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English
Series:
Part 35 of The Mummy—Missing Scenes and Everything in Between
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Published:
2024-02-12
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1,163
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1/1
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Anytime, Anytime

Summary:

Jonathan sensed danger, even without seeing Rick’s face, and had nearly made it to the door and safety, when O'Connell blurted out a question that stopped Jonathan in his tracks.
"What if I'm not a good dad?"

Notes:

We’re back in 1927 again, thankfully, because things are much more pleasant for ‘the gang’ and much more pleasant to write.

Work Text:

It was snowing out, absolutely miserable weather, Jonathan thought, so he was more than happy to stay inside the warm house, bundled up to the point of ridiculousness—so Rick thought—and help his sister and brother-in-law set up the nursery.

He was perfectly content until Evy decided to go lie down, leaving him and Rick alone with all the heavy lifting. 

Jonathan began to lament the strain his back was surely soon to take, but after a moment of Rick not telling him to pick up some heavy thing or other, he turned to his brother-in-law only to see him staring at the rocking horse in the corner and not doing anything productive at all.

 Jonathan sensed danger, even without seeing Rick’s face, and had nearly made it to the door and safety, when O'Connell blurted out a question that stopped Jonathan in his tracks.

 "What if I'm not a good dad?"

Jonathan gulped, fidgeted with his sleeve. O'Connell was not a subtle man, evidenced by everything he did ever, and Jonathan didn't expect him to be, but he was still shocked by such a question, uttered so abruptly.

 "What?" Was all he could manage.

 “You heard me,” Rick said gruffly, eyes darting to Jonathan for half a second before focusing on the rocking horse again.

Jonathan had heard him, but it wasn’t like that helped anything.

 “I…don’t think you have anything to worry about.” Jonathan glanced around, wishing Evy would come back and rescue him.

 “But I don’t know anything about being a dad.” Rick shrugged, though his tone was far from nonchalant. “I never…really had one.”

 “Oh.” Jonathan had figured as much, what with Rick having grown up in an orphanage in Cairo, but it was still a blow to hear. This was so far beyond his scope of conversation. He fiddled with a loose thread on his sweater and blew out a breath. “Have you talked to Evy about any of this?”

 Rick didn’t answer.

 “Well?”

“…No.”

 “Well, old chap, I dare say she’s much more equipped for this sort of thing than I am.” 

But even as Jonathan uttered the words, he felt somehow that he was betraying O’Connell. The man had bared his soul right there in front of him and the rocking horse, and what was Jonathan doing? Well, he was trying to make him cover his soul back up again, that’s what, and it was quite rude.

 “But, Rick, I really do think…” Jonathan cleared his throat, wanting to make sure he didn’t muck this up. “I truly believe that you’re going to be an excellent father.”

Rick looked at him and somehow even his eyebrows managed to appear skeptical. “Really?”

“Yes, really. Would I lie to you?” 

Rick squinted at him in a way that he must have learned from Evy.

“Don’t answer that.” Jonathan grinned sheepishly. “But I really do think you will be.”

 “Why?”

 “Well…because, why wouldn’t you? You’re actually a decent sort of person, underneath all that gun-wielding gruffness you try to sell to the world. If you’re even half as good a father as you are a husband, well, I daresay you’ll be in the running for father of the year for the rest of your life.”

Rick blinked at him. “Thanks Jonathan.”

“Oh, yes, well…” He waved him off, unsure of what to do with himself now, desperate to change the air in the room. “Anytime.”

He sincerely hoped, however, that this wouldn’t become something he’d have to do anytime . Once was enough.

++

That evening, Jonathan sat in his room at his desk, halfway studying Arabic, when there was a light rapping on the door. It was a welcome break, the knock, because he was beginning to feel a bit cross-eyed.

 “Come in,” he called, sitting back from slouching over his very poor attempts to write a few words, staring at the smudged ink and what looked more like chicken scratch than penmanship.

“Jonathan,” came Evy’s voice, and something about her tone made him look at her, only to see that her hands were fidgeting the way they always did when she was nervous.

“Yes, Evy?” He asked, apprehensive of just what sort of a conversation he was getting himself into.

“Do you think…” Evy’s eyes fixated on him, shining with something he tried to convince himself wasn’t tears. “Do you think I’ll be a good mother?”

Oh bloody hell, not again, Jonathan lamented. But he pretended he was in a poker game and put on a neutral expression. 

 “Of course, old mum.”

“But I don’t know anything about children.”

“Plenty of people don’t know anything about children. I, for one, am extremely unfamiliar with them.”

The expression that stole over Evy’s face told him that that was not the correct thing to say.

He began to sweat. Tugging at his collar, he tried to think of something to say. But, as he often did in situations where he had no earthly idea what to say, he rambled.

“Do you think that half the people in the world who have children know anything about them?” He didn’t give her time to answer, even as she opened her mouth, because that was a rhetorical question. “I’d wager if half the people in the world did know anything about children, they wouldn’t have any. That’s why half the people in the world don’t know anything about them—otherwise we’d find ourselves on the brink of extinction.”

He managed to realize, mostly because she was squinting at him, that he was losing the point.

“What I’m trying to say is, it’ll come to you.” He reached out and patted her arm. “You’re going to be a great mother. You already are.”

“I am?” 

“Yes.”

“But I’m…I’m frightened,” she confessed in a small voice.

That phrase …Jonathan smiled sadly, an expression lost on Evy because she was too busy staring uncomprehendingly at the papers on his desk.

“Someone, a very smart someone…” His hand rose to rub the spot over his heart. His voice came out softer, more wistful, than he would have liked, but he hardly noticed. “He once told me that if you’re not frightened, you’re an idiot. And you’re one of the least idiotic people I know.”

“Really?”

Her response pulled him out of thoughts he shouldn’t have been sinking into and he blinked, coming back to the conversation.

“Yes, really.” He gave her hand a squeeze. He reckoned he knew exactly what to say now, because it had worked before. “And if you’re even half as good a mother as you are a wife, well, I daresay you’ll be in the running for mother of the year for the rest of your life.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Yes.”

She reached down and hugged him, pulling back enough after a moment to bump her forehead against his.

“Thanks, Jonathan.”

He smiled. “You’re welcome, old mum. Anytime.”

And somehow, this time, he really did mean it.