seiberwing (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
seiberwing) wrote2012-11-16 11:44 pm
seiberwing) wrote2012-11-16 11:44 pm
For Nico because Nico is awesome.
Title: The Unusual Origins of Kay Faraday (1/?)
Fandom: Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney
Pairing/characters: Byrne Faraday/Tyrell Faraday, brief appearances by Kay Faraday and Yanni Yogi
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Pregnancy
Author’s Note: Taken from a prompt on the kink meme. I…may have taken a few medical liberties here. In my defense, the canon's not much better. Looking at you, walking around just dandy after years-long coma prosecutor.
There were exactly two people in the entire city who knew Byrne Faraday had a girl’s name on his birth certificate. One was Faraday’s doctor, who had his medical records and prescribed his testosterone injections and would be the most incompetent medical professional in the world if he didn’t know. The other was Detective Badd, to whom Faraday had told the secret during a drunken game of embarrassing childhood stories. It was generally agreed that Faraday had won the contest, though Badd’s awkward mumbled confession regarding his persisted interest in his employer definitely took the silver a week later.
(And after that Faraday was happy to concede that they were both winners.)
Besides those two, the man he needed and the man he wanted, Faraday considered it no one else’s business and gave the matter very little thought on a daily basis.
Then the morning sicknesss started.
Faraday leaned on his bathroom counter and put one hand over his face. This was not supposed to happen. They'd only done it a few times, just to play around, and this wasn’t even supposed to be physically possible. He’d bought the test on a simple whim, and all he could think of in the middle of all the madness was what he was going to tell Badd.
He spent a long time staring at his phone before finally hitting Badd’s number on speed dial.
“Detective Badd.”
“It’s Byrne.” Better to get it out in one go, before he lost his nerve. “Tyrell, I’m pre—” He was interrupted by a loud clatter and a distant curse.
“Sorry,” Badd said a moment later. “I’m putting groceries in the car, dropped the phone. Hold on.” A clack as Badd put the phone down and Faraday fidgeted. There went his nerve, bye bye.
“Look, just…come over to my place, okay?” he said when Badd returned from his groceries. “I need to talk to you about something.”
“What can’t you tell me over the phone?”
“It’s about…us. It’s personal.” Code words for ‘you know, that thing we can’t talk about in public’.
“I’ll be there in twenty.” Click. You could give Badd credit, he didn’t mess around asking stupid questions. They’d built up a store of trust in the years they’d been together—when Badd said get down, Faraday didn’t ask why before he dove under the prosecutor’s bench and let Badd handle the knife-wielding madmen.
Faraday spent the time fretting, pacing, making tea, pacing with tea. When he heard the familiar growl of Badd's car in the driveway he was at the door instantly.
Badd gave the room a quick glance about as he entered, wary of intruders into Faraday's house or their life. Nobody. Yet. "What's the problem, Byrne?" he asked, slipping one hand in his pocket. Faraday's pale face wasn't giving him much encouragement.
Faraday opened his mouth and closed it again, frowning. "Sit. Want tea?" he asked, all too happy to delay the news now that Badd was actually here. There was no good way to start the conversation.
"I don't like tea. You know that." Tension made Badd cranky, and his fingers were fidgeting around the lollipop in his pocket. He sat, but didn't relax. "What's going on? You're not...sick or something, are you? I know you’ve been feeling kinda nasty recently.”
"Oh, god," Faraday said, and collapsed on the couch next to Badd. His laugh was forced, almost a series of coughs. "Yeah, I'm sick. Got an impossible little clump of cells inside me, apparently."
Badd drew in a soft breath, his thoughts immediately going to a more terminal condition. "Can you do something about it, chemo or whatever? I'm so sorry, Byrne."
"Wha-- no, no, other kind, the kind that grows into a little baby. God, at least cancer wouldn't show.” Faraday drained his mug of tea, got up, and moved towards his wine rack before he could even think about it. He was halfway there before he stopped. "... Dammit, I don't know if I can have a drink," he said, almost-laughing.
It took Badd a few seconds to work through the statement as metaphor and then back around to remembering Faraday still had a girl’s set of plumbing that in theory still did something. "You're...no. You can't be. I thought those injections you were taking took care of that.”
