’t been so infuriating. Hadn’t he just a moment ago not wanted to bring Archie home? He could feel the anger boiling up, at how they never would trust him again after Cambridge.

Or maybe he was just going to be sick.

He knew that fleeing the table would do nothing to endear him to his family. His mother’s idea of Archie was absurd, but not unexpected. Daniel knew of girls who’d got in similar trouble. Thank fuck he hadn’t got pregnant from his son of a duke.

Losing his battle of wills with the passenger, Daniel barely reached the alley in time. Afterwards, he sat on a bench, comparing his earlier visions of his child running with its cousins with his current desire to shield them from the ridicule and incredulity he himself had faced. He would not set the passenger up for a lifetime of that. It already had too many odds stacked against it.

He didn’t hear his mother approach; his first clue to her presence was her hand stroking his hair. “Still getting sick?”

“Not from the baby. This family is what’s making me sick.”

“Come inside,” she said. “I had the same problem as you, all seven times. You don’t have to see the rest of them, but have some ginger tea.”

“Don’t you think I deserve to suffer?”

She rolled her eyes. “Your decisions are going to catch up with you sooner or later. You’d better be comfortable even if you’re not contrite.” She paused. “And you might as well bring the lump. I’ve a piece of my mind to give him.”

#

When Daniel arrived at the office on Monday, Archie jumped up to get him his cup of tea.

“Milk?”

“Please.” Daniel thanked him with a slow, teasing smile that hinted at more.

“You’ve got new trousers.” Archie tried to keep his tone light and conversational, though it was unlikely that anyone was listening to him over the dull hum of work in the agents’ room.

“Yes.” Daniel glanced down as though he had forgotten about them. “My uncle threw them together for me because mine were getting a tad… tight. He said he would make me a more… concealing wardrobe if I liked.” He paused. “I suppose I would like.”

“I mean, well.” Archie’s fingers fumbled with his own teacup. “You’re going to, uh, need it eventually, I suppose. The, uh…”

“Passenger?”

“Yes.”

Daniel’s smile dimmed. “Not too noticeable?”

“No. It’s only that I, er, notice what you’re wearing.” Archie felt his neck grow hot.

The smile became fond. “I shall take that as reassurance.” Daniel sipped his tea silently. “I was asked to bring you to dinner sometime. Obviously you needn’t go…”

Archie’s mouth dropped open. He had given up all hope of meeting Daniel’s relatives. “I’d be delighted.”

Daniel gave him a withering look; clearly he’d wanted Archie to say no, but hard cheese. Archie was going to meet his child’s family, whether Daniel liked it or not.

Chapter Text

As the following Friday approached, Archie was so nervous that he couldn’t concentrate on anything else. It was just as well that Daniel didn’t seem to notice, so deeply had he thrown himself into his study of Frossard’s file. Everywhere Archie looked, both on their desks at the office and at Mrs. Barzyk’s, were papers covered in Daniel’s scrawl. Archie had been holding back from asking Daniel if he was all right after being taken off the case.

He’s keeping busy, Archie told himself. Good for him.

Daniel’s improved health meant that Archie had been worrying less about it, although he didn’t think he would truly feel relief until both Daniel and the baby were safely through the birth. At the moment, however, Archie’s primary concern was how Daniel’s family was going to receive him.

On the ’bus, Daniel gave Archie a briefing, sounding oddly as though they were about to go on a mission.

“They know nothing about our line of work,” Daniel said, “so you must follow my lead.”

Spitalfields ’08, Archie thought, suddenly knowing what to do. “What have you said your work is?”

Daniel smiled what Archie had come to think of as his poetical smile. “I obey the Muse in all things, and the Muse eschews any kind of work.”

“God, they must find you insufferable.”

Daniel’s lips curved up even more, into the genuine smile Archie loved because he knew it was trying to conceal laughter. “By design. The less depth I possess, the less curiosity I inspire.”

“I don’t know how anyone can think you haven’t got depth.”

Daniel’s finger played along the sleeve of Archie’s jacket—the most contact he would allow on the ’bus, even though they were alone on top. “Then tonight will be an educational and revelatory experience for you.”

“So you’ve told them just that you’re a poet?”

Daniel nodded. “And you’re as idle as I am.”

“I don’t much like that.” Archie hadn’t enjoyed being idle one bit when he’d been adrift after the war, and to think of Daniel’s family picturing him like that—dragging himself out of bed at nearly noon, puttering around his uncle’s house until it was time to go to sleep again—it rankled.

Although he then remembered the week after Helsinki, when Sir Maurice had ordered them to stay away from the office. They’d barely left Archie’s flat, and Daniel had shown a tendency to linger in bed that he’d found quite enjoyable. In the world of Daniel’s alibi, would their lives have been wholly like that week?

Nevertheless, Archie said, “I can’t just pretend to do nothing.”

Daniel smiled. “Oh, my dear, so straightforward.” His fingers curled gently around Archie’s right hand. “You may have your boxing club. Fill your imaginary days with philanthropic projects.”

Archie would have been far more comfortable talking about his actual work, but he supposed he could manage this. “So they think you mostly just write and edit?”

“Indeed. And whatever other wickedness it pains them to envision.”

Archie couldn’t really endorse the idea of lying to Daniel’s family—even a lie of omission— though he understood well enough the need for secrecy. “Not too much more wickedness,” he pointed out. “We’re having a baby.”

“Yes.” Daniel’s gaze went distant, and he dropped his hand. “Here’s our stop.”

Daniel’s family lived on a narrow street, teeming with children at play. Daniel deftly avoided a puddle Archie splashed right into as a herd of children darted across their path, heedless of his and Daniel’s presence.

“Do try to be less clumsy,” Daniel said with fond scorn.

“Got a penny? Anything for me?” A boy squeezed between them. “Who’s your friend, Danny?”

“Clear off, Benjy.” Daniel dug into his pocket and pressed a handful of boiled sweets into the boy’s hand. “Share with your sister.”

“Relative of yours?” Archie asked as Benjy scurried off.

“No. At least, not in a way I can figure out. Our families grew up together.” Daniel paused, mouth pressed tight. “His father’s in prison. His mother is my sister’s best friend. I want to keep him out of trouble.”

Archie smiled. Calling attention to Daniel’s goodness always made him prickly.

B. da Silva, Locksmith was the legend above the door of Daniel’s family’s home. The business was shut for the Sabbath, but Archie could see various tools of the trade through the window.

Daniel paused and took a deep breath. He reached for the knob of a smaller door beside the shop window, but before his fingers closed on it, it was flung open by a small boy with a mop of dark curly hair.

“Uncle Daniel!” He threw himself at Daniel’s legs. “Where’s the doggie?”

“Felix,” Daniel hissed. He pried his nephew off him and pushed him inside. Archie followed quickly down the narrow corridor.

“Danny!” A short, solid, gray-haired man who was nevertheless unmistakably Daniel’s father appeared. “That’ll be your fellow, then?”

Daniel was silent, seemingly frozen.

Archie extended his hand. “Archie Curtis. A pleasure to meet you, sir.” Mr. da Silva’s eyes lit up with delight. He shook Archie’s hand firmly, grinning all the while, even though he barely came up past Archie’s chest.

“The pleasure is all mine. I trust you’re taking good care of my son.”

Daniel opened his mouth to object, but Archie smiled. “I try to, sir. When he lets me.”

Bruno da Silva laughed. “I see you know our boy. Come and sit down. Dinner should be ready soon.”

As Archie made to follow, something seized him from behind. He tensed before he saw the small hands tugging at his jacket. “You’re Uncle Daniel’s friend?” asked Felix.

“Yes.”

“There’s no dog?” His face was crestfallen.

“I’m afraid not.” Archie bent down, aiding the boy as he climbed onto Archie’s shoulders.

“Daniel!” called a voice from the kitchen. “Come and help me.”

“Mother. I’ve just got here.” The rest of what Daniel said was inaudible as he disappeared through the door.

“Come on.” Daniel’s father clapped him on the shoulder. “Meet my other sons.”

There seemed to be two types of da Silva boys—short and stout, and tall and thin. In the sitting room, Archie was faced with an example of each. Daniel’s shorter brother was like their father in more ways than build; he was on his feet as soon as Archie entered, hand extended. “Fabian. Nice to meet you.”

Archie had no choice but to offer his right hand, as his left was occupied as a brace for his burden. Fabian didn’t even glance at Archie’s mangled hand as he shook it. “Felix,” he said, “leave Mr. Curtis alone.”

“It’s no trouble.” The next thing he knew, there were more little hands grabbing at him, as Daniel’s nieces introduced themselves.

“Girls,” said the third man, whom Archie took to be a brother-in-law, given his different appearance. This must be Daniel’s sister’s husband, he decided.

“I really don’t mind,” he said, although his knee was beginning to ache.

“He’s not a dog,” said one of the girls, echoing Felix’s tone of disappointment.

“Hazel!” said her father.

“I can be, I suppose.” Archie lowered himself carefully to all fours, making sure not to drop Felix. “How’s that?”

All the children squealed. “He’s a Newfoundland,” said one of the girls. “Like Peter Pan. Uncle Daniel took us to see Peter Pan,” she explained to Archie. Archie had no recollection of this; Daniel had never mentioned it. The image of Daniel going out to the theater with five children in tow was a charming one. Perhaps they’d take their own child to the theater; Archie was certain he would let his son or daughter ride on his shoulders…

“What’s happened to his paw?” asked one of the girls.

“Clara!”

“It’s all right.” Archie shuffled gamely across the carpet. “I had an accident.”

“Poor dog.” Clara pressed a kiss to the back of his head.

“Can he bark?” Felix asked.

Archie took a deep breath and gave them his best woof. Three pairs of arms wrapped around him in delight. At least some of Daniel’s family members were easy to win over.

#

Daniel entered the kitchen to find his mother at the stove, and Hannah trying to look as though she hadn’t been watching at the door.

“He’s handsome,” she said, by way of greeting.

“His always are,” said their mother. “But will he still want you when you’re as big as a house?”

Daniel had no intention of being as big as a house, though he realized it was beyond his control.

“No Ellen?” he asked. Ellen was always present at Shabbat dinner, having appointed herself eldest and most loyal daughter after two of their sisters had immigrated to Australia.

“No Ellen,” Hannah spat. She sat at the kitchen table and poured him a cup of tea. “She didn’t want to expose her precious princess to you. But you’re the one with airs.” She gave their mother a pointed look.

“You’re here and Ellen’s not,” Mrs. da Silva said simply. “How do you feel?”

“All right.” It was a gross understatement—none of this was all right, but he hadn’t been ill, which was surely what she meant. “I see Max is here.”

“Max is hungry,” Hannah said.

“Is Fabian hungry?” Their oldest brother had lost his wife less than a year before, and Daniel knew that he was still adjusting to managing three children on his own.

“Fabian’s not going to keep his children away from their family just because one of his brothers has poor judgment.”

“Are you saying that’s what Ellen’s done?” Daniel sipped his tea slowly. He was anxious about how Archie was getting on without him, but he didn’t much fancy making conversation with Max, Fabian, and their father. Besides, if his mother was going to berate him, it would be better to get through it in private.

His mother didn’t answer, and he could tell by the way Hannah was looking at her that there had been some amount of shouting before his arrival.

His mother took her apron off. “I suppose we should go and meet the lump.”

Hannah linked arms with him. “Yes, let me go and grill him like you grilled Reuben.”

Daniel didn’t think that what he had done to Reuben could be called “grilling”—he had been fresh from Heidelberg and trying to get The Fish-pond published when he’d first attempted to make conversation with Reuben. Surely the honest woodworker hadn’t had anything to fear from his intended’s effete brother?

“Don’t abuse him too terribly.” Daniel gave Hannah’s arm a squeeze. “He’s got posh sensibilities.” Best not to mention that he was heir to a baronetcy, never mind the possible future role of Daniel’s passenger as threatening bastard half-sibling.

They entered the sitting room to find Archie on all fours. Felix was straddling his shoulders, while Clara and Hazel clung to his back. Ralph and Lillian watched demurely from the sidelines, obviously too old to climb on Uncle Daniel’s friend, though Daniel could perceive desire in their eyes.

At the moment Daniel’s mother crossed the threshold behind them, Archie let out a tremendous bow-wow. The children squealed.

Daniel became aware that his jaw was hanging open only when Hannah pushed it shut. She was smiling.

“I don’t know very many sons of dukes who would do that,” she said.

“Hrmph.” Their mother was watching with a skeptical scowl.

“Oh, hullo,” Archie looked up. “Sorry about this.”

“Come on.” Reuben lifted Clara off. “Get down, you two,” he said to Felix and Hazel. “Let Mr. Curtis up.”

Archie was beaming, albeit a tad disheveled as he rose. Daniel was somewhat satisfied to see his mother blink at Archie’s full height; he allowed himself a smirk. Beautiful, tall children, he felt like saying.

“Ma’am.” Archie was standing at attention, his posture unmistakably military.

Daniel supposed he would have to perform an introduction. “Mother, this is Archie Curtis. My friend.” He emphasized the word friend, unsure of how much the children were supposed to know. Fabian had brought his brood, but he had few other options... “Archie, this is my mother, Mrs. Bruno da Silva.”

His mother’s hand was caught up suddenly by Archie; a look of alarm crossed her face as he bowed over it. Daniel thought it best to move on without comment.

“And my sister Mrs. Reuben Abrams—Hannah.” Hannah was prepared when Archie bowed over her hand, though she seemed to suppress a giggle.

“A pleasure,” Archie said genially.

“Uncle Daniel, your friend is good at playing,” Felix said.

Daniel nearly sputtered. “Is he?”

“He made a good doggie,” Hazel informed him sincerely.

Daniel caught Archie’s gaze. He was blushing furiously. Daniel knew better than to tease him in front of his family, but it was difficult to resist.

That was when Daniel fully registered Max’s presence.

“Hullo,” Archie said brightly. “Archie Curtis. Don’t think we were introduced.”

Max glowered at him, then stepped through to the dining room without taking Archie’s proffered hand.

Daniel curled his arm around Archie’s bicep. “He fancies himself an anarchist, my dear,” he said quietly. “You are undoubtedly regarded as the enemy.”

“Oh.” Archie’s face fell.

“Don’t listen to him,” Hannah said. “He’s a right ass.”

“Come on,” his mother said briskly. “Dinner’s ready.”

Archie hovered close to him like a large, anxious shadow as they took their seats. The children seemed to have forgotten Archie entirely in favor of jostling for the seats now available at the table. Daniel tried not to let the absences bother him. It was nice to know which siblings he could rely on—Hannah was a given, and while it was still possible that Fabian was there for the sake of his children, Daniel had not forgotten the days when his oldest brother had protected him from bullies.

And there was Archie, of course, no matter how much Daniel’s mother mistrusted him: she watched him suspiciously, as though expecting him to act boorishly. His father, for his part, was beaming. At least he didn’t have to fear rejection from that quarter. Bruno da Silva was quietly pleased with most things, which made his infrequent rejections sting all the more.

Daniel relaxed somewhat when the conversation drifted away from the topic of Archie. Ralph wanted to tell everyone about the book he was reading (and no one tried to shut him up—a welcome change from when Daniel had done the same thing at the same age), and Hannah and his mother had a back-and-forth about recipes.

But, eventually, Bruno da Silva said, "And what do you do, Mr. Curtis?" Daniel's father asked the question in all innocence. Daniel mentally grimaced at how his father assumed that Archie had a useful occupation.

He does have a useful occupation, the less-spiteful part of his brain reminded him. You’re the one preventing him from mentioning it.

Archie launched into a halting explanation of Merton’s boxing club, which he had been helping with nearly as long as he’d been employed by the Private Bureau. Daniel knew that Archie missed being able to box as he once had, but he was rather glad about never having to attend boxing matches, no matter how alluring the prospect of Archie shirtless and sweaty would have been.

“And you?” his mother said to him. “Published any poems lately?”

“One cannot rush the Muse.” He gave her a smile that was sure to infuriate her. “I am gestating. All my creative energies are put toward the making of the greatest work of art possible.”

Max muttered something.

“What was that, dear brother?” Daniel sipped his water.

“I said, it must be tiring to be kept in such luxury while you’re incubating the little bastard.”

“Max,” their father said sharply.

