Chapter Text
He stares at the grainy black and white picture sat on his coffee table.
Healthy, growing as it should, strong heartbeat, Grace wanted to keep it.
He'd been preparing himself for that possibility since... well, since she'd told him. If he's being honest, he's not entirely sure of his capabilities or even want to be a father.
Maybe once, when he'd been a younger man, he'd considered it. Children who he would raise to be better than he had been, family vacations to normal places like fucking Disneyland and not obscure European countries and their country houses, family dinners that maybe weren't immediatelt followed by a goat sacrifice for some bullshit reason like "well today is the day Le Bail jacked off and our stocks grew".
He'd grown up privileged, fucking duh, had grown up with good experiences that most kids his age wouldn't have. He doesn't remember much good outside of his siblings though.
He remembers the constant nagging to be a good influence, he was the heir to the Le Domas fortune and company, he had to behave a certain way, he could not bring shame upon the family.
He's got his mother's charm, thankfully, but he also got her bluntness. Daniel sometimes can't keep his sharp tongue to himself at those bullshit rich people events he was made to go to. Beyond some errant facial features, a fondness for whiskey and his womaniser habits, there's really little of Tony Le Domas in him.
He remembers killing uncle Charles. Daniel hadn't shot or stabbed him, but he'd killed him all the same. He remembers being sixteen and slitting the throat of a goat for the first time, remembers the warm spray of blood on his hands, the dying cries, his father's hand on his shoulder and him telling him how proud he was for the first time ever-
What would his parents think of all this, he wonders?
His mother would enjoy a grandchild, of that he's certain. Would gush and beam and spoil it. For all her faults, his mother does love her family.
His father would be proud, he imagines, not in the usual way a grandparent should be, but because Daniel had (accidentally) fathered an heir for the family. Their line would continue, Le Bail would be so very pleased. Maybe not so pleased about it being out of wedlock, but that was a bridge Daniel would never cross. A bridge he'd set fire to and take an axe to, if he could.
Grace was already tied to him with a child, there was already so much he would have to sit down and explain to her- a thought that makes him want to hurl, if he's honest. But marriage is something he would never, ever do to her. He'd done enough, after all.
He thinks of her, radiant in a white gown, holding up a card that reads 'Hide and Seek'.
Daniel shudders, running a hand through his hair and standing, pacing the length of his couch for a few minutes. His eyes occasionally drift to the sonogram on his table.
He really, truly hopes that Grace's goodness, her kind nature, he hopes they wash out the stains of his family from their child. Their baby will never be like the rest of them, he won't allow it, hell, he feels violent at the thought.
He can't tell them, not yet. Can't let them try and get their hooks into Grace, into their child. He may actually throttle whoever tries.
Daniel loves his family, as best as he can anyway. That doesn't mean he can forgive what they are. Himself included.
He moves to his kitchen, pouring himself a nice glass of whiskey, and he downs it, before pouring himself another one.
"Hey," he says to the empty air. He's not entirely sure if Le Bail even fucking exists, but... "My family is insanely devoted to you, have to say I'm on the fence, man. But if... fuck I feel insane. If you're real, sitting in hell, plotting whatever, killing puppies, I don't know- do me a solid and maybe leave my kid out of our shit? Don't..." his voice wobbles, and he clutches his glass tighter. "Just please don't. Leave Grace and the baby out of everything, just..."
His shoulders sag, and he leans against his counter. Yeah, he feels fucking insane.
He thinks of Aunt Helene, funnily enough. Aunt Helene who had lost her shit and devoted every second of her life to Mr Le Bail. She's so devoted it even gives his father pause, sometimes. Too freaked out by his younger sister and her bizarre and downright cultish mannerisms.
He thinks of Charles, and sips his drink with a shaking hand. Maybe he can't blame her for going off the rails, but devoting her life to the same entity they killed her husband for is...
Yeah, Daniel can't even begin to understand his aunt Helene. His own father doesn't, especially given how into the sacrifices she tends to be.
His family is fucked, but they're his. They're all he knows, and for all that he pretends to be different, to be better, he's just as fucked as all the rest of them.
Alex, at the very least, had gotten out. Kept contact as minimal as he could. He worked on his own tech company, kept separate beyond sporadic phonecalls to their mother to let her know she wasn't dead. Daniel saw him a handful of times a month, thankful that his brother didn't see the need to cut him out.
He thinks he might be a little more like the rest of them if he didn't have Alex.
Alex would be a good father, would know how to raise a kid right and...
Daniel rubs at his jaw, sitting back down on his couch and staring at the sonogram again.
A boy or a girl, he wonders. His dark curls or Grace's blonde waves? His dark eyes or her shining, mesmerising blue ones?
Boys tend to be the firstborns, in their family. Rachel had been the only exception in decades. And Grace had pointed out how his colouring was more dominant in the gene pool side of things.
His likelihood was a boy who looked like him. His stomach rolls a little.
He takes another drink.
His relationship with Charity ends not with a bang, but an awkward conversation over coffee.
Her stare is piercing. She really would have fit in well in his family.
"Is there someone else?" she asks him, drumming perfectly manicured fingers against her latte glass. Oat milk, decaf, half shot with a dash of vanilla, extra hot but not scalding, not too much foam.
Pretentious.
"It's complicated." he tells her, honestly. He's not with Grace but... he can't in good conscious marry Charity. No matter how well she would fit in and how easy it would make things.
"So, yes, in other words." she hums, tilting her head and staring at him.
"Yes, in other words." he agrees, taking a sip of his flat white. What he'd give to make it Irish.
Charity hums again, considering him. "You've either fucked up bad or you genuinely love someone. But given how well I know you by now, I'm guessing the former?"
Damn her.
"Sure." he says, evasively, shrugging.
She snorts. "What? Knock up some slut at the bar?"
"She's not a slut-" he snaps defensively, glowering.
"Oh my god, you did." she almost smiles, setting down her cup. "You marrying her, then?"
"No."
"Oh, bet your family will love that." she drawls, looking at her nails. Her eyes flick back up to him. "They don't know, do they?"
Damn her. Was the woman a mind reader?
"No, it's..."
"Complicated?"
"Complicated." he sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face.
"Well," Charity says, taking another sip of her latte. "Consider me glad I dodged that bullet, then. I'm not built to be a mother, let alone a step-mother."
"Yeah, something about forcing them to clean and wear rags, right? And converse with rodents."
"Moreso the leave them with a nanny type. I can't handle their whining."
"Funny, thought since you do it so much you'd get along swell."
"Hysterical."
It is incredibly fucked up to admit he might miss her, isn't it?
Is... is this Stockholm Syndrome? Fuck, it might just be-
"How far along?" Charity asks, crossing one leg over the other.
"Uh... about three months?" He couldn't wrap his head around the way they'd talked 'weeks' and from conception then from last period. He was sticking to months.
"So we were together, then?" she asks, voice getting just a bit of edge to it. Ah, that old insecurity of hers; that someone would be better than her, take attention away from her.
"Oh, get off your high horse. I walked in on you fucking my pool boy how many times, now?" he isn't bitter, truly. He didn't care then, he didn't care now.
Charity huffs, waving a hand. Ha, he's got her.
"Well," she says, downing the rest of her latte. "No sense hanging around, is there? Not like I'm gonna get anything else with you. Bye, Daniel." she grabs her purse and saunters out of the coffee shop.
Daniel blinks due to how quick that had happened, before shrugging and leaning back into his seat.
Yeah, screw what he said about missing her.
Freedom is a far sweeter balm for his soul than her icy presence and barbs had ever been.