If the situation hadn’t been so dire Faraday would have treasured the shocked look on Badd’s normally stoic face. “Went through four tests checking it,” he said with a shrug. He turned the electric kettle back on, passing the wine rack. "Totally impossible. I mean, with the hormones-- yeah, this shouldn't even have happened at all. I’m gonna call my doctor, see if maybe there was something wrong with his supply, but…it’s here." He leaned against the counter, rubbing his forehead. "What're we going to do, Tyrell?"
Badd followed him into the kitchen. If Faraday wasn’t going to have a drink, he was, and he plucked a random bottle from the rack. "We? Where's the we in this, there's..." And the next car of the train finally came into the station, about three hours behind the first one. "Oh hell, it's my kid, isn't it?" he realized, gaping even further. "Goddamn. And we only did it a few times...are you sure?"
"Either yours, or we've got the second coming on our hands," Faraday joked, voice strained.
“Go to all the trouble of only fucking guys and I still wind up knocking someone up,” Badd grumbled as he unscrewed the wine top and took a swig directly from the bottle. "So what are we gonna do?" he asked, after sating his immediate need for dulled senses. "Go be the weirdest clients Planned Parenthood's ever seen?"
"I'm sure they've seen weirder," Faraday said and rubbed his face again. "Do you think that's what we should do? Someone might see us, recognize us-- maybe there's one upstate, I could take a week off..."
"Upstate nothing, I'm driving you out to Arizona." Badd took another swig and lamented how weak the stuff was. "Don't know what the...recovery time or whatever is. You can call in sick."
"Yeah." Faraday leaned farther over the counter, elbows on it, face in his hand. "God, I'm pregnant. How the hell did that even happen? It shouldn't be physically possible, my ovaries should've dried up and fallen out from all the testosterone I've put in me."
"Maybe you really are the Virgin Mary. Or Virgin Mark, I guess. Here, I think you need this more than me." Badd handed Faraday the bottle. "Don’t worry. We'll fix it." He was still distant and dismayed, but whatever it was they'd fix it.
"Not much of a virgin," Faraday joked, and stared at the bottle for a moment. Every lecture he'd ever had in his life screamed in his memory, not to drink when you're pregnant, not to smoke, not to so much as jostle the precious little life that's about to ruin yours--
He passed it back, undrunk. "Don't think I need a depressant right now," he said, uneasily. "If I start drinking, I'll never stop."
Badd set the bottle aside and put a protective arm around Faraday's shoulders. "We'll save it for afterwards, then," he said, and kissed Faraday's temple.
Faraday blinked at the affection, unprompted, but so very needed-- he leaned against Badd, sighing an unsteady breath out, listening to the water in the tea pot begin to hiss. "Yeah. Definitely." He couldn't manage to sound enthused.
Badd dutifully poured Faraday some tea, being encouraging by being effective. Ish. He was moving, at least. "I'm not mad," he said, trying to find a good combo of empty phrases to bring Faraday back from despair. "You didn't know."
"If you were mad, I think I'd have to smack some sense into you." Faraday grinned weakly at him "I was more worried about you freaking out.”
"I am freaking out, I got a guy pregnant." A guy who was also his partner and one of the best prosecutors in the state. It was like a six car pileup of what the hell. Badd put the tea down in front of his partner. "But freaking out in a supportive way," he added belatedly.
Faraday's grin melted a bit towards genuine fondness. He held a hand out to Badd. "Thanks," he said.
Badd took it and squeezed it, hard. "Go call in. We'll head up tomorrow, get it taken care of, nobody'll know."
Faraday squeezed back, unsteady, and wondered if it was the right choice. "... Does it have to be tomorrow?" he asked, after a moment. "God, I found out... an hour ago. Less. I think I need a bit more time to digest."
“Longer you put it off, probably the more trouble it'll be..." Badd didn’t stop holding his hand but he was getting mildly suspicious. Faraday did want to do the right thing here, right?
"Can't be more than a month or two along," Faraday pointed out, "it's still probably about the size of a tadpole. A couple days won't hurt."