“What part of it isn’t true?” Max unconcernedly resumed eating. Daniel’s fingers tightened around the stem of his water glass. He knew Max was trying to provoke him into anger in front of Archie. Perhaps Max thought Daniel maintained his refined persona around Archie at all times. More fool him.

“I think we all know Daniel keeps himself.” Daniel had to suppress the urge to turn sharply to his right; he hadn’t expected Archie to speak without being spoken directly to. So far he’d done nothing except answer direct questions. His tone was light, but Daniel could see protective intent blazing in the blue eyes. It was a very familiar look; he was used to it being a prelude to mayhem in the field. “I don’t think I could begin to keep him, even if I wanted to.”

There was a beat of silence; then Daniel’s father began to laugh. “That he does, Mr. Curtis. Our Danny keeps himself.”

Archie was flushed with pride; had he really wanted Daniel’s father’s approval so much? He didn’t seem to notice that Daniel’s mother’s look still contained daggers.

“I’ve got an interesting project at work,” Fabian said, diplomatically patching the holes in the conversation, just as he’d always done. “Electrifying one of those posh houses near Hyde Park.”

A posh house near Hyde Park was where Archie had grown up, but thankfully he didn’t mention this. Daniel felt relief radiating through him as Fabian and Archie talked about only circuitry and wires for a good ten minutes.

Max remained silent for the rest of the meal.

As they took their leave, Archie shook Daniel’s father’s hand once more. The sight lodged in Daniel’s chest a satisfied feeling he didn’t know what to make of. None of his previous lovers had gotten this far—not even men of his own class. (He spared a regretful thought for poor Jackie Kelly, run out of the house at broompoint by Daniel’s mother. His love life had gone downhill from there.)

“I love him,” Hannah murmured, leaning in to kiss Daniel’s cheek. “He’s going to be a wonderful father. I’ll work on Mum.”

Daniel didn’t respond; he didn’t like the implications there. Hannah was about as subtle as an anvil, which perhaps explained why she so liked Archie.

#

Daniel and Archie walked down the street in silence. Archie was not going to be the first to speak and ruin the companionable moment. He desperately wished he could take Daniel’s arm—to do something to cement their closeness. He tried to imagine doing this every week, with their child, watching it play with its cousins. Cousins, uncles, aunts, grandparents—all things Archie couldn’t give it.

Daniel was sitting close—an encouraging sign. It had only been in the past few weeks that Daniel’s libido had returned—that he hadn’t been so desperately ill that he wanted only to be left alone. Archie shifted his arm just enough so they were solidly touching. That would be enough for the ’bus.

Once they were back in Archie’s flat, he risked saying something anyway. “That went well. It was nice to meet them.”

“Yes,” Daniel said, allowing Archie to help him out of his coat. “Almost well enough to tell your uncle-sirs.”

In an instant the good, close feeling dissipated. “What do you mean?” Was that a dig at how he addressed his uncles?

“I mean, my dear—” Daniel pivoted to face him. “—is my child going to be made to address your uncles as Sir Whoever?”

“Yes,” Archie answered confidently. “Of course.” He stopped. Somehow, he had not considered the steps that would have to fall between now and having a speaking child address his uncles as Sir. Daniel stepped back, eyes glittering.

“Of course, but your face says you’re hoping it will never come to that and you can simply lavish attention on me without telling your uncles that I’ve borne you a child?”

“No!” Archie’s response was immediate. “I know I’ve got to tell them, but—”

“They’ll be displeased. Whereas telling my family and parading you around to them was all right because they were already displeased with me.”

“Oh, come off it,” Archie snarled. “They weren’t displeased.”

“You didn’t have to live through that part. You’re too afraid of your uncle for that.”

His uncles did loom large in his mind. Sir Maurice would surely be furious that he’d been sleeping with Daniel. And he didn’t want to disappoint Sir Henry… His stomach tightened at the prospect. “I’m not—” he began.

“You can simply hide me away until I’ve been delivered of a very large child, and people will whisper about whom you keep visiting in Bloomsbury.”

“Good God, I’m not going to hide you away!” Archie hated how his voice cracked, but he hated even more the idea that he would tuck Daniel and their child away as though they were something shameful.

“Is that not how it already is?” Daniel’s tone was barbed; he stood away from Archie, arms crossed over his chest.

“Because that’s what you wanted!” Archie hadn’t meant to blow up at him, but damn it, he was tired of Daniel deciding things for him. “I’m capable of making my own decisions.”

“Not sensible ones.”

“And every decision you make is perfectly sensible.” It was a low blow, and he could see the flicker of pain in Daniel’s eyes before he snatched his coat back from Archie.

“You cannot have it both ways, Archie. You can’t dance attention on me and the passenger while keeping your uncles in the dark. Sooner or later, they are going to notice, and I refuse to let my child be party to you being forced to give us up.”

The bitter speech froze Archie in place. Daniel was out the door before he could move.

Archie stood helplessly as he heard Daniel stride away. Why did Daniel have to be like this? Just for a moment, Archie wished for a more amenable lover who would snuggle in bed and discuss nothing more beyond what the baby should be named and how they would decorate the nursery Archie was planning to turn his unused study into.

Of course he didn’t wish for that. He wanted Daniel the way he was, though they would have to decorate a nursery and name the child. Eventually.

And he would have to tell his uncles. He groaned inwardly. They would be disappointed. The pressure to marry hadn’t eased in the years he’d been with Daniel, though he’d gotten better at ignoring it. Now he would have to tell them—firmly—that he was never going to marry. And he’d never been firm with his uncles. He could imagine what would happen if he wasn’t careful: he would walk in there to tell Sir Maurice that Daniel was having his baby and walk out with an invitation to meet a young lady.

But he would stand firm. He had the means to support himself and Daniel, so he needn’t fear even the absolute worst-case scenario. How was he going to make Daniel understand this?

#

It would have been better if he didn’t have to see Archie until Monday, but Daniel hadn’t compiled a list of Frossard’s most-frequented locations for nothing. They were going to the Pausanias Club on Saturday night.

As he dressed, he tried not to let himself dwell on the possibility that Archie might not come. He’d asked Uncle Ivor for a suit of evening clothes first, and it had been delivered. His uncle, a true magician, had shown him how to adjust the waistcoat when he needed it to expand with him, as well as the concealed drawstring on the trousers.

“You,” he said to the passenger, as he fitted his collar studs, “had better be an obedient child, because you have caused me no end of trouble so far.”

There was, of course, no response.

Archie met Daniel on Charing Cross Road, and they walked the rest of the way together.

“You look…” Archie seemed unable to find the right words. “Amazing.”

“Hardly.” His clothes fit, but it was a looser fit than he was accustomed to. He was self-conscious about it, even though his uncle’s skills rendered the drawstring invisible to onlookers.

“You do,” Archie insisted, and that was it. No mention of how they had parted the night before. “Have you got the file?”

“No. We’re only here informally. I left it at the office.” Clearwater and Gudgeon were nominally—officially—the leads on the case. Daniel and Archie had been demoted to uninterested parties. But in Daniel’s mind they were allowed to have a meal in the Pausanias Club’s dining room. Daniel’s friend was a member and had gotten them an invitation. And if Frossard typically wined and dined clients here on Saturday evenings, then it would be pure coincidence if Daniel should catch a glimpse of him.

The Pausanias Club was decorated with ephemera from all around the globe, as well as a veritable atlas of maps.

“My uncle belongs here,” Archie remarked. “H-Henry.”

Daniel rolled his eyes, but didn’t comment on the correction. “I should hope he’s not in. We want to maintain a low profile.”

“Oh, he’s in Egypt,” Archie said eagerly. “No worries there.”

Daniel had been prepared to bribe the waiter for his choice of table, but all it took was a mere request for them to be seated along the wall, under two palm plants. They were relatively shaded from view, but the entire dining room was visible to Daniel. He was most interested in places where someone hoping to conceal himself might request to sit.

They didn’t talk about Friday, or the baby. Pat and Fen had invited them to stay in a few weeks. Yes, the proposed dates were suitable.

Daniel was about to mention being invited to the Wainwrights’ party when a man crossed the room, drawing his attention. Frossard. He leaned forward; Archie followed his gaze and seemed to realize what he’d seen without turning around.

Frossard wasn’t being taken to an empty table, Daniel realized. There was a man already there. Daniel watched as he stood to greet Frossard. He could only get the barest view of the side of his face. It was familiar—certainly a face he’d seen before. The theater? It didn’t strike Daniel that this was a man he’d ever spoken to, only seen from afar…

“Archie, look. Who is that?” Archie turned slowly, as though admiring the painting on the opposite wall.

“He’s from the Foreign Office. Lord Gorsey. Undersecretary,” Archie said in a low tone. A chill shot through Daniel.

“Bloody fuck.” This was bad. It was undoubtedly the worst thing he’d ever uncovered himself. “What are we supposed to do about that?”

“Wait?” suggested Archie. Daniel couldn't argue with that. With all he already had against him, the idea of confronting a high-ranking government official was enough to make him feel faint.

Daniel was considering asking to use the telephone in the lobby to contact Vaizey when the waiter approached them.

“Sirs? I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Excuse me?” said Archie. He was clearly not accustomed to being asked to leave public places.

“I apologize, sir, but you aren’t on our list for the evening.”

“I had an invitation,” Daniel said coolly. “We arrived less than an hour ago.”

“I’m sorry, sir. You don’t want to cause a scene.”

Daniel’s jaw tightened. A scene was exactly what he wanted to cause. But he knew he couldn’t draw attention to their presence if it had gone unnoticed by Frossard and Lord Gorsey. He laid his napkin aside primly.

“We shall be off. Come along, Curtis.”

And Daniel strode out of the club with as much dignity as he could manage in drawstring trousers, while trying to catch a glimpse of the Foreign Minister’s face.

#

“Are you positive?”

Sir Maurice Vaizey did not take kindly to being called into the office in the evening. Archie remembered how he’d always been by the fire with his whisky and a book when Archie had been bathed and sent down to say good-night to him.

“I think so,” Archie said.

Sir Maurice looked at him over his steepled fingers. “Did you get a look at his face full-on?”

“No, sir. From the side.”

“And only for a few moments before you were asked to leave the club?”

“Yes, sir.”

Sir Maurice’s gaze fixed on Daniel. “And you had an inappropriate invitation.”

“I had an entirely appropriate invitation,” Daniel said lightly. “No doubt we were recognized. I wouldn’t put it past Frossard to have the influence to have us kicked out.”

The bushy gray eyebrows lowered in a scowl. “And what, may I ask, put you in such a position? You weren’t authorized to be tracking Frossard at that club.”

“Can I not dine with a friend of an evening?”

Sir Maurice gave an indelicate snort. “I don’t think the two of you socialize much.”

Archie kept his mouth shut. Was now the time to explain that they did much more than socializing? “Actually–”

“I must hand it to you, sir. You’ve seen through me.” Daniel’s eyelashes lowered. “I did hope to collar Frossard myself.” Despite his act, his smile was shaky. “And I couldn’t convince Archie not to come along with me. To his credit, your nephew doesn’t allow me to put myself in danger.”

Sir Maurice’s nostrils flared. Yes, he was truly angry. Archie had always been consciously well-behaved as a child specifically in order to avoid this; he’d crouched at the top of the stairs enough times while Sir Maurice upbraided agents, watching through the bars of the banister.

“Get out,” Sir Maurice said finally. “Consider yourselves lucky I’m not sacking you tonight.” What was unsaid was that if he was still this angry in the morning, they would be gone.

Archie braced himself for Daniel to say something unwise. He wondered if he could usher him out of there without looking overly solicitous, but Daniel stood abruptly.

“Thank you, sir,” he said crisply. “So sorry to have called you out of bed.”

Sir Maurice turned his scowl fully on Daniel. “It’s barely eleven o’clock, da Silva. I wasn’t in bed.”

“My apologies. I’ll just add my observations to the file.”

Archie had to hurry to keep up with him as he strode out of the office. He didn’t spare a glance back for his uncle.

In the file room, Daniel meticulously placed his cross-referenced notes in Frossard’s file.

“What are you doing?” Archie asked, with the full expectation of getting a waspish reply.

Daniel’s shoulders were taut. “Giving them what I have so that the work can continue even if I’m gone.”

“He’ll probably get over it,” Archie suggested. “He just hates to be interrupted.”

Daniel didn’t respond. The file in the drawer was twice as thick with the addition of the material Daniel had compiled. “Let it never be said I obstructed the course of justice. I put England first.” He shoved the drawer shut and turned to go.

Clearly he hadn’t been expecting Archie to be so close or for Archie’s arms to lock around him.

“I’m certainly not saying that,” Archie said against Daniel’s hair.

“Let go of me,” hissed Daniel. “Your uncle could walk in any second.”

“He’s gone home to his whisky.” Archie’s hands moved up Daniel’s back—he would never get tired of Daniel’s body in evening dress. “You being thorough is incredibly arousing.”

Daniel groaned into Archie’s mouth. Archie was tempted to shove him up against a file cabinet and suck him off, but decided not to tempt fate: the risk of knocking something over in this room was too high.

Instead, he spun Daniel around so he was flush against Archie’s chest.

“God—” Daniel began.

“Shh,” Archie breathed against his neck. “Just let me…” His hands crept lower, pausing at Daniel’s waistband. “This is new.”

“Indeed.” Daniel’s lips brushed against Archie’s collarbone. “To accommodate the passenger. Uncle Ivor’s a genius.”

“I’ll say. Easier access.” Archie undid the knot and worked his left hand inside. Daniel was already half hard, and Archie stroked his length as it responded to his fingertips.

He moved his hand slowly, relishing how quickly Daniel was reduced to incoherence. He was not quite ready to disrobe Daniel further; part of him still didn’t know what had possessed him to do even this much.

Daniel’s eyes were closed, and Archie drank in the sight of him so disposed—his eyelashes lowered, his breath hitching with each stroke.

“Fuck,” Daniel managed, after a string of unintelligible sounds.

“That might be a bit much in here,” Archie told him.

Daniel looked caught between laughing and swearing at him. “Fuck off, Curtis.”

There were a few things Archie hadn’t counted on dealing with—such as what to do now that he'd made Daniel come in his trousers—but the way Daniel was leaning bonelessly against him more than made up for it.

“Shall we tell my uncles now?” Archie asked.

Daniel gave an exhausted laugh. “Yes, right after you’ve tossed me off in the file room.”

“They have to find out sometime.” Archie extracted his handkerchief to clean his hand.

“Yes, and perhaps now is not the best time.” Daniel retied his trousers with as much dignity as he could muster, which was more than Archie would have thought possible. “Part of me is curious to see if Sir Maurice is such a Victorian as not to question whether or not I am pregnant when I am as big as a house.”

Archie wasn’t sure if that was such a good idea either, but at least they seemed to have made up. He extended his arm and Daniel took it. “Sorry for the mess.”

Daniel squeezed his arm and guided them toward the file room door. “My dear, please do not apologize for that.”

The specter of having to tell people other than Daniel’s family still lingered in his mind, but Archie supposed he could put that worry aside for now. There were many others to occupy him well enough.

Chapter Text

Archie was jerked violently from sleep by the ringing of the telephone. Daniel groaned.

“Why did you get one of those things?” he muttered into Archie’s pillow.

“So my uncles can get in touch with me.” Archie lifted Daniel’s arm from around his middle and rolled out of bed. After fooling around in the file room the night before, they’d gone back to Archie’s flat for some proper fucking. Daniel was insatiable now that he wasn’t constantly ill or tired, and Archie found he was enjoying the second trimester as much as Daniel was.

Archie had learned that term from a calendar Daniel had prepared, placed neatly in the corner of his worktable in his room at Mrs. Barzyk’s. Each Monday until mid-April was filled with a sharp number denoting the week of pregnancy, as best estimated by Cousin Sarah.

Archie lifted the receiver. “Curtis speaking.”

“Don’t tell me you were still asleep,” said Sir Maurice. Archie knew he wasn’t visible on the telephone, but he hated being naked all the same.

“No, sir.” Archie was aware of Daniel in the periphery of his vision, wrapped in Archie’s dressing gown, slinking out of the bedroom.

“Well, get to the office as soon as you can. And go ‘round to da Silva’s and get him out of bed while you’re at it.”

“Yes, sir.” It was a struggle to prevent his voice from betraying him. He wouldn’t have to go fetch Daniel; Daniel was here, slipping his arm through Archie’s. How did his uncle, who had always seemed to psychically know when Archie was concealing something, not perceive that? “We’ll be right there.”