"Can I still take some trauma leave?" Badd looked absurdly pathetic. He'd rather be here with Faraday than at work frantically obsessing over it.
"Hell, yeah. I'm sure as hell not going back to work until this is dealt with."
Badd took the tea in one hand and Faraday in his other arm and guided him back to the living room. "Anyone asks, I caught the flu off you or something."
Faraday chuckled. "Sounds good to me," he agreed, and curled up against him. Badd, far larger, managed to get all of Faraday into his lap. He couldn’t resist flicking his eyes towards the door, confirming that it was locked--a routine check, Faraday was used to the constant paranoia. His hand slid down Faraday's chest and rested, almost innocently, on his stomach. Of course he wouldn’t be able to feel anything but he still wondered...
Faraday tensed, then laid his hand over Badd's. "Like I said, tadpole," he murmured. "Though I guess it has some of your genes, could probably already kick the ass of every criminal this side of the Pacific."
"It's probably a better detective right now than some of the guys at the station." Badd patted Faraday's hand and tried not to think about it as ‘baby’ rather than 'horrifying disease that will ruin everything after Faraday starts swelling up'.
Faraday laughed. "That's not saying much. I'm pretty sure the couch is a better detective than most of your coworkers."
Certainly spends less time complaining, too." Badd shifted and moved his hand upward, holding Faraday around the far less awkward chest.
Faraday snorted and went silent, thinking. If he was going to get rid of it, he shouldn't be talking about how it shared bits of Badd. And he shouldn't think about it like it's anything more than an inconvenient clump of cells.
Badd was thinking similar thoughts and pretending he wasn’t. He was good with other people's kids, came of being a walking candy dispenser, but that wasn’t the same thing as having a little scruffy miniature Tyrell. It was impossible. Didn’t fit into his job, his life, his anything, and it definitely wouldn’t keep Faraday where Badd needed him to be. He distracted himself by undoing Faraday's hair and coaxed him into ignoring the situation for the rest of the evening.
It wasn’t the first time they’d had to cover up an unpleasant truth for the sake of getting the job done.
Fandom: Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney
Pairing/characters: Byrne Faraday/Tyrell Faraday, brief appearances by Kay Faraday and Yanni Yogi
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Pregnancy
Author’s Note: Taken from a prompt on the kink meme. I…may have taken a few medical liberties here. In my defense, the canon's not much better. Looking at you, walking around just dandy after years-long coma prosecutor.
There were exactly two people in the entire city who knew Byrne Faraday had a girl’s name on his birth certificate. One was Faraday’s doctor, who had his medical records and prescribed his testosterone injections and would be the most incompetent medical professional in the world if he didn’t know. The other was Detective Badd, to whom Faraday had told the secret during a drunken game of embarrassing childhood stories. It was generally agreed that Faraday had won the contest, though Badd’s awkward mumbled confession regarding his persisted interest in his employer definitely took the silver a week later.
(And after that Faraday was happy to concede that they were both winners.)
Besides those two, the man he needed and the man he wanted, Faraday considered it no one else’s business and gave the matter very little thought on a daily basis.
Then the morning sicknesss started.
Faraday leaned on his bathroom counter and put one hand over his face. This was not supposed to happen. They'd only done it a few times, just to play around, and this wasn’t even supposed to be physically possible. He’d bought the test on a simple whim, and all he could think of in the middle of all the madness was what he was going to tell Badd.
He spent a long time staring at his phone before finally hitting Badd’s number on speed dial.
“Detective Badd.”
“It’s Byrne.” Better to get it out in one go, before he lost his nerve. “Tyrell, I’m pre—” He was interrupted by a loud clatter and a distant curse.
“Sorry,” Badd said a moment later. “I’m putting groceries in the car, dropped the phone. Hold on.” A clack as Badd put the phone down and Faraday fidgeted. There went his nerve, bye bye.
“Look, just…come over to my place, okay?” he said when Badd returned from his groceries. “I need to talk to you about something.”
“What can’t you tell me over the phone?”
“It’s about…us. It’s personal.” Code words for ‘you know, that thing we can’t talk about in public’.