“I suppose we are to be sacked?” Daniel tightened the belt of Archie’s dressing gown around his waist, making Archie even more conscious of his own nakedness—and how arousing it was to see Daniel wearing his clothes.

“We’re to go see him.”

“So we are to be sacked in person.” Daniel’s tone was cold.

“That’s not certain.” Archie pushed past him into the bedroom and began to dress. Although, if they were, would it be so bad? He thought about the fiction Daniel maintained to his family—the story he’d now included Archie in. Archie would have more time to devote to the boxing club lads, and he could more than support Daniel and the baby on his inheritance. He imagined coming home to the flat to find Daniel at work on a poem, bending over the bassinet set up next to Daniel’s desk to greet its vaguely-imagined occupant…

Daniel gave him a withering look, but Archie could see the nervousness in his eyes as he reached for his discarded evening clothes. “I’ll need to go home to change,” he said.

“I don’t know why you don’t leave things here,” Archie said. “I leave things at your place.”

“And I cringe inside at every over-large shirt I encounter. But your uncle doesn’t come to my room.”

“We’re partners,” Archie said gruffly. “You always said that was how to explain it if you were caught in my flat.”

“Yes, and even if Clearwater goes to Gudgeon’s flat, I can’t imagine he disrobes there.”

“He could—he could have got shot and needed patching up. He could—”

Daniel raised an eyebrow. “My dear, your imagination is perhaps better suited to popular fiction than imagining the private lives of our colleagues.”

Archie flushed. “It’s happened to us.”

Daniel was lock-jawed as they climbed into the cab, and he had Archie wait in the cab while he went into Mrs. Barzyk’s to change. Archie refrained from piling on more assurances. Truth was, he was nervous, too. What if they did get sacked? Daniel probably underestimated Sir Maurice’s opinion of him, but that didn’t mean their chief had altered his personal opinion of Daniel in the past four years. It had been more recent than Archie cared to recall that Sir Maurice had called Daniel a coward to his face, and it had taken every calming tool in Archie’s arsenal not to strike his uncle, primarily because Daniel certainly wouldn’t have appreciated it. Just because Sir Maurice considered Daniel one of his best agents, despite his low opinion of him, didn’t mean he wouldn’t sack him given half a chance.

He was mentally preparing himself for the argument when they arrived at the Bureau. Daniel nearly outpaced Archie in trotting up the stairs. Haste meant Daniel was nervous.

The agents’ room was silent when they entered. Gudgeon glanced up at them, then quickly down at his own desktop. Cannon wore a baffled expression, as though Daniel had marched into the office and sat in his lap.

Daniel didn’t stop to pay heed to any of the gawkers. He did not break stride until he was inside Sir Maurice’s office. “Sir,” he said curtly.

Archie closed the door behind them. He had no interest in the entire world hearing their bollocking.

“Sit down.”

Archie sat, not taking his eye off his uncle, as though he were a wild animal. Daniel lowered himself into the other chair, affecting boredom. “May I ask, sir, why Curtis has got me out of bed at the crack of dawn?”

Sir Maurice grimaced. "Do you recall our discussion last night?”

“It does drift back to me.” Daniel appeared to be examining his fingernails, as though there could have been a cuticle out of place.

Sir Maurice made a nearly inaudible noise of frustration. “Can you explain this?” He indicated the pile of papers on his desk. Archie recognized Daniel’s looping hand. No one else on earth could have written that.

“I suppose I may have made a few additions to Frossard’s file before I left last night.” Daniel looked up at Sir Maurice through his eyelashes. “In the event I wouldn’t be returning in the morning, I didn’t want my work to have gone to waste.”

“What is this?” Sir Maurice picked up Daniel’s cross-referenced chart of Frossard’s known business dealings. “Were you keeping this for yourself?”

“I wanted to be sure,” Daniel said, with a fierceness absent from his manner until now. “I would not have been listened to were I not sure.”

For a moment, Sir Maurice appeared to have been rendered speechless. “You’re a damned fool, da Silva.”

“Evidently.”

Sir Maurice shoved Daniel’s chart back at him. “Get out there and explain your work to Clearwater and Gudgeon.”

A wave of relief broke over Archie. They hadn’t been sacked—and it didn’t seem like Daniel's pregnancy was yet an issue, either. Of course Sir Maurice wasn't paying half as much attention as Archie, and no one could currently see the slight swell of belly concealed by Daniel’s new wardrobe, but the changing of his lover’s body was still screamingly obvious to Archie, because Daniel would never have worn his trousers so loose if he didn’t have something to hide.

Also, Daniel kept touching his stomach. Archie wondered if he ought to point this out, but he also thought he might like seeing the gesture when Daniel was further along. There—Daniel had done it again as he walked from Sir Maurice’s office, hand bracing his belly as he sat down next to Clearwater to go over the file. Gudgeon and Archie moved instantly to push Daniel and Archie's desks closer, as was often the custom with agents working together as a set of four.

It was then that he noticed Daniel’s page of notes contained both F last seen Mount Street 8 Oct and ventilation—open door at night?—ask Mrs. B.

Daniel could not stay at the boarding house for much longer, Archie suddenly realized. Perhaps after their visit to King’s Norton—perhaps then he’d ask Daniel to come live with him… and then they’d tell his uncles.

Archie’s stomach swam with anxiety again. He was torn between jumping on top of his desk and announcing to the general assemblage that he was going to be a father, and the impulse to spirit Daniel away somewhere quiet and safe, like a cottage in the country.

“Curtis.” Daniel's silky voice cut through the fog of his mind. “Do be so good as to put my desk in the right place without spilling its contents.”

Archie completed the task and tried to ignore the guilt. You've got to tell your uncles.

I'll tell them when Daniel brings it up again, he told himself. He knew it was not addressing the problem, but he couldn’t figure out how best to bring it up now.

#

The next few weeks at the office were actually productive. Daniel worked well with Clearwater and Gudgeon; they, for one, didn’t treat him the same way as Cannon and the others often did. He had been unpaired or reluctantly paired before Archie, but he thought perhaps he might not have minded a partner if he’d been given equal intellectual input on a case.

It was after a few weeks of this that Daniel deemed it safe to tell Clearwater and Gudgeon about seeing Lord Gorsey talking to Frossard. There was no one else in the office, and it was almost completely dark outside by the time he’d finished.

Clearwater blinked at them after Daniel had finished his recitation. After a moment, he blew out a breath and scrubbed his hands in his hair. “You do bring the complications, da Silva.”

Daniel sat back in his chair. “Believe me, if I could have avoided seeing it I would have.”

Clearwater stood and stretched. “I say, let’s decamp to the King’s Neck. I need a drink to make this make sense.” He headed for the coat rack.

Gudgeon followed and Archie glanced at Daniel, who answered with a one-shouldered shrug. Trusting Clearwater and Gudgeon enough to tell them meant trusting them enough to follow them to a pub in Whitehall Court.

Daniel had never been inside the King’s Neck, despite the fact that it was a gathering place for men in their line of work. He certainly would not have been welcome at any gathering of men from the office, which meant he had often missed out on crucial discussions and distribution of information. Shortly after he’d begun working at the Private Bureau, Cannon had invited Archie, who had accepted, not even realizing Daniel wouldn’t be there. Archie had gone off with their fellow agents for a brief (and apparently unsatisfying) pint, and that was the closest Daniel had ever come to knowing what went on there.

But now, he had no choice but to get into his coat (a bit snug, he realized with no small amount of annoyance) and follow along as though he did it every day.

“You don’t drink?” Gudgeon asked. They’d settled around an isolated corner table with three pints and one ginger beer.

“No,” Daniel said coolly. “Can’t abide it.” Chances were they would finish this case before he had the baby, so they would never know that Daniel’s mouth was watering for a beer, or better yet, gin.

“Well.” Clearwater knocked back his drink. “Have you gone to V about this?”

“V,” Daniel said, taking a sip of ginger beer, “did not believe me.”

“Well.” Clearwater looked at Gudgeon. “I told you I had a feeling Frossard was skulking around here for some reason.”

“You saw this too?” Gudgeon asked Archie, who had been quiet through Daniel’s description of their prematurely interrupted night out.

“Yes. If da Silva says he saw him, he saw him.” Archie’s tone was just this side of dangerous; it said, if you don’t believe Daniel, you’re not worth talking to.

“I know, but.” Gudgeon glanced at Daniel, who smiled and lowered his eyelashes at him.

“I saw him too.” Daniel had to admire Archie’s discretion in not saying Lord Gorsey’s name in a pub crawling with Private Bureau agents and other denizens of Whitehall. He felt a rush of affection for him and made a mental note to thank him later that evening. It was an understatement to say his libido was back, and he was rather desperate to be fucked.

Clearwater stretched. “Well, I suppose we’ll have to keep an eye out for that, too.” He drained his glass. “Another round? Da Silva, another ginger beer? If it’s true, what you saw, we’ll need a lot of beer to deal with it.”

#

The weather took a turn for the cold as October wore on. Daniel did not again bring up the prospect of telling the uncles about the baby, and Archie didn’t press it.

A stack of books had appeared in Daniel’s room, which comforted Archie because that was Daniel’s solution to everything: get as many books as possible. Daniel had set himself to reading the obstetrics textbook first; Archie had tried to skim the section on male pregnancy, but upon reaching the heading Complications Arising In Childbirth, he had decided that if there was anything worth knowing in it, Daniel would tell him. Archie instead applied himself to The Care of Infants, where his knowledge was even more deficient.

Infants sounded incredibly complicated. There was a right way to feed and dress and bathe them, and Archie reckoned if they got it wrong, they’d have ruined the passenger for life.

They would need some sort of plan. Feeding every two hours! How would they manage that with work? Not to mention when the passenger moved on to solid food—Archie was overwhelmed by the options for that. And the clothing—Archie could certainly not “sew daintily,” so they would have to be bought ready-made. He wondered if Daniel, with his many siblings and nieces and nephews, had opinions on how many articles of linen were needed.

He glanced at Daniel, curled on the chaise longue, one hand in his hair as he stared at the diagram representing the passenger’s position inside him. Daniel must have a plan, he decided. Archie rarely anticipated problems before Daniel did.

#

It was cold in the office. Daniel’s fingertips were freezing; he could barely fill his pen.

“You,” he said under his breath, “had best be snug and warm in there, because you are robbing me of my internal heat.”

It was week seventeen, according to his makeshift calendar, and Daniel was presently engaged in ignoring the inevitable march of time until April. Despite the cold, he felt much better than he had earlier in his pregnancy. And, based on his mother and Hannah’s comments, he could expect to feel good just about until he was too big to move.

This week, there had been news that his sister and Sarah had received with excitement: the passenger was moving. Even though Daniel had been steadily getting larger, this was what made it seem real. Each little flutter inside him was a reminder that this was a concrete thing, a human life, a new British subject, a person who would make their debut with alarming imminence. There were months to go, of course, but Daniel had few illusions about the speed with which they would pass.

“Da Silva.” Daniel tensed and looked up. Cannon was never a herald of good news and pleasant times, and the fact that he looked positively joyful could only mean bad tidings for Daniel. “Vaizey wants to see you.”

Archie rose.

“No, just him.” Cannon was positively grinning. “You don’t have to be his knight in shining armor today, Curtis.”

Archie lowered himself back into his seat. He was silent, but his expression, like always, gave everything away—Daniel’s knight in shining armor was precisely what he wished to be.

Daniel tried to ignore any appearance of a connection between himself and Archie as he capped his pen. “We shall see what the chief wants.” He winced at the stab of pain that shot across his belly as he stood. Pillow between his legs tonight, he had to remember that. He fought the urge to put a hand on his belly. That would attract too much attention, despite the fact that the skin seemed to itch all the time. Hannah had failed to warn him about that. Well, it’s different with men, how am I to know? was her favorite excuse for things she didn’t tell him, but skin was skin.

He stopped short when he entered Vaizey’s office. The expression on his chief’s face was enough to chase all grousing about sororal omissions from his mind.

“Sit.” Vaizey’s voice was clipped. As Daniel did so, he surreptitiously tried to adjust his leg into a position where it wouldn’t constantly scream at him.

“Good morning, sir,” Daniel said, though by the dark look on the older man’s face, he could tell it was nothing of the sort.

And that was when Daniel noticed his medical file on Vaizey’s desk. His stomach dropped, and he couldn’t halt the protective hand that instantly went to shield the passenger.

“I think you know what’s written in there.” Vaizey’s hands did not move from his desk, where they were settled on the closed file, as though keeping Daniel from snatching it and fleeing the office.

Not that he would have got far with the pain shooting up his leg.

“MacMillan thought I might need to know some of what goes on with my agents. Usually, his watchword is privacy, but he told me sometimes an urgent need supersedes that oath.”

Daniel’s lip curled. Primum non nocere indeed. He could envision doing a great deal of harm to MacMillan.

“What do you have to say for yourself?”

Daniel managed a smile, but he could feel that it was brittle. “I’m not entirely sure what crime I’m being charged with. I’ve been to see Dr. MacMillan a number of times, but of course I’ve never reviewed my own file.”

Vaizey’s nostrils flared. At least Daniel would make him say the word.

“You’re pregnant, da Silva.”

It sounded almost shockingly vulgar coming from Vaizey’s mouth, despite the fact that Daniel preferred that word himself to anything more delicate, and he was hardly shocked by vulgarity. “Under the circumstances, it seems I can’t deny it.” It was a struggle to keep his voice even. He’d considered exposure as a possibility, though he’d hoped it would take longer for Vaizey to notice on his own. Now it remained to protect Archie at all costs, even if he could no longer protect himself.

“I thought you had more discretion than this,” Vaizey growled. “When I hired you, you assured me you’d never cause me any trouble.”

“I fail to see how this troubles you.” Daniel settled his hand on his belly. Best discomfort him so the sack came all the quicker. He didn’t want to suffer over this. “I’m not considering giving birth in your office, if that was your worry.”

“I can’t have one of my agents in a position to be compromised.”

“And, indeed, I’m as uncompromised as a man in my position is possible to be. I’m impossible to blackmail, because as I need not remind you, a man who is blackmailable doesn’t want anyone to know he’s queer.” Daniel smiled again, this time with more conviction. After all, this part was true, whether or not it involved Archie.

Vaizey looked unimpressed. “And I trust you were careful in selecting the bairn’s sire?”

Daniel fixed Vaizey with his oiliest smile. “As I don’t know who he is, I can’t be compromised that way either.” The passenger was twisting again. Quiet, Daniel thought. I’m only protecting your papa. You’ll be happy for that someday—that you have employed parents who aren’t in gaol or socially disgraced.

Vaizey’s gray eyebrows rose. “Don’t know?”

“I have a great many friends, my dear sir. I’m quite popular socially—again, I may remind you, you considered that an asset when you first employed me.”

Vaizey’s hands curled into fists on the desktop; the wary part of Daniel’s mind tensed. Gentlemen don’t hit pregnant people, he thought. Possibly.

“I expected better of you, da Silva,” he said at length.

“I regret to have disappointed you, sir.

There was a rumble of displeasure from across the desk. Daniel took that as a dismissal. “I suppose I’ll gather my things and—”

Vaizey let out a short, sharp bark of laughter. “Nothing of the sort. I’ll make good use of you until you pop the child out, you had best be sure of that.”

#

Daniel had been closeted with Sir Maurice for rather a long time, and it was making Archie nervous. He had already checked and double-checked all the reports of possible sightings of Frossard that Clearwater and Gudgeon had already been through, and he was growing all the more convinced that Frossard had gone to ground. He had then started on another stack of reports submitted by agents on the Continent, to see if there was any suspicious activity abroad that could be linked to Frossard. The words began to swim after a few moments—what on earth could they be talking about?

Archie glanced up to see Cannon watching him at the next cluster of desks.

“You’ll be rid of da Silva soon, I gather,” the inveterate ass said.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Archie knew better than to leap down his throat—Daniel would have despaired of him if he’d done that—but he trusted Cannon even less far than he could throw him. Archie entertained a brief fantasy of sending Cannon out into Whitehall Place—without the benefit of the lift. Yes, he thought he could throw Cannon rather farther than he trusted him.

“Heard he went and got himself knocked up. Vaizey must be in there giving him the sack. Good riddance, I say, I told you we should never have abided—”

All thoughts of defenestration evaporated from Archie’s head as he lurched to his feet, propelling himself toward Sir Maurice’s office without so much as a backward glance.

Bill Merton had to press against the door of the file room to get out of his way as he hastened down the narrow corridor from the agents’ room, and Archie didn’t even stop to apologize. He swung round the next corner at speed, nearly bowling Daniel over as he emerged from Sir Maurice’s sanctum.

“My dear Curtis,” he purred, seemingly unperturbed at nearly being hit with fifteen stone of oncoming Archie. “You must consider my condition before you go barreling into me.”

Archie blinked; Sir Maurice was standing behind Daniel, looking thunderous—at Archie. “Archie, what on earth are you doing? Don’t damage da Silva. He’s going to be working here until his confinement so you’ll have to be cognizant of his condition. He’s in the family way.”

Archie’s mouth dropped open.

“It can happen to his sort,” his uncle added. “Just treat him as you have done, but perhaps employ a bit fewer rough movements.”

“I know.” Archie’s voice cracked. “As it’s mine. My baby.”

Daniel’s eyes blazed with unalloyed fury. It had been a long time since Archie had found himself on the receiving end of one of those looks, and he nearly backed down. “Curtis,” he spat, “kindly remove yourself from my path.”

Archie stepped aside.

“I know you feel sorry for him, my boy.” His uncle’s hand landed on his shoulder. “But that’s no reason to claim paternity. From his own lips, he has no idea who the father is.”

“No idea?” said Archie hollowly.

“Indeed.” Daniel’s scowl relaxed into a knowing, secretive smile. “I apologize if I’ve shocked your sensibilities, Curtis, but I must confess my ignorance as to who is responsible for this little one. I have such a great many friends, and it was ever so long ago—”

For a moment, Archie felt the room tip from under him. If Daniel didn’t know… Then, almost as quickly, doubt was replaced by a dark cloud of anger. Of course Daniel knew. He’d just been saying that to Sir Maurice.

“But, I—” he began again.

“Archie,” Sir Maurice said sharply. “Your gallantry is unwarranted here. Da Silva’s in his own mess.”

“Indeed I am.” Daniel settled his hand on his belly. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to attend to the foreign reports. Frossard may be abroad.”

He turned and made his way down the corridor, looking very pleased with himself. Archie had to resist the urge to punch through the wall.

Chapter Text

Archie was glad when they reached the end of October because it meant going to the country. They visited Pat and Fen throughout the year, but they were always sure to go at this time of year; he knew memories of Peakholme still bothered Daniel when the weather turned—they certainly still bothered Archie—and it was good to be with the only other people who could truly understand what that meant.

“You’ve not seriously brought the file with you?” Archie asked. They had secured a compartment to themselves, and as soon as the train pulled out of Euston Station, Daniel was drawing papers from his bag.

“Yes, I have seriously brought the file with me,” Daniel said, with some irritation, but he shut the folder. “I want it with me in case I get inspired. It is rather certain Frossard has left the country, though.” He sounded personally betrayed. A moment later, he pulled Mother’s Readiness out of the bag and read a page or two before shoving it back in and withdrawing a volume of poetry. Archie opened The Care of Infants and his notebook. Throughout his years of schooling, Archie had never figured out note-taking, but for the passenger he was going to make the effort. He would be prepared with a handy, portable reference for when it came time to prepare a bottle or bathe the baby.

They read in companionable silence as the train steamed toward King’s Norton. Presently, a thought came to Archie, and seeing that Daniel’s gaze was directed out the window, rather than at his book, he said, “Do you want to tell Pat and Fen? About the passenger?”

Daniel sighed and took his glasses off. “I suppose we had better, lest we be accused of hiding things when my condition becomes unconcealable.”

“I don’t think they would—”

“Fen would be cross if we didn’t tell them. Not in the same way my sister would be cross, but it is going to be a real thing, part of our lives…” Daniel glanced at the door to their compartment, verifying that the corridor was free of prying eyes before giving his belly a rub. “I want them to be in the passenger’s life, so I want to tell them, and it seems unfair somehow to tell them only once the baby’s been born.”

Archie nodded. He could think of no one, aside from his uncles and Daniel’s family, that he wanted to be around the baby more. Godmothers was the word he had for it, though he wasn’t sure whether Daniel’s people did that sort of thing.

He was forced to consider now—for the first time, really—that the passenger wouldn’t always be a passenger and even not always a baby. It was easy enough to imagine an angelically sleeping infant being very portable; much less so to think of an older child. He had seen children traveling by train with their parents, and they would certainly bring the passenger to King’s Norton on every future trip once it was born.

Henry, sit down, he imagined saying, based on phrases he’d heard shouted on trains and in stations. Charlotte, come here. Maurice, don’t touch that. Or Daniel looking up from his book only to hiss, Gudrun, leave it.

A smile on his face, he resumed reading the section on clothing. These books talked an awful lot about mothers and very little of fathers, and Archie knew nothing about having either. A girl always requires a wrapper, in the pretty, soft materials used for her mother’s, the book claimed. What was that meant to be?

Fen would surely know about appropriate pretty, soft materials. He would ask her, if they had a girl.

#

Daniel had not realized how nervous he would be upon meeting Pat and Fen on the platform. He wanted to tell them about the passenger, but he wanted to tell them, not to have them see him and know immediately. He wanted some time to prepare them. And himself.

Thus, it was almost a blessing to be bundled into a car coat and brought out to the new purchase of which Pat was most proud.

“Don’t tell me you’re seriously going to operate that thing?” Daniel asked, looking askance at the open-topped touring car.

“You could stand to have some driving lessons,” Pat said gruffly. Archie handed Fen into the back seat but had the good sense not to offer the same assistance to Daniel.

“It’s really stupendous when she gets going,” Fen said, adjusting the veil she had tied around her hat. She handed Daniel a pair of goggles, which he put on with a grimace. It was not the right time to reveal his condition, though he was tempted to wonder aloud how safe it would be for him to ride at such speeds. It had not been addressed in Mother’s Readiness, but that book was ridiculous: its advice included avoiding the theater, and Daniel certainly wasn’t doing that.

Still, as the car indeed got going, he had difficulty deciding whether the hand not holding onto his hat ought to protect the passenger or hold on to the strap that had been helpfully affixed to the inside of the door.

It was a blessedly short trip from the village station to Fen’s home. Daniel was not nearly as fond of the country as Archie and Pat were, but he did appreciate the privacy. In Fen’s driveway, he accepted Archie’s hand in getting out of the car. They could be a little more relaxed, a little freer, around nonjudgmental friends and Fen’s trusted, curated staff.

He was relaxed enough to take Archie’s arm for the climb up the stairs to their unambiguously shared bedroom, with a smile on his face.

#

Daniel took a nap before dinner, which Archie thought would have been a dead giveaway as to his condition, but Pat and Fen seemed quite unsuspicious.

“I suppose he’s been working hard on a case?” Fen asked, and Archie had to admit that was true, even if Frossard wasn’t the only reason for Daniel’s exhaustion.

When Archie went upstairs to dress for dinner, he found Daniel in their room, doing his hair. Archie considered asking him to leave the oil out, but he recognized that Daniel needed his full armor tonight. Circumstances had forced Daniel to tell his family, and he had been made to confirm his pregnancy for Vaizey. (Archie had wring Macmillan’s neck on his to-do list, right above buy a pretty wrap.) Their dearest friends would find out on Daniel’s terms and Daniel’s terms alone.

Archie studied Daniel’s appearance. He suddenly seemed more obviously pregnant, and after a moment, Archie realized it was because he’d adjusted his clothes: they now fit as snugly as the outfits he’d worn before the passenger had begun its occupation.

“Fen would immediately ask what was wrong if she saw me wearing these loose,” Daniel said. “And since I am going to tell her I’m increasing…”

Archie thought he looked uncommonly beautiful. They descended the stairs arm in arm, and Daniel entered the drawing room as though he hadn’t just seen Pat and Fen that afternoon.

“Ladies!” he cried. “It’s been simply ages.”

“Four hours,” Pat said. “Sherry?” She handed Archie his glass and offered one to Daniel.

“I’m afraid I must decline,” Daniel said. “Pat? Fen? I believe I asked you a question—” He paused for dramatic effect. “—very nearly four years ago to the day. I’m afraid I require an answer now because I fear I’ve got myself, as they say, in trouble.” He smiled, surveying his audience. “I need someone to make an honest man of me, before my ruination becomes obvious.”

Pat looked blank. “You are truly an absurd—”

“Daniel!” Fen exclaimed, rising. “Oh, Daniel darling, you’re not.”

“Not what?” asked Pat, still holding Daniel’s unclaimed glass of sherry.

Fen crossed the room, examined Daniel at arm’s length, and pulled him into a hug. “Oh, you are. It’s wonderful. It is wonderful, isn’t it?” She glanced between Daniel and Archie. Archie took Daniel’s glass of sherry. Daniel often said he was sleeping or eating for two, so Archie supposed he’d be drinking for two.

“I think we’re on our way to wonderful,” he said, since one of them had to answer.

Daniel smiled; it was the most relaxed Archie had ever seen him when discussing his pregnancy. “Certainly a surprise,” he allowed, “but yes, I suppose it is wonderful. There is wonder in it. A magic thing, if you will, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.”

“You’re expecting,” Pat said, at last.

“Yes,” Daniel said, as Fen’s hand went to his belly. “The passenger disembarks in April.”

“Are you sure you’ve thought this through?” Pat still looked somewhat bewildered. Archie didn’t blame her.

“Darling, I’m sure they have,” Fen said, looking ready to coo at the passenger.

“We’ve been round and round quite a bit,” Archie assured her. “And come out on the side of being excited.” He glanced at Daniel for reassurance. Daniel looked radiant—Archie thought about telling him he was glowing, but thought better of it.

“Still challenges ahead,” Daniel agreed, “but the little one is dearly wanted.” He rubbed his belly fondly. It made Archie’s heart swell to hear him say it, and had Platt not come in to announce dinner, he might have danced Daniel round the room.

Instead, he took Pat’s arm, and Daniel Fen’s, and they went to the dining room. Conversation at dinner centered on plans for the visit, and Daniel outlined the Frossard case to the ladies. Through the rest of the evening, Archie felt palpably relieved that they’d got the telling over with. Perhaps it was a sign he should get on with telling his uncles.

#

“Well,” Fen said when Pat shut the bedroom door.

“Well what?”

“How is Archie really?”

After dinner, they had split into pairs, with Daniel accompanying Fen to the gallery, ostensibly to see a new painting—one much too modern to interest Archie or Pat, who had gone to the gun room instead.

“Excited,” said Pat, taking off her dressing gown. “His first order of business was how we’re going to convince Daniel to allow that child a gun.”

“Surely not for a few years.”

“And it may take that long, with Daniel,” Pat said grimly. “The only thing I’m worried about is that silly man breaking Archie’s heart.”

Fen smiled. “Silly he may be, but I give Archie more credit than that. I don’t think he would let Daniel go without a fight.”

Pat hmphed. “So long as they’re on the same page.”

Fen hummed thoughtfully. “That is a worry, I will say. To my mind, Archie’s vision is significantly more… domestic than I’d say Daniel’s is.”

“And what did he say to you, then?”

“With Daniel, it’s rather more what he didn’t say.” Fen thought back to Daniel in the gallery, chattering effusively not only about the new painting, but ones he’d seen a hundred times before. He’d redirected the conversation every time she’d tried to ask a question about the baby.

“I don’t think he’s thought this through.”

Fen smiled again, fondly. “Oh no, quite the opposite.” It always amused her how different Pat and Daniel were, as much as she loved them both. Daniel had clearly been overthinking the matter. He hadn’t told her much, but what he had said—about his mother, his sister, the cousin of his mother who was acting as his midwife—it all indicated that he’d already dwelled on every aspect of his situation. “I think he’s considered everything very carefully—probably too carefully.”

Pat looked skeptical, but she hadn’t heard Daniel extemporizing over baby clothes and the terrible advice in the book he was still nevertheless diligently reading.

“Either way,” Fen went on, “we need to show Archie and Daniel we love and support them both. And the same to that child when it’s born.”

“Indeed,” Pat agreed. “It’s going to need some stability.”

#

A tramp through the countryside with Pat was exactly what Archie needed to clear his mind. She didn’t expect him to talk, didn’t nag him about telling his uncles about the baby, and didn’t ask questions about what their living situation would be after the baby arrived.

When he got back; it was seven o’clock, but Daniel was in bed, reading Preparation for Motherhood.

Or rather, had been reading, because the moment Archie entered their bedroom he had to dodge it being hurled at his head.

“All right,” Archie said, “tell me how you really feel.”

“It’s not you.” Daniel’s fingers went into his hair. “I’m through with that book. Look at page eighty-seven.”

Archie obliged. “A mother to be should surround herself with only pleasant people and should concern herself only with pure and placid thoughts. Nourished thusly, the child is sure to be a little blessing.” He looked at Daniel. “Doesn’t seem a bad idea.”

“What?” Daniel snarled.

Archie sat on the edge of the bed. “You’re telling me you don’t want to be a ‘font of blessings’? That our innocent angel shouldn’t be brought up in a home that is the heart’s realm of peace and contemplation?”

“Quiet, Curtis.”

“Surely you don’t want the passenger to be ‘of ill temper’?” Archie traced Daniel’s jaw with one gloved finger.

“I want your cock.”

“Well, that is neither pure nor placid. I’m sure Mrs.—” Archie checked the front cover. “Mrs. Goodbody—good Lord, really—I’m sure Mrs. Goodbody wouldn’t approve.”

“I doubt she’d approve of me in any form. Look at the bottom of the page. I believe it says something about how expectant gentlemen should hew even closer to the plan of pure and placid thoughts. My child is evidently even more at risk of whatever they think will go wrong if I think too hard.”

“You could stand to relax.” Archie kissed him. “Give ‘pure and placid’ a try.”

Daniel hissed, even though it was obvious that Archie had no intention of being pure or placid. He kicked his boots off and climbed fully onto the bed, though he was careful to keep his full weight off Daniel.

“You’re holding back.”

“I’m just being careful.”

There was a thump as Preparation for Motherhood hit the floor again. “Do not worry about that,” Daniel spat. “If you’re going to treat me like I’m made of glass for twenty more weeks, you can get off now.”

“I’m not,” Archie said. Truthfully, though, he was afraid of hurting Daniel, and he was even more afraid that Daniel wouldn’t stop him in time. Daniel wouldn’t harm the baby willingly, but Archie thought that Daniel’s perception might be skewed.

Daniel sat up. “So fuck me. Your cock in my arse.” Archie must have hesitated too long because Daniel’s features darkened suddenly. “Or have you lost interest in me now that I’m a broodmare?”

“Oh come off it,” Archie snapped. “That’s ridiculous. You know I want you.” Since the return of Daniel’s libido, they’d had enough sex to make the accusation completely ludicrous..

Daniel fell back on his elbows, smiling wickedly. “I have had it from good authority that fucking won’t harm the baby.”.

“Who on earth did you ask? Who do you know who’s been through this?”

Daniel rolled his eyes. “Cousin Sarah reassured me about the fucking. And Burbage and Payne at our club have a newly married daughter. I endured many photographs and discussions of the hoped-for grandchildren before asking Payne how he managed some things. Oh, and the new waiter? James? He was quite comfortable coming to work at our club because of his parents. Naturally, he couldn’t tell me much, but it was reassuring to see the passenger had a chance at normality.”

“Ah,” said Archie. All this had escaped his notice, but he wasn’t the one walking about pregnant, and Daniel was often at the club when Archie had an engagement with an uncle or a friend from his own club.

“But you’re still concerned.” There was no longer a sharp edge to Daniel’s voice; he brought Archie’s hands to his belly. “It takes me back to—ah, 1904—when you thought your cock was so uniquely large it would never fit without you hurting me.”

Archie flushed. It seemed silly in retrospect, but he’d appreciated the exploration that first winter had afforded them. He’d learned so many ways to bring Daniel off, not to mention…

Daniel’s mind seemed to be going to the same place. He slid his fingers into Archie’s hair and pressed his mouth against Archie’s ear. “I could fuck you. I would like to, in fact, because it won’t be long before that position is rather difficult to achieve.”

Archie shivered. “Would you?”

“I would indeed.” Daniel nipped lightly at Archie’s earlobe. “Now, get these wet things off. You’ll catch your death of cold.”

Archie obliged, though he could have argued that his tweed suit was only slightly damp. It being autumn, the countryside was suffused by a permanent mist. Archie found it invigorating; Daniel kept invoking “his condition” as a reason to stay indoors.

His condition, however, Archie noted, didn’t stop him from fucking. Archie soon found himself braced against a pillow, arse in the air as Daniel’s deft fingers worked their way inside him. It was all Archie could do not to push against him, demanding more.

“Don’t think it’s only you who wants cock,” Archie muttered.

“Hush, my dear, I’m getting to it.” A kiss was pressed to the back of his neck. “You do enjoy this part, too, don’t you? Because I’ll be able to do this for as long as I like…”

Archie did like to feel Daniel’s fingers brushing the spot that made him all but lose his mind. He’d learned to like it in that long, cold, fraught winter, where they’d learned to be partners in more ways than one. By spring, he’d felt like a new man, with the knowledge of all the ways Daniel could make him come apart and the lengths Archie would go to to protect him.

When Archie cried out as Daniel thrust into him, Daniel murmured, “Shhh. We may not be in London, but we aren’t completely alone.”

Archie instinctively wanted to respond, We could be, but his thoughts were too scattered for him to say how.

When Archie was sated and sore, with Daniel in his arms, the words bubbled into his mind. His hand strayed down to Daniel’s belly. “Come live with me.”

Daniel went rigid against Archie’s chest. “I will understand if that was you speaking from your cock and your desire to have mine whenever you wish it, but you do have nearly that already.”

“No,” Archie said firmly, “I mean it. It makes the most sense. For when the baby comes.” And just because, he wanted to say. It always should have made the most sense.

“Yes,” said Daniel witheringly. “It makes sense for a pregnant fellow to be seen moving into your rooms and then having a baby there.”

“Well, I thought you might have the baby in the hospital—”

“Absolutely not. Hospitals ask too many questions. Cousin Sarah’s delivering the passenger. At home.”

“At whose home?”

Daniel sat up. His hair was mussed, and Archie had to fight the urge to smooth it down. “Someone’s,” he said icily. “Somewhere private.”

Archie might have argued that his home was good enough, but perhaps it wasn’t—he knew by now that privacy was Daniel’s lodestar, and any risk of public exposure was intolerable. But surely, there had to be a way…

Daniel rolled over onto his side and pulled the covers up. “Kindly remove yourself unless you’re going to take a nap.”

Archie kissed Daniel on the lips and then his belly. It was somewhat heartening that Daniel had retreated from further argument. Perhaps he knew his points weren’t good enough. “Be good for Father, Salome.”

“Salome da Silva? God, no.” But he was at least laughing, which Archie took as proof that he wasn’t truly angry. “It has its points, but it’s rather dramatic.” He closed his eyes and snuggled into his cocoon of blankets and pillows.

Archie got dressed and went downstairs, pleased to find Fen alone in the conservatory. She was arranging chrysanthemums in a vase.

“Those match your frock quite nicely,” he said. Fen’s deep purple dress was close in hue to the flowers.

She smiled radiantly at him. “I take it the baby wanted a pre-dinner nap.”

“Yes.” Archie paused. There was no one else about… He could confide in Fen, couldn’t he? “I’ve asked him to live with me.”

Fen’s eyes sparkled. “That’s marvelous.”

Archie sighed, eyes downcast. It was painful to admit, even to Fen. “He said no.”

“Oh, darling.” Fen set her scissors down and put her hand on his arm. “Are you all right?”

“He can’t stay where he is,” Archie said thickly, still not looking up. “I’m nearly certain his landlady doesn’t allow children. At least, there aren’t any living there at present.” He paused. “I don’t know what I can do to convince him it’s my baby, too.”

Fen enfolded him in her arms. “Give him time.”

“We’ve only got until April.” Archie’s voice shook in a manner that unnerved him; he was not going to start blubbering on Fen. “My flat isn’t large, but I could find a bigger one.”

“He’ll come around,” Fen said gently. “Keep at him. He’s a stubborn one, our Daniel, but I should say the same for you. That child is going to be a menace.”

Archie laughed, despite himself. It was a daunting prospect, but he did have until April.

Chapter Text

The fog of London in November felt even grimmer and more cramped after the open air of the country, but Daniel would never let on to Archie that he might have preferred to stay longer in King’s Norton, and not only for the sake of breathable air. Pat and Fen’s acceptance had meant even more to him than he’d anticipated: the break from being judged had come at just the right time. His skin still prickled with resentment when he thought about Macmillan’s betrayal—though he wondered if it counted as a betrayal if you’d never trusted someone in the first place.

And, there was another betrayal to consider: that of his own body.

“My boy,” Uncle Ivor said, “I’m not sure we can hide it for much longer.” He stepped back, arms folded over his chest, studying Daniel in the dim late afternoon light slanting through the shop window.

Daniel let out the breath he’d been holding against the scrutiny of his uncle’s tape measure. “I have four months left.”

“You made it halfway. That was good.” Daniel was rewarded with a brisk pat on the shoulder that made him feel like a child receiving a compliment. “I don’t think you enjoy walking around with your clothes so baggy. Anyone’s going to think I don’t know how to do my job.”

“I can last a few more weeks.” Daniel knew he was being obstinate, but he was the one paying, so no matter how much he trusted Ivor’s opinion, the customer was always right. (The customer did not waive the right to not have his behavior complained about to some other relation, a risk Daniel would have to take. He just hoped it wouldn’t be his mother.)

He knew very well that he was on borrowed time. Only the grace of God had kept the rumor from spreading through the entire office. Daniel added this carefully to the stack of worries he planned to defer thinking about.

From his uncle’s shop, he made his way up Commercial Street, having promised Fabian that he’d collect Ralph and Lillian from school and bring them to Hannah, who minded the collective brood when Fabian was working.

With the two children holding his hands as they left the schoolyard, Daniel thought, I probably look like I’m expecting my third. He pushed away the rising uncertainty he felt when he contemplated things such as the passenger’s schooling, and whether he could dump his offspring on Hannah while he attended to Bureau matters. That would require quite too many explanations.

He was puzzling over whether Vaizey would permit a bassinet beside his desk when he arrived in Princelet Street.

“Do you have time for a cup of tea before you go back to the Lump?” Hannah asked, once Daniel had let himself and the children into the kitchen.

“Please, you sound like Mother.” He hung his coat up and sat at the table. “He has a name.”

“Yes.” She grinned wickedly and handed him a mug as the children took their seats. “Nana.”

“Where’s the doggie?” asked Felix eagerly.

“I expect he’s at home where he belongs,” said Daniel sharply, pouring milk into his mug. It was an old habit he had worked hard to divest himself of when he was with Archie.

“I want to see the doggie,” Clara demanded.

“He isn’t a doggie,” Ralph said, an edge of frustration in his voice, as though he had clarified this many times before. “He’s just a man, but a big one. Uncle Daniel, I would like to see him, though. Can’t he come to dinner again?”

“Please!” Hazel tugged at his trousers.

“Perhaps I’ll bring him by some week.” Daniel poured tea into his milk. “If you’re all good.”

“And how are you getting on otherwise?” Hannah stirred her tea.

“I’m managing.” He decided not to mention his visit to Uncle Ivor’s. “What about you?” He could drop nearly every facade with his sister. She had seen him erect them, anyway, so she would see through all of them, but it didn’t mean he wanted to go into detail about the concerns coursing through his brain.

“It’s not my first time. I have a lot of good helpers.” She smiled at the children who were happily munching biscuits. “And a man with a steady job.”

“I suppose—” Daniel stopped. He couldn’t tell her he expected money from Archie because he didn’t, and saying so would be sure to wind her up more than it would shut her up. He had always told Hannah everything, but his Private Bureau work had proved challenging in that regard. Archie was so inextricably tied with that work that saying anything more about him made him feel like he would have to explain everything. “I’m going to my publisher’s tomorrow.” He was, in fact, going to Whitehall tomorrow, but he had finished a few poems at King’s Norton and was indeed planning to pass them along to his editor.

She was looking at him as though she didn’t believe him. “And that landlady of yours? Does she allow children?”

“I don’t have a child,” Daniel said. “I have a fetus.”

Hannah said nothing; Daniel winced. He knew the defense hadn’t been remotely good enough, but he had hoped to spark an argument to change the subject.

“How could she not allow children?” asked Lillian, appearing offended on behalf of all children.

“Because we’re loud and messy,” Ralph said with deadly seriousness.

“I’m not loud,” said Felix. “Or messy.” He punctuated this by knocking over the milk jug, allowing Daniel the reprieve he’d been desperately hoping for.

He hurried up to his room upon returning home, his coat buttoned firmly around him to hide the passenger from Mrs. Barzyk’s eyes.

#

“Da Silva. Curtis.” Sir Maurice appeared in the doorway of the agents’ room for only half a moment, utterly confident that Daniel and Archie would follow him to his own office.

Daniel rose, heaving a put-upon sigh. Archie could see the weariness around his eyes. His hand went to his belly, then instantly dropped to his side. Cannon had hinted at knowing Daniel’s secret, but thus far it hadn’t spread throughout the office. Archie hoped this meant the other agents considered Cannon too odious to be believed, but he also knew that Daniel couldn’t hide the situation much longer. His clothes were reaching their believable limit on bagginess; Archie would have offered to lend Daniel some of his own clothes if he thought Daniel would be caught dead in anything so plain.

“Close the door,” Sir Maurice ordered as they entered. “I need help, and you two are the only ones I trust right now.”

Daniel quirked one beautifully shaped eyebrow. He had not neglected his grooming, whatever other impositions the passenger had placed on him. He settled back in his chair and rested his hand on his belly. “How flattering to find you can still trust—”

Sir Maurice cut him off. “Do not push your luck. Blood is thicker than water, and you have very little in the way of bargaining chips.” He paused. “And despite your performance over the summer, you two are one of my better agent pairs.” Saying this appeared to surprise even himself. “We have someone leaking information to Frossard’s people.”

Archie inhaled sharply.

“Do you think it might be the same as—” Daniel began.

“I can’t say for sure,” Sir Maurice stated. “I thought we’d lost him one way or another. You know agents don’t last long.”

“Him” was the man on the inside who had sold Daniel to the enemy at Peakholme. He had never been unmasked. Archie had been fiercely dedicated to hunting him down, but field agents did tend to burn out like bottle-rockets or suffer grievous injury or death. With no new betrayals or clues related to Northumberland ’04, it had not been unreasonable to assume that the guilty party had met his maker years ago.

“I was never satisfied that he’d gone,” Archie said, his body tense with renewed rage.

“I know,” his uncle said. “That’s why I need you two. Look into everyone. Bring in anyone you like whom you’ve cleared. And by God, da Silva, if you engineered this, we deserve to be sold out to the Germans.”

“We’ll begin with Gudgeon and Clearwater, then,” Daniel said. “God help me, but I’m rather beginning to like them.”

#

It was raining, so Daniel permitted Archie to send him home in a cab. He had enough to think about, what with creating an entire person inside him and evaluating the loyalties of every Private Bureau agent. Despite the daunting task, he felt a thrill of excitement. Perhaps this would be the path to getting some bloody leverage, if he caught his own betrayer. He would show Vaizey some bargaining chips.

“Mr. da Silva!” cried a voice. “I haven’t seen you since you returned from your holiday.”

Daniel froze on the stairs. He ought to have known his absence would have been noted. Usually, Daniel didn’t let Archie take him out to dinner too often—both for reasons of pride and to maintain his reputation as an effete poet by putting in regular performances at the boarding house dining table—but he’d been deliberately avoiding his fellow residents and landlady.

“Mrs. Barzyk!” Daniel gripped the banister, unwilling to descend the stairs. He hoped the railing would hide his lower half from view. “An unexpected pleasure!”

“Is it so very unexpected when you live in my house?” She retorted, arms crossed.

“The muse has kept me out. Away from your hospitality.” He sketched a bow. “We must catch up when she has given me some relief from her tender embraces!” Daniel turned to ascend to the safety of his room.

“What is under your coat?” She advanced toward the stairs.

He stopped. To run and hide was an impossible proposition; he was here at her pleasure. He turned slowly, unbuttoning his coat.

At least he could give himself points for rendering her speechless. For a moment.

“Mr. da Silva,” she finally said, firmly. “Are you expecting?”

“Yes.” He couldn’t very well lie, not that he had any desire to. Mrs. Barzyk had been nothing but tolerant of his odd hours and strange habits. He owed her honesty, not more subterfuge.

“You do like to shock, Mr. da Silva,” she said, sounding weary—and not remotely shocked.

He managed a grim smile. “Always, my dear Mrs. Barzyk.”

Mrs. Barzyk sighed. “Well, I trust you’ve not forgotten my rules. If I wouldn’t permit it of an unwed lady, I can’t permit it of you. Out by Friday.”

Daniel tried to hide his grimace with another bow. The passenger would soon hamper such gestures of politeness, he realized with distaste. “Naturally, madam. Your wish is my command.”

He went to his room, swiftly performing mental calculations. He needed to round up some brothers to help move his things—if Max wasn’t working, perhaps Daniel could pay him. Archie was an obvious source of muscle, but Daniel did not want Archie and his brothers to mix like this. He couldn’t quite identify why, but there was something fundamentally objectionable about the idea of Archie and Max together carrying the chaise longue down the stairs.

He collapsed on the offending piece of furniture. Inside him, the passenger was performing somersaults. Looking for rooms to let was a task for the morning.

#

Archie didn’t want to press Daniel, so he waited until Monday morning to go to the boarding house.

“Good morning, Mrs. Barzyk,” he said cheerfully when she opened the door.

“Mr. Curtis.” She looked at him suspiciously. “Surely you know Mr. da Silva’s not here anymore.”

“Not here?” Archie blinked. Daniel rarely left his room before ten o’clock in the morning. Archie had expected to find him still in bed.

“He’s moved on.” Her eyes narrowed. “You’d think he’d have told you.”

“Indeed you would.” With difficulty, Archie controlled the impulse to howl in frustration. How was it possible for Daniel to continue innovating ways to be difficult?

Mrs. Barzyk began to close the door, saying, “I’m not giving you his new address. I want nothing to do with any silly drama he’s devised.”

Archie said, “Madam,” touching the brim of his hat and locking his jaw against saying anything more as he turned away. Expressing his true feelings about the situation would not change the fact that Daniel wasn’t here, and that he now needed to go to Spitalfields.

#

Archie hesitantly opened the door to the locksmith’s shop. Seeing him, Mr. da Silva’s face split into a smile and he rose from his seat as Archie approached.

“Mr. Curtis! To what do I owe the pleasure?” He leaned over the counter he was working at and clasped Archie’s hand. “We haven’t seen you in so long. I keep asking Danny when he’s going to bring his fellow again—Danny’s all right, isn’t he?” There was a flicker of fear in Mr. da Silva’s eyes. “Nothing wrong with the baby?”

“No, no,” Archie said hurriedly. “I thought he might be here.”

“Oh, I expect he’s at Hannah’s.” Mr. da Silva sat back down and picked up his tools again. “You must stay for lunch if you’ve come all this way.”

Was Daniel visiting or staying at Hannah’s? “He’s moved out of his boarding house,” Archie began.

“Yes, yes.” Mr. da Silva’s gray head bobbed. “He told us all this on Friday night. Couldn’t get other accommodations because of his condition. Daniel and Hannah have always been thick as thieves, but you know that.”

Archie hadn’t known that, but he nodded. As he tried to come up with what to say next, he glanced at the jumble of keys, locks, door handles, and other contraptions around the shop.

Daniel’s father was beaming. “If you ever need your locks changed,I trust you’ll come to me. Do you live in a house or a flat?”

“I live in a flat, but…” An inexplicable confidence came over him. “I’m thinking of looking for a house for us to live in together when the baby comes.”

Mr. da Silva chuckled. “I do remember those days. The missus and I and our Dora on the way! She’s in Australia now, I have grandkids I haven’t met…” He looked sad for a moment. “But your little one’ll be here before we know it!” he said, brightening

He turned back to a patent lock on the table. Archie belatedly realized why the lockpicks in Mr. da Silva’s hand looked familiar—they were identical to the ones he’d seen Daniel wield countless times over the years.

“I don’t expect Daniel will have told you, but I have very strong feelings about patent locks. Don’t get taken in, my boy. They’re so easy to pick. Here—you’ll see.”

Obediently hunching over the worktable and heeding Mr. da Silva’s coaching, Archie had almost succeeded in picking the lock when Daniel’s mother came in to announce that lunch was ready.

Daniel’s father said, “Ruth, isn’t it wonderful that Mr. Curtis has dropped by?”

“Archie, please,” said Archie.

“It’s nothing much,” Mrs. da Silva said tightly. “I wasn’t expecting guests.”

“Nonsense. Archie practically counts as family,” said Mr. da Silva.

Practically family. Archie felt a spreading warmth in his chest.

As he followed Daniel’s parents to the dining room, he couldn’t help thinking of how his uncles would not have said the same about Daniel. There was no use despairing over that now, no matter how daunting was the prospect of getting Sir Maurice to believe that the passenger was his, but he silently compared his father figure to Daniel’s while Mr. da Silva asked after someone Mrs. da Silva had been visiting.

Despite Mrs. da Silva’s disclaimer, the soup and sandwiches that were on offer were as hearty as those served to him in country houses.

As soon as she finished speaking about her visit with the Forests, Archie told her, “Everything is delicious.” .

“See, Ruth,” Mr. da Silva said, “the boy’s very polite.”

Mrs. da Silva harrumphed before saying. “Thank you, Mr. Curtis. You’re too kind.”

“He’s a good one.” There was an edge of sternness to Mr. da Silva’s voice Archie hadn’t heard before. “He’s not like the others. Tell me, would Jackie Kelly be sitting here having lunch with us if he’d found Danny not in?”

“I don’t know what Jackie Kelly would do,” said Mrs. da Silva, but her tone of voice implied that she knew very well what Jackie Kelly would do, and it wasn’t what Archie was doing.

Mr. da Silva turned to Archie. “Danny probably told you we just didn’t understand about Jackie, but that boy wasn’t nice.” His friendly face darkened. “I didn’t like the way he talked to Danny. If a bloke talked to one of our girls like that, he wouldn’t have made it through the door.”

Mrs. da Silva didn’t look up from her soup. “He didn’t stay for long.”

Mr. da Silva smiled. “Archie, you’ve not been chased out of here with a broom. That means Ruth likes you.”

#

As Archie marched down Princelet Street, looking for Number 47, he kept a firm grip on the basket Mrs. da Silva had thrust at him. (“If you’re going anyway, you might as well give Hannah these!”)

“Ah.” Hannah da Silva Abrams’s smile was very Daniel-esque as she greeted Archie. “A gentleman bearing bread. You will find Mr. da Silva at home to callers.”

She waved Archie through to the parlor, where Daniel sat with Clara in his lap and Hazel and Felix curled up beside him. Ralph and Lillian were on the rug at Daniel’s feet. Archie paused for a moment, listening as Daniel intoned, “Fee-fi-fo-fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman.”

Archie settled himself on the rug to listen. By the end of the tale, he found himself pinned under all the children; even Clara had abandoned Daniel.

Daniel shut the book with a snap. “Ralph can read the next one. I am going to speak with Mr. Curtis upstairs.”

As Ralph lifted his head from Archie’s shoulder and accepted the book from his uncle, the rest of the group protested this plan, but Archie followed Daniel into the corridor and up a narrow staircase.

“You can climb me any time,” Archie said, once Daniel had shut the door.

Daniel sank onto the chaise longue, laughing. Satisfied, Archie sat down next to him and slipped an arm around his waist. Daniel indulged him with a few kisses before gently pressing elegant fingers to Archie’s temple.

“My dear, I have all the interest in the world in climbing you, but none in doing so in my sister’s spare room.”

Archie looked around the cramped space. The chaise longue was the only piece of furniture he recognized from Daniel’s room at Mrs. Barzyk’s. “Where are all your things?”

“All around you.” Daniel waved a lazy hand to indicate the boxes (mostly of books, Archie presumed) stacked around them. Daniel’s steamer trunk took up every inch of space between the bed and the window. “The furniture was sold. There was nowhere to put it here.”

“You could’ve…” he stopped as Daniel glowered at him. “Just sorry to see you lose your desk.”

“It was hardly a desk,” Daniel said breezily. “A deal table.”

That may have been true, but Archie’s fondest memories included all the times he’d gazed at Daniel working at that table, errant curls falling into his eyes. Archie had taken such joy in watching from the chaise longue while Daniel wrote poetry.

“At least you still have this,” he said, patting the arm of the chaise longue.

“Alas, there were no takers.” Daniel shifted so he was draped over Archie’s lap. “I’ll visit you later in the week. The time will come when I will need a reprieve from sticky fingers and squabbling.” His lips curled into a smile. “That’s the children’s fingers and Hannah’s and my squabbling.”

Archie’s thoughts flew back to his conversation with Daniel’s father. There’d be no sticky fingers or squabbling in a house Archie owned. And there would be plenty of places to write poetry. But, right now, it would surely be pushing his luck to mention his dream of sharing a house. Despite the laughter and kisses, it wasn’t as if Daniel had made himself easy to find, much less keep.

#

The squabbling began much earlier than he had anticipated. Perhaps it had been too long since they’d lived in cramped circumstances—they’d grown up with five other siblings in a house of comparable size, so 47 Princelet Street shouldn’t have felt overstuffed with just two children and three adults. His inability to tell Hannah anything about the Private Bureau likewise put a damper on living with her. He dreaded the where are you going or the where have you been he would at some point have to evade, or the reasonable request for babysitting he would have to turn down. Which was why he tried to devote any time he wasn’t puzzling over personnel files at the office engaged in domestic chores.

Thus, he was washing the breakfast dishes when Archie stepped into the kitchen.

“Mr. Curtis!” Hazel dropped her towel and flung herself at Archie’s legs.

Archie patted her on the head, but he was staring at Daniel. Daniel wondered how it was possible that he’d rendered Archie speechless merely by rolling up his sleeves.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see Archie, but the more Archie came round, the more likelihood of Daniel’s cover slipping. Archie was not much better at dissembling than he’d been when they’d first met, and the part of Daniel that wanted to tell his family everything keened whenever Archie fumbled his way around a lie.

“My uncle ’phoned me this morning.” Archie glanced at Hazel. “He’d like us to go see my cousin Jessup.”

Jessup was a former Private Bureau agent who had left for a job in the more conventional and aboveboard part of the Foreign Office. Jessup could tell his family about his job, for example.

Not that Daniel envied him.

He was certainly glad he wasn’t a pencil pusher kowtowing to government appointees far more loathsome than Sir Maurice Vaizey.

Daniel rinsed the last mug and handed it to Hazel to dry. “You’re requesting that I accompany you to see dear Cousin Jessup.”

“He’d terribly like to see you.”

Daniel blinked. What business of theirs was Jessup?

“Does he like biscuits?” Hazel asked. “We made biscuits yesterday.”

“I don’t think we ought to show up with biscuits,” Archie said hastily. “My uncle just suggested we have a talk with him.”

Daniel sighed. “I suppose I’ll go and get ready.” He was aware of Archie watching him as he made his way to the stairs; he had not bothered with his hair when he’d thought he’d spend the day nannying. He came back down to find Archie chatting with Hannah, Clara on his shoulders. Daniel immediately dismissed the image of the passenger on Archie’s shoulders.

“Shall we go, my dear?”

Daniel didn’t object as Archie helped him into his coat.

“Bring him home for dinner,” Hannah instructed, as Daniel shut the door.

“I’m going to assume she means you, not Jessup,” he said.

“Bringing Jessup to dinner was not part of my uncle’s instructions,” Archie confirmed. “He just wants us to get his opinion on some of these names.”

They caught the omnibus in Whitechapel High Street to Great Peter Street, where Jessup lived.

“You know, I’m thinking of moving,” Archie said thoughtfully. “Larger flat, perhaps.” He nodded at the red brick buildings lining the street as they tried to find the one in which Jessup lived. “More room. Two bedrooms, maybe?”

Daniel grunted. He couldn’t bear this assault while he was working. Best to ignore it.

Jessup’s landlady opened the door to their knock. “Mr. Jessup?” asked Archie.

“It’s about time,” she said. “Are you with the police?”

“The police?” Archie blinked.

“Yes,” Daniel said smoothly, “we’re with the police.”

She looked skeptically at Daniel and his belly. He stared right back, figuring it practice for later. Police detectives were no more immune from pregnancy than any other man. At length, she jerked her head at the stairs. “Third floor.”

Daniel hoped he wasn’t waddling as he climbed the stairs. It was far too early for him to waddle, but he did wish Jessup didn’t live up so many stairs.

On the third floor landing, he took a moment to compose himself, adjusting his waistcoat while Archie knocked at the door. He was considering that Uncle Ivor had the right of it on the clothing front when the door creaked open under Archie’s fist.

“Your knock is far too powerful, my dear.”

“I didn’t—” Archie began, but the rest of what he was about to say died in his throat. The door had opened far enough that they could see legs stretched out in front of the fireplace in a pool of blood.

Daniel’s first thought was that Mrs. Goodbody would not have approved. Finding dead bodies was neither pure nor placid.

Chapter Text

Daniel closed his eyes. When he opened them again, Jessup was still dead. His thoughts whirled as he tried to reevaluate the situation. Vaizey had asked them to speak to Jessup. Jessup was dead. Jessup, late of the Private Bureau, now of the Foreign Office proper. Daniel took a bracing breath. Jessup was sprawled on the floor, his eyes still open, staring vacantly.

Vaizey would want a report of the scene’s minutest details. The desk in complete disarray. The gun on the floor, at Jessup’s right. And, indeed, he had been shot through the head.

Bile rose in Daniel’s throat. He turned away, forcibly reminded of the advice he’d read in medieval documents during his university days: pregnant people were supposed to be kept away from gruesome sights, lest they harm the baby. He knew it was nonsense, but he ran a soothing hand over his belly all the same. What sort of life was he bringing the passenger into?

One with parents who kept encountering corpses, apparently. As much as he loathed violence, this was hardly the first dead body he’d been confronted with.

“Was he aware we were coming?” he asked, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice.

“My uncle spoke to him this morning on the telephone.” Archie sounded shaken as well, which actually improved how Daniel felt about the situation: at least his partner wasn’t too inured to death, despite all he’d seen and perpetrated. “Sir Maurice said he was eager to talk to us.”

Daniel pressed his lips together. Perhaps the eagerness had been feigned? He’d known men whose decision to take their own lives had surprised their colleagues and acquaintances.

Presently, there was the sound of footsteps racing up the stairs. It decidedly did not sound like the landlady. Daniel’s head snapped towards the landing. Somehow he doubted that Private Bureau agents had come to assist them.

“Come on.” Archie’s left hand closed carefully around Daniel’s wrist; his right arm went around Daniel’s middle. “We want to get out of here.”

Daniel’s eyes swept desperately around Jessup’s room.

There was a small black book sticking out from under Jessup’s shoulder. Acting on instinct, Daniel broke out of Archie’s clasp and snatched it up.

“What are you doing?” Archie hissed.

“Gathering evidence before we’re interrupted.”

Archie seized his arm and tugged him back into the corridor, just as a rough-looking character cleared the top of the stairs. Upon seeing Daniel and Archie, he shouted, “They work for Vaizey!” and barreled towards them.

As Archie hauled him past their attacker, Daniel detachedly admired Archie’s natural grace, unhampered by Daniel’s newly ungainly form. He barely had time to put one foot in front of the other as Archie towed him down the stairs, past the startled landlady and out into the street.

For a brief, hopeful moment, Daniel thought they might get away, but before they’d made it to the end of the block, the men were out of the building and pelting after them. Daniel’s heart sank. He didn’t want to be caught and beaten or worse at the best of times, but more so not now. The set of Archie’s shoulders as he hastened Daniel along showed him likewise thinking of the passenger. Daniel’s field of vision was reduced to narrow pavement and high brick walls; he was no longer certain where they were. Suddenly, they came into a small, quiet street lined with red brick terraces. It seemed like an oasis of peace amid London’s chaos, or it might have, had Daniel not been pressed to the breaking point.

“Come on,” said Archie. “We’ll find our way to the Embankment and lose them.”

Daniel suppressed a groan at having to keep going; a muscle in his abdomen was throbbing in agony, but being in pain was obviously better than being captured and tortured—or meeting Jessup’s fate. He was on the verge of asking Archie to carry him when a voice called out.

“No need to run! I’m the one who’s late.” It took Daniel a moment to find the speaker—a slim, meticulously dressed man, standing on the marble steps of Number Two, Whatever Bloody Street They Were On. “I’m Robert Morgan,” he went on. “You may have made the appointment with my father, but he’s been delayed. I’m sorry to say I’ve quite forgot your name, Mr…?”

“Curtis,” Archie said. “And we’re very glad to see you.”

#

Archie supposed they cut very strange figures as they allowed the estate agent to usher them into the house. He could only hope that the person who had really made the appointment to view the property wouldn’t show up before it was safe for them to leave. He didn’t truly relax until the door was closed firmly behind them.

“Now, Mr. Curtis,” Mr. Morgan said. “I understand from my father that you’re looking for a property because you’re thinking of starting a family?”

Archie’s jaw dropped before he remembered that he had never spoken with the elder Mr. Morgan: the mysterious absent house-hunter must be the one planning to start a family.

Not that Archie wasn’t planning to start a family. Through the stained glass of the closed front door, he glimpsed their pursuers running by. Daniel touched his coat as if confirming it was firmly buttoned up to his chin. Archie supposed he didn’t want to call attention to his pregnancy.

“Yes,” Archie managed, once his mouth had lost its cotton wool feeling. “About to be married.” He nodded at Daniel, who was looking away. “My secretary. I’d be nothing without da Silva. Would probably leave my own head behind.”

Daniel manufactured a beatific smile. “Mr. Curtis is too kind, I assure you.”

They proceeded through the tour, Archie paying little mind to Mr. Morgan’s talk of original wood paneling. Until he noticed how raptly Daniel was listening to the description of imported tile.

It was a cozy house—smaller than his uncle’s house in Brook Street, but he could easily envision Daniel descending its stairs, sleek in evening dress, ready for a party in the spacious dining room after having checked on the occupant of the nursery above. He could practically hear the pitter patter of little feet as he watched Daniel mentally decorate every room.

This could be their home. This could be where he and Daniel would grow old together.

And Daniel would surely never consent to have a house in Westminster bought for him.

“What do you think, Mr. Curtis?” asked Mr. Morgan. They were standing in the garden, a quiet green refuge. Big Ben was chiming one o’clock. Archie could imagine taking tea out here with Pat and Fen, bouncing the passenger on his knee.

“I think it’s wonderful.” He didn’t look at Daniel. The man he was pretending to be wouldn’t consult a private secretary on such matters. “It ought to meet my needs very well.”

Daniel made a low hissing noise.

Archie turned. “Something to say, da Silva?”

Daniel was glowering at him. “Sir, we have an engagement with your uncle, and you know he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Take my card.” Mr. Morgan held his card out to Daniel, but Archie intercepted it. If anyone visited Mr. Morgan’s office, it would be him, and he’d be going alone. He didn’t want to risk Daniel “losing” Mr. Morgan’s contact information before Archie had a chance to inquire further.

“You can’t let him think you’re actually interested in buying that house,” Daniel said, once they were out in the street again. Ignoring him, Archie checked the sign. Barton Street. Number Two, Barton Street. The perfect address. As they walked towards the Embankment, Archie imagined the passenger skipping along between them, bound for the park.

#

Daniel stood by the fire in the snug at the King’s Neck, warming himself. It had been a few days since their discovery of Jessup’s body, and Vaizey had instructed them to regroup with Gudgeon and Clearwater. As Daniel had anticipated, the chief had been furious. It was frustrating being a step behind the objects of their pursuit.

He glanced up from the fire. In the mirror above the fireplace, he could see his reflection, resplendent in the new waistcoat Uncle Ivor had made for him. His uncle had been right: it was flattering. There was no disguising his pregnancy, though. He slid his hand over the green brocade. The pattern was faintly serpentine, but there was no way Archie could have told Uncle Ivor about his pet name for Daniel. They had never met and possibly never would. Besides, Archie’s reaction to the waistcoat had been complete surprise, followed by an inability to keep his hands to himself until Daniel had sent him off to the bar to fetch him a basket of chips and vinegar.

The door opened. He turned, hand still on his belly while Archie came in with Gudgeon and Clearwater.

“Hullo, da Silva,” said Clearwater pleasantly. He stopped suddenly. “Ah—may I ask if congratulations are in order? I don’t mean to pry, but one hears rumors. Though, considering the source, one doesn’t like to set stock in them.”

“Yes,” Daniel finally admitted. “You’ve heard correctly. I am… enceinte.”

“Congratulations,” added Gudgeon. “My Margaret will want to make a blanket. She’s always doing that sort of thing for new babies.”

Daniel managed a feeble smile. “My thanks to her.” He would take a blanket over derision.

He accepted the second serving of chips and the ginger beer from Archie without meeting his gaze.

#

Archie barely heeded the conversation between Daniel and Clearwater about the little black book’s contents. They were in some sort of code, and Daniel had already filled a sheet of paper with violet ink trying to work out the various possibilities. Archie’s mind was subsumed with a hot anger that had cooled to numb sadness: Daniel had had the perfect opportunity to introduce him as the other father of his child, and hadn’t. He knew how much Daniel wanted to keep him safe, but Archie nevertheless ached to be included—to get the vigorous handshakes and congratulatory drinks other fathers-to-be got to revel in. Would he be permitted to pop a bottle of champagne with the other agents when the passenger came into the world? He thought of Staley standing them all a round when his twins had been born. Why, just last week Loomis had been at the club giving everyone cigars! Would Archie have the opportunity to do that?

Clearwater sat back in his chair, tossing his pen to the tabletop in frustration. “I can’t make heads or tails of it. Jessup’s personal code and nothing else, I wager. And it won’t tell us why he’s shot himself.”

“Shot himself?” Archie said, puzzled. “He didn’t shoot himself.”

The other three all turned to look at him as one. “My dear Curtis,” Daniel said, “the gun was right beside him.”

“Yes—on his right.” Archie paused. “Did you see how his desk was arranged? He was a natural left-hander like me. Must not have taken to using the right.” Before his injury, Archie had used his right hand quite tolerably, but he knew not everyone was so fortunate. “A fellow who has to write with his left hand usually isn’t going to be much of a right-handed shot.”

“It wouldn’t be impossible,” Daniel said; Archie assumed he felt he had to. “But you may be on to something. Good thought, Curtis.”

Archie smiled, while at the same time feeling himself redden. Why did Daniel look at him through his lashes if he didn’t want to betray anything of their relationship?

“So, murder,” Clearwater said, stating the obvious. “That complicates things.”

“But it makes more sense,” Gudgeon added. “A sick sort of sense.”

The four of them were quiet for a moment, contemplating the ramifications of their realization. Someone had killed a former Private Bureau agent who wanted to talk to two current agents. Someone had wanted to silence Jessup.

Archie felt a chill of fear steal over him. They’d faced danger in myriad forms, but Archie had always hated the insidious unknown. He could deal with a man with a knife lunging right at Daniel, because that kind of threat could be easily dispatched. He didn’t like the idea of someone quietly killing Private Bureau agents. Not when Daniel had to go back to his sister’s every night. Not when Daniel was carrying their child. But he certainly couldn’t ask Daniel to stay safely within Archie’s sight at all times.

He would just have to protect him.

And hopefully, before long, convince him to live with him.

Which meant he had to talk to his uncle again, soon. And to be serious about it.

#

“So, what did you want to talk about?” Sir Maurice asked.

Archie blanched. He hadn’t meant to be so obvious about needing to talk, nor had he expected the bald question to be asked immediately after they’d been brought their soup. He’d simply invited his uncle to have dinner at their club. In a private room, rather than the main dining room. Perhaps that was what had given him away.

Sir Maurice continued, “It’s not about da Silva, is it? You’re not going to claim paternity of his bastard again, are you?”

“I—” Archie had planned what to say, but all the words he’d rehearsed had deserted him.

His uncle waved a hand. “Never mind. We do have to talk about da Silva. We need to talk about who you’ll partner with after he leaves.”

“Leaves?” Archie nearly dropped his spoon. “I hadn’t gathered he was—”

His uncle smiled indulgently, in a way that made Archie bristle. “When he has that baby, he’ll be gone, mark my word.” He shook his head. “A shame. He was a promising agent.”

“I don’t see why,” Archie began. “I—there’s no reason for him to—I mean, I suppose he’ll need some time to, er, recover, but after that…” Archie fought to get his thoughts straight. It didn’t help that he had never contemplated these particular details. “I’ll hire a nanny.” Or take care of it myself, he didn’t add.

Sir Maurice sighed. “Archie. Your responsibility to da Silva doesn’t extend to his personal life.”

“It does if he’s having my baby.”

“This again.” His uncle closed his eyes. “I don’t know what’s worse—the idea that he took advantage of your ignorance and managed to convince you the bastard’s yours, or that you actually had done that sort of thing with that—”

The edges of Archie’s vision went black. “Sir,” he said tightly, interrupting. “I have done that sort of thing with da Silva. Since Peakholme, to be precise. And I would take care in what language I use if I were you. If you wouldn’t say it about my wife, I’d ask you not to say it about Daniel, or I may quite forget myself.”

For a moment, Archie thought he’d gone too far. He had never been disrespectful to his uncles before, but perhaps this was the only way to show he was serious.

Indeed, his uncle was staring at him. “You do mean it,” he said, sounding stunned.

“Sir Maurice,” Archie said, hearing the boy he’d been in his own voice, “of course I do. Why ever would you think otherwise?”

His uncle sighed. “You were a late bloomer, Archie. I worried about you.” He paused. “I thought you might be at risk for being taken in, with your lack of experience.”

Archie closed his eyes, but he could hardly deny the charge. “Daniel wouldn’t.”

“You may understand why I found that so hard to believe when he insisted the child wasn’t yours.”

Archie smiled grimly. “He tries to protect me. He thinks it would be a detriment to me if it was known that I was queer.”

It stung, seeing his uncle flinch. “He’s not wrong.”

“I know.” A small part of him regretted that it was all laid out before his uncle now—he could never go back to how things had been.

But how things had been had been a lie, even if it was one of omission. Archie was queer. Archie loved Daniel. Daniel was having his baby. Joy bubbled up inside him, winning out over the shame. “I can do everything he does, though. If he can withstand the scorn of the world…”

“Yes, but you don’t need to.”

Archie picked up his spoon again. “I do if I’m going to raise a child with him. I won’t let him go it alone.”

Sir Maurice wisely stopped himself from voicing the objection he clearly wanted to make to this statement. Archie supposed this was progress. Although perhaps it wasn’t, because his uncle next said, “Archie, are you—are you absolutely positive?”

“Yes,” he said simply.

“You do realize that there’s a sizable fortune and a title at stake?”

“I don’t care about the title.”

Sir Maurice raised his wineglass to his lips. “Yes, but Sir Henry might.”

Archie felt something crumble inside him. He had been so worried about Sir Maurice that he’d quite forgot about Sir Henry. “I’ll have to tell him.” The prospect was a daunting one. Sir Henry—alongside Captain Good, whom Archie regarded as nearly an uncle—had taught him everything he needed to know to be a gentleman.

“Yes, you will.” Sir Maurice fell silent as the waiter entered with their next course. When they were alone again, he asked, “Has he invited you to spend Christmas with him?”

He had. The missive had arrived a few days before, but Archie did not want to go to Cairo, where his uncle and the Captain had been wintering. He didn’t want to leave Daniel, nor did he want to force Daniel to contend with travel and heat and God knew what. He couldn’t imagine Egypt would agree well with Daniel, pregnant or not.

“Perhaps I’ll write back and invite him here,” Archie said suddenly. “I’ve given some thought to buying a house. Buying Daniel a house,” he added, because he wanted to make his uncle squirm a bit again.

“Don’t let—” his uncle started, but then stopped. “I suppose you know better than to let yourself be taken advantage of.”

“Yes,” Archie agreed. What he didn’t say was that he’d have gleefully allowed Daniel to take advantage if he was so inclined.

#

“Da Silva, my office. Now.”

That was Vaizey’s way of saying good morning when Daniel had barely sat down with his tea and scones. He had decided that he owed it to the passenger to be diligent about intake and make full use of the refreshments provided to the office, even if the government was only good for the driest variety of scone.

“Sir?” he said, but Vaizey was already gone. Daniel sighed and pushed himself to his feet.

As soon as he reached Vaizey’s office, the chief commanded, “Sit. I wouldn’t want you to exert yourself in your delicate condition.”

Daniel bristled, but all he said was, “Indeed, sir. The agents’ room can be so terribly hectic. Quite distracting for this little one.”

Vaizey didn’t smile or even roll his eyes. “Archie won’t drop his story about being your child’s father.”

Caught off guard, Daniel blinked. “He must take his job as my guardian angel very seriously.” His stomach tightened at continuing the lie, but by God, he would not let Archie be implicated in a bloody crime.

“According to him, it was more than just that.”

Daniel winced. “Years ago, I assured you I would never make advances to a fellow agent.” He’d broken that promise at Peakholme, though he’d felt justified in doing so, given no other recourse after Archie had tripped the alarm. “Your nephew is an unsulliable paragon. I would never take advantage of him.”

There was a flicker of what looked like laughter in Vaizey’s formidable expression, “One of you is lying.” Vaizey sat back in his chair. “I want this cleared up immediately. Either he’s deluded by foolish puppy love, or you’ve been unfaithful. Which is it, da Silva?”

Daniel heaved a dramatic sigh and rubbed his belly. “That absolute oaf!”

Vaizey’s lips curved into outright amusement. “So I’m to be a great-uncle?”

Daniel closed his eyes. Vaizey knew. How much did he know? Did it matter if Archie hadn’t told him about Peakholme when he knew about the passenger?

“How do I know you aren’t taking advantage of his ignorance?”

Daniel scoffed. “I tried everything short of beating him off with a stick. He was very persistent.”

Vaizey’s smile remained amused, though he also looked like he didn’t know quite what to do with this new information about his nephew. “Would you say…” Vaizey paused. “Da Silva, has he taken a shine to you… because he’s… not comfortable with women? I worry that he doesn’t know what he wants.”

“Absurdly uncomfortable,” Daniel quipped, but as accusation flared in Vaizey’s eyes, he quickly added, “I’d say there had never been any inclination there. It’s more that he knows what he wants for the first time in his life.”

It felt like an outrageous claim to make, but Vaizey seemed impressed by it.

#

Arriving at the office very late in the morning was sure to attract the attention of both Daniel and Sir Maurice, but Archie hadn’t wanted to let the matter of the house wait a moment more. His conversation with his uncle had invigorated him; he was making the right decision, even if Daniel didn’t know it yet. How often had Daniel decided things for both of them? Turnabout was fair play, Archie thought, and patted the house key in his pocket as he stepped into the agents’ room.

“Ah, my dear angel.” Daniel greeted him with a teasing smile. Archie felt a thrill of pleasure at the endearment. Daniel had gradually warmed to the idea of flirting with Archie in a way that would seem unwanted to most observers. He was indeed Daniel’s angel—everyone knew that.

“Lunch?” asked Archie.

“If you please.”

Daniel allowed Archie to help him into his coat—albeit in the deserted cloakroom.

“I had a most illuminating chat with your uncle,” Daniel said, once they’d joined the crowds on the Embankment.

“Is that so?” Archie’s gaze was on the river, imagining walking with the passenger, watching the barges. He’d loved watching the ships from the vantage point of Captain Good’s shoulders.

Daniel pivoted to glare at him, eyes flashing. “He told me about the conversation you had with him.”

Archie sighed inwardly. “Daniel,” he said, “I had to tell him.”

“I know,” Daniel conceded. “We had a good conversation.” Daniel’s hands went in his coat pockets. He looked melancholy, and Archie longed to hold him. “Your other uncle’s next.”

“I know. Christmas.” It was a few weeks away. Time enough to get their living situation squared away. He took a deep breath. “I went to the estate agent. Declared my interest in that house.”

Daniel’s glower darkened. “And what of my interest?”

Archie had an answer for that, luckily. They weren’t going to quarrel right here on the Embankment. “Visit if you like. It’ll be my house.”

He had managed to stun Daniel into silence. Pleased with himself, he continued, “I’ll give you the key if you’d like to have another look at it?”

Chapter Text

Daniel walked aimlessly around Westminster that afternoon, feeling too restless to go back to Princelet Street. He needed to think, and if he returned to his sister’s he’d be drawn into playing with his nieces and nephews or preparing their tea. Hannah had long since stopped taking “communing with the muse” as a reason for him to shut himself up in his room and remain undisturbed, and while he may not have needed the muse, he needed to think, and that meant walking.

He was glad he wasn’t at the point of waddling yet, though he could tell, as he narrowly avoided being splashed by a passing omnibus, that the time wasn’t far off. It would be very soon that anyone who saw him would realize Daniel was pregnant. He had to protect Archie from being recognized as the responsible party. There was a reasonable explanation for Archie hosting Daniel for visits to his flat, and Archie had already demonstrated himself to be soft-hearted enough that it would not tax the imagination to conceive of him taking an interest in an unfortunate friend’s bastard child.

There was no explanation for Archie and Daniel living together in blissful domestic cohabitation, raising their child together.

And yet, Daniel found that his thoughts were kindling a romantic spark he’d dismissed as hopelessly naive after Cambridge. He wanted this. He knew he couldn’t have it, no matter what Archie thought, but he wanted it so badly his chest ached. He wanted this as badly as he’d longed for Archie to come in those endless eleven days after Peakholme when he’d thought of Archie with every breath. He wanted Archie all the time, not just in stolen moments, not just Daniel imposing on the hospitality of Archie’s flat. He did not want to bring the passenger to visit their other father. He wanted them all to live together, no matter how impractical it would be.

And now Archie was threatening to buy an entire house, an embarrassment of riches in terms of privacy and space.

Daniel found himself turning into Barton Street without even thinking of it. He cursed his swollen feet for carrying him here, because now he desperately needed to sit. He couldn’t even make it to the front door without being assaulted by such domestic images as Archie lifting a perambulator up the steps. Sickening.

He unlocked the door with trepidation. What if it was nothing like he remembered? He had been stretched to his limit that day; it would not have been surprising for his battered brain to have conjured up a Wonderland inside the house that had been their salvation.

He stepped into the front hall and opened his eyes. The afternoon light slanting through the windows sent dust motes dancing—the house would need a good cleaning before they moved in—but it was as beautiful as he remembered.

Daniel stopped that line of thought instantly. They would not be moving in. Some other poor soul would have to see to the dusting of the house, the removal or restoration of the odd items of furniture left behind. But that didn’t mean Daniel couldn’t have a proper look around.

The dining room chandelier took his breath away a second time, a golden Bohemian confection laden with green crystal. That would not need replacing, nor would the magnificent mahogany dining room set. He felt a possessive thrill deep inside of him that all of this could be his, with just a word to Archie.

“Yes,” he’d say, “buy me that house,” and he would be entertaining guests in the drawing room, feeling quite comfortable with Archie by his side, assured that anyone they might invite into their home was safe.

He continued his tour to the library; the dusty shelves were still stocked with books but there was enough room for Daniel’s several boxes worth, as well as Archie’s set of yellowbacks. Even the thought of his academic treatises and poetry collections sharing space with the lower orders of literature filled him with glee. And there would be plenty of room to acquire more. One always needed to look to the future where books were concerned.

The first floor beckoned and Daniel climbed the stairs. Dare he dream of a shared bedroom? Perhaps he would treat this smaller room as his dressing room, with a bed kept there for appearance’s sake, which left this room on the other side of the landing for the nursery.

He climbed further. Pat and Fen would need a bedroom if they came to stay, and they would be quite nicely situated up here on the second floor, with a little privacy and reprieve from the inevitable screaming child.

There was also another little room up here. It appeared to be an afterthought; they hadn’t even visited it with the house agent. It contained a massive desk, even more empty bookshelves, and windows overlooking the back garden.

Daniel lowered himself into the chair. It felt impossibly comfortable with his tired legs and he closed his eyes for a moment. He needed to recuperate before hauling himself back to Princelet Street. And he would take a moment to appreciate the desk. His wildest dreams had always included such a desk. He even, for a moment, allowed himself to imagine the possibility of a typewriter. He wasn’t sure he could ever bring himself to type poetry but essays and criticism could surely be accomplished on such a machine.

He buried his face in his hands, shoving his fingers in his hair. No. He could not do it. Aggressively, he pulled his notebook from his overcoat pocket and slammed it onto the desk. He would have one session writing in this sanctum. He would write a list of reasons to support his position that would convince Archie they could not live together.

What he ended up writing was a poem.

#

Archie went to Princelet Street the next day. Ordinarily, he would have given Daniel time, but he was worried about whoever it was the house agent had been waiting for on the day of Archie and Daniel’s first tour snapping up that beautiful house.

There was no one home, so Archie waited, coat collar turned up against the November rain. It wasn’t long before he saw a form he’d known anywhere, even if it moved with less than its usual grace, encumbered as it was by umbrella and children.

“Mr. Curtis!” Felix was the first to spot Archie and he broke from the shelter of Daniel’s umbrella.

“Hoi!” Archie held his umbrella out to cover the now-soaked boy who was clinging to his legs. “You oughtn’t to run from your uncle.”

“I think you’ve found by now that stubbornness runs in my family.” Daniel passed Ralph the umbrella while he unlocked the front door. “I suppose I’m obliged to ask you in, though I warn you that my sister’s not here to chaperone. I’m going to be cooking for this lot. You may entertain them or watch me. Your choice.”

They clattered inside as a body and when Daniel began getting the children out of their wet outdoor things, Archie leaped in to help. It seemed there were more than five of them—surely he’d unbuttoned more than that many coats—not to mention the multitude of gloves and scarves that Daniel’s capable fingers effortlessly sorted. He wondered what it would be like if they were to have five children before stopping that line of thinking. Daniel was barely amenable to one pregnancy; Archie couldn’t imagine the scorn if he said anything that sounded like expectations of four more.

“Now,” Daniel said to the children, “you lot go and play. Mr. Curtis and I will see to your tea.” He swept into the kitchen without waiting for any argument. Archie followed.

Archie had little idea of what happened in the kitchen but Daniel was moving briskly, getting out knife, chopping board, and onions.

“I came about the house,” Archie said. “The house in Barton Street. I don’t want to wait too long in case—”

“As it happens,” said Daniel, aggressively disposing of an onion skin, “I’ve been thinking and have come to a decision. We cannot live together under any circumstances.” He took a breath for what Archie knew would be a tirade; the only thing for it was to cut him off. He considered kissing him, but he needed to put his mouth to other use for this.

“My uncle knows,” Archie began quickly, before Daniel could get his thoughts together, “I won’t say he doesn’t mind, but he agrees the thing for me to do is to take responsibility and he’s made his peace with that much. I expect later on he’ll—.”

“You have another uncle,” Daniel said fiercely.

It was true that telling Sir Henry took up most of Archie’s fretting time, but it was a poor argument against buying the house. “It isn’t as though he would turn me in to the authorities!”

“I’m not worried about the authorities,” Daniel hissed. “At least not only. I’m worried about your friends, anyone you might see socially…”

“Anyone who’d shun me over raising my child with the person I love isn’t worth seeing.” Archie was aware that this wasn’t how society operated but there were enough people Archie liked that would be open to them. There were Pat and Fen, of course, and Daniel’s artist friends… and Archie had half a mind to try to talk to Loomis. “I think you underestimate people.”

Daniel chopped an onion very firmly. “I base my estimation on past experience.”

Archie decided to anticipate Daniel’s next argument, now that he’d really got going. “And if you’re worried I’ll object to raising the baby Jewish, you’ve no worry there. I do think it might be nice if we’d spend Christmas with my uncles and so on but that’s all it needs to be as far as I’m concerned.”

Daniel made a thwarted sound that rather suggested he’d hoped for a blazing row about the passenger’s christening. Archie understood that he might have to have a firm conversation with Sir Henry, but that, again, was nothing.

“A boy’s going to be circumcised,” Daniel announced unnecessarily.

“Isn’t that the way of it?” Archie didn’t know why this was supposed to dissuade him. He had firsthand evidence that circumcised chaps got along just fine.

Daniel made another frustrated noise. “Your argument is far too coherent, my dear. You could make this easier for me.”

“What, for you to refuse?” Archie didn’t want to lose his temper but Daniel wasn’t playing fair.

“Yes, for me to refuse.” Daniel’s onion-chopping became more aggressive. “Because you have yet to see sense in four years, and no matter what I say, you persist in—mph!” Archie wrapped his arms around Daniel’s middle and pressed his cheek against Daniel’s. “Curtis, I have a knife.”

Archie laughed, a noise from somewhere deep in his throat, and slipped the knife from Daniel’s relenting fingers. “Is that supposed to be a threat?”

“It’s—God.” Daniel turned away in disgust. “It’s something.”

“If you don’t want to live with me, I’ll buy the house for you. Live there with the passenger and let me visit every so often.” He wanted more than that, of course, but if that’s what it took to get Daniel out of his sister’s spare room…

Daniel squirmed in his arms, prompting Archie to hold him tighter. “You are relentless.”

“You haven’t tried to find other accommodation.” Archie brushed his thumb over Daniel’s cheek. He was still wound so tightly, still begging for kisses but they had to finish this first.

Daniel’s raised eyebrow was sharp as a rapier. “There’s a dearth of rooms to rent for pregnant chaps.”

Archie pressed his lips to Daniel’s hair. “And I’m offering to let you live in my house rent-free.”

Daniel’s back went rigid. “If I’m not paying one-hundred pounds a year in rent, I don’t vote. I refuse to have that taken from me.”

Archie drew back. “My God. I can’t charge you rent.”

“And I can’t afford to buy that house or any other, and you can’t marry me and share your property or whatever else would let me vote in the idyll of Arcadia you’ve concocted.” He paused, seeming pleased to have landed upon an ironclad argument. “Before you ask, I am not taking ownership of some plot of land you’ve squirreled away somewhere.”

The thought hadn’t occurred to Archie and he cursed himself for not suggesting it before Daniel could have decided to refuse. “I wouldn’t dream of it. But I can’t let you pay me. That’s absurd.”

“What’s absurd is denying me my rights?” He pushed at Archie’s embrace. “Let. Go.”

Archie dropped his arms immediately, his mind working at double time. He felt as though he might be on the culmination of something, but he didn’t know what. All he knew was that he seemed to have softened Daniel’s defenses somewhat and all it would take was one ripping left hook of an idea….

“All right,” he said, feeling the zeal of his plan take hold. “Pay me rent. Eight pounds ten shillings a month gets you to a hundred a year. But I’ve no intention of spending your money. We’ll put it in an account for the passenger. Give them something to start with in life when they’re of age. After they’re out of the house, well, we could use it for treats for ourselves.” Or he’d have worn Daniel down by then, God willing.

“It’s going to be an obscene amount of money by the time this child is twenty-one.” Daniel was blinking furiously.

“I’m sure we can come up with some sort of stipulation, an allowance.” First they had to get a baby; a young man or woman willing to spend twenty-one years of rent, with interest, in one fell swoop was several steps in the future.

Daniel’s shoulders were trembling. “You do realize,” he said, sounding more vulnerable than Archie had ever heard him, “that anyone who looks twice at our living arrangement…”

“Of course I do.” Archie didn’t want gaol or scandal, but he wanted Daniel, so fiercely his eyes stung. “I’m not saying we won’t be careful. After all, you’ll be my lodger.”

Daniel tipped his head back against Archie’s shoulder, eyes rolling skyward. “God save me from meddling Vikings.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes, it’s a yes, you officious oaf.” Daniel turned and laid his hands on Archie’s chest. “You are impossible.”

“I’m impossible?” Archie asked incredulously. He brushed his gloved finger against Daniel’s cheek. “You’re crying.”

“I am chopping - fucking - onions!”

Archie’s eyes were certainly filling and he wasn’t chopping onions. He pulled Daniel to him, a growl in his throat as Daniel’s lips parted for him. Consequences, any of them, felt the farthest thing; there was only Daniel and his hands twined in Archie’s hair, and his warm, wonderful mouth…

“Does this mean we call you Uncle Archie now?”

Daniel shoved Archie away but without much force. “Ralph,” he said, dabbing his eyes with his handkerchief. “We’re busy.”

“Daddy said he didn’t know how it was for blokes like you because you can’t get married,” Ralph went on as if Daniel had said nothing at all. “So he said I was to wait and call you Uncle Archie when you said I could. Can I now?”

“Yes,” answered Archie before Daniel could speak. He hadn’t thought his heart could have swollen any more than it was from Daniel allowing him in; to be called uncle was something he’d never thought possible. “I’d be honored.”

“You’re not making liver and onions,” said Ralph, looking suspiciously at the pan on the stove.

“Don’t you want to grow big and strong like Uncle Archie?” It seemed Daniel didn’t shy from using his silky mocking tone on a child, nor did it seem Ralph paid it any heed.

He looked Archie up and down as though assessing him to have consumed an overabundance of offal. “Not necessarily.”

Daniel narrowed his eyes. “You will also remember that liver is a prerequisite for cake.”

The small frown on Ralph’s face gave Archie some insight into how Daniel had looked as a child—or perhaps how the passenger would look. “I do want cake,” said Ralph with deliberate thoughtfulness.

“Then first you shall have liver and onions but first you will get out of the kitchen and allow us to finish making it.” Daniel turned back to the counter as though knowing Ralph would depart. “And as for you,” he said to Archie, sitting a frying pan on the stove with a clank, “if you make any public celebratory display—” His throat bobbed, as though for the first time considering the enormity of the thing. “Keep it within the bounds of good taste.” His voice had a raw, strained quality; Archie supposed he’d better leave him to finish the onions.

#

Archie went immediately to the estate office, walking from Princelet Street because waiting for the ’bus seemed like wasted time. What if someone was purchasing his house at this very moment? What had happened to the man who’d made the appointment in the first place? He was preparing himself to enter a bidding war when he entered the office, but Mr. Morgan made no mention of any other person and was more than delighted to begin the arrangements to sell Archie the house. It was all in the hands of the solicitors now. He had never been happier about the prospect of parting with twenty thousand pounds.

Evening was just settling over London when he left the estate office, the rain continuing to come down at a steady clip. Archie was glad Daniel was snug and warm at his sister’s and even gladder that before too much time had passed they would be snug and warm together in their very own house.

Struck by the sudden desire not to go back to his cold lonely flat, he hailed a cab and asked the driver to take him to his club. He knew this was the night Loomis tended to have late meetings in the City so he frequently dined there before going back to the office to finish his work.

He found Loomis in the smoking room, a sheaf of papers spread out before him on the table.

“Curtis!” He threw down the paper he was examining as though glad to be rid of it. “Haven’t seen much of you lately. You’ve been spending time with that artist friend of yours and his crowd.”

“Poet,” Archie corrected automatically. “And as it happens, I have some news on that front.”

Loomis waited expectantly; Archie decided to start with the most basic part of it. “I’ve just bought a house.”

“Congratulations!” Loomis clapped his arm. “Thinking of settling down?”

“Yes.” Archie was relieved Loomis was making it easy for him, though he could not have known that. “Da Silva—Daniel and I—are settling down.”

“Both of you?” Loomis looked confused. “I didn’t know marriage was in the offing for either of you.”

“It’s not.” I wish, thought Archie desperately. “Daniel’s… expecting.”

Loomis’s eyebrows knit in further confusion. “He’s gotten a girl in trouble?”

“Er, no.” Archie’s stomach churned but there was no way out of this. “I’ve gotten Daniel in trouble.”

“What sort of trouble?” Loomis definitely did not get Archie’s meaning. “Financial? Do you need help?”

Archie’s heart almost ached at this; he had not done his part lately despite Loomis’s reaching out to him after the war, despite their long acquaintanceship from Eton onward. It was touching that Loomis would help him. And all the more reason to tell him everything. Loomis had a small son. They would face fatherhood together.

“No, not that sort of trouble.” He took a steadying breath. Daniel lived like this all the time; especially now that he was obviously pregnant, his inclinations were obvious wherever he went. “I mean that Daniel’s with child. My child. I’ve bought the house for us to live in and raise our child together.”

Loomis was so clearly shocked it showed on his face for a scant few seconds before his breeding turned it into a neutral blank. Archie’s stomach lurched as he braced to be dismissed. He would take Daniel, his whole life, all of the lumps…

“You and da Silva?” Loomis asked skeptically.

Archie swallowed. “Yes.”

Archie waited tensely as Loomis considered this. He’d crossed the Rubicon. There would be no way to take it back. Then Loomis’s face split into a genuine smile, and Archie was flooded with relief. “I suppose that puts you in harness, as it were?” Archie nodded eagerly; he’d never thought of it that way before, but he supposed it was true, or at least it was true from Loomis’s point of view. “Congratulations, Curtis.” Loomis shook his hand vigorously. “Fatherhood suits me; it’s sure to suit you as well.”

Archie beamed. “I can’t wait to find out.”

#

“You look terrible,” Hannah said when Daniel managed to drag himself down to breakfast.

“Always honeyed words from my dear sweet sister.” Daniel took a tentative sip of tea; he’d been up all night with dyspepsia. He needed a bed, or even better, a bed containing Archie so he could prop himself up on Archie’s chest. “I had an uncommonly miserable night.”

Hannah smirked knowingly. “Can’t be too comfortable on that chaise longue.”

“Well.” Daniel’s lips curved as he reached for a scone. The passenger was requesting raspberry jam this morning. “As it happens, I won’t be spending too many more nights there. Archie is, perhaps as we speak, buying us a house.” It sounded so absurd he almost wanted to draw the words back into his mouth. It would never work. Well, it was too late now. For all he knew, Archie had already done the deed. A shiver of pleasure found its way down Daniel’s spine. He’d done this. Archie was buying a house for him.

Hannah raised an eyebrow. “When did this happen?”

“Yesterday.” He paused. Hannah was his closest family member. There was so much he couldn’t share with her about the work he and Archie did. He could tell her this, though. “Let’s have another cuppa and I’ll tell you the whole bloody business.”

He felt lighter as he made his way to the office. He hadn’t thought a thing all morning about uncovering the traitor or Jessup’s murder or the fact that treason was being committed in the highest levels of the British government.

It was nearly lunchtime when he entered the agents’ room. Perhaps it would do Vaizey good to get used to Daniel making his own hours again. There had been a time, not terribly long ago, when he stayed away from Whitehall by habit.

Archie was at his desk, doing a poor job of pretending he was more interested in reading the report in front of him than in watching Daniel’s entrance.

Daniel drifted over to his desk, as carelessly graceful as he could when he was on the verge of waddling and stopped short when he saw what was lying on it.

A large green orchid, a piece of paper covered in typed writing, and a pen.

“Sign that if you’re amenable,” Archie said, nodding at the paper. “That’s our rental agreement.”

Daniel pulled the sheet towards him. The rate was precisely set with terms to be terminated only at Daniel’s written request. He struggled to hide the smile that threatened to bloom. Archie was truly maddening. He fixed Archie with a strong look, inked the pen, and signed with a flourish below Archie’s own backward-slanting signature.

“Da Silva’s going to be my lodger,” Archie explained proudly to Gudgeon and Clearwater, as though they hadn’t heard.

There was a snicker from over his shoulder. Cannon, to be sure. He waited for his stomach to knot at the thought of Cannon suspecting anything, but it didn’t. He was, astonishingly, too happy to care. Indeed, he was smiling in full now, and he directed it to Archie.

“My dear Curtis,” he drawled, picking up the orchid. “I believe I told you to keep your extravagance to a minimum.”

“I’d say that’s within the bounds of good taste,” Archie said pleasantly. Daniel regarded the offending orchid. At least it wasn’t a posey, or God forbid, a green carnation, which Archie had sported far too many times for Daniel’s comfort over the past few years, having got it into his head that Daniel wore one because green was his favorite color. (It was, of course, but there were other reasons.)

Daniel couldn’t argue with him, not while their child was fluttering inside him. He skimmed a hand over his belly so Archie would know what he was thinking of and fixed the orchid to his buttonhole. Cannon could snort all he wanted. It couldn’t spoil Daniel’s mood.

“Further congratulations?” Clearwater offered.

“Yes,” Archie answered, beaming. He reached out, dangerously close to taking Daniel’s hand, so Daniel withdrew. That was near enough for the office. But if Clearwater and Gudgeon realized their relationship, well… he supposed that was no great tragedy.