“I’ll be there in twenty.” Click. You could give Badd credit, he didn’t mess around asking stupid questions. They’d built up a store of trust in the years they’d been together—when Badd said get down, Faraday didn’t ask why before he dove under the prosecutor’s bench and let Badd handle the knife-wielding madmen.
Faraday spent the time fretting, pacing, making tea, pacing with tea. When he heard the familiar growl of Badd's car in the driveway he was at the door instantly.
Badd gave the room a quick glance about as he entered, wary of intruders into Faraday's house or their life. Nobody. Yet. "What's the problem, Byrne?" he asked, slipping one hand in his pocket. Faraday's pale face wasn't giving him much encouragement.
Faraday opened his mouth and closed it again, frowning. "Sit. Want tea?" he asked, all too happy to delay the news now that Badd was actually here. There was no good way to start the conversation.
"I don't like tea. You know that." Tension made Badd cranky, and his fingers were fidgeting around the lollipop in his pocket. He sat, but didn't relax. "What's going on? You're not...sick or something, are you? I know you’ve been feeling kinda nasty recently.”
"Oh, god," Faraday said, and collapsed on the couch next to Badd. His laugh was forced, almost a series of coughs. "Yeah, I'm sick. Got an impossible little clump of cells inside me, apparently."
Badd drew in a soft breath, his thoughts immediately going to a more terminal condition. "Can you do something about it, chemo or whatever? I'm so sorry, Byrne."
"Wha-- no, no, other kind, the kind that grows into a little baby. God, at least cancer wouldn't show.” Faraday drained his mug of tea, got up, and moved towards his wine rack before he could even think about it. He was halfway there before he stopped. "... Dammit, I don't know if I can have a drink," he said, almost-laughing.
It took Badd a few seconds to work through the statement as metaphor and then back around to remembering Faraday still had a girl’s set of plumbing that in theory still did something. "You're...no. You can't be. I thought those injections you were taking took care of that.”
If the situation hadn’t been so dire Faraday would have treasured the shocked look on Badd’s normally stoic face. “Went through four tests checking it,” he said with a shrug. He turned the electric kettle back on, passing the wine rack. "Totally impossible. I mean, with the hormones-- yeah, this shouldn't even have happened at all. I’m gonna call my doctor, see if maybe there was something wrong with his supply, but…it’s here." He leaned against the counter, rubbing his forehead. "What're we going to do, Tyrell?"
Badd followed him into the kitchen. If Faraday wasn’t going to have a drink, he was, and he plucked a random bottle from the rack. "We? Where's the we in this, there's..." And the next car of the train finally came into the station, about three hours behind the first one. "Oh hell, it's my kid, isn't it?" he realized, gaping even further. "Goddamn. And we only did it a few times...are you sure?"
"Either yours, or we've got the second coming on our hands," Faraday joked, voice strained.
“Go to all the trouble of only fucking guys and I still wind up knocking someone up,” Badd grumbled as he unscrewed the wine top and took a swig directly from the bottle. "So what are we gonna do?" he asked, after sating his immediate need for dulled senses. "Go be the weirdest clients Planned Parenthood's ever seen?"
"I'm sure they've seen weirder," Faraday said and rubbed his face again. "Do you think that's what we should do? Someone might see us, recognize us-- maybe there's one upstate, I could take a week off..."
"Upstate nothing, I'm driving you out to Arizona." Badd took another swig and lamented how weak the stuff was. "Don't know what the...recovery time or whatever is. You can call in sick."
"Yeah." Faraday leaned farther over the counter, elbows on it, face in his hand. "God, I'm pregnant. How the hell did that even happen? It shouldn't be physically possible, my ovaries should've dried up and fallen out from all the testosterone I've put in me."
"Maybe you really are the Virgin Mary. Or Virgin Mark, I guess. Here, I think you need this more than me." Badd handed Faraday the bottle. "Don’t worry. We'll fix it." He was still distant and dismayed, but whatever it was they'd fix it.
"Not much of a virgin," Faraday joked, and stared at the bottle for a moment. Every lecture he'd ever had in his life screamed in his memory, not to drink when you're pregnant, not to smoke, not to so much as jostle the precious little life that's about to ruin yours--
He passed it back, undrunk. "Don't think I need a depressant right now," he said, uneasily. "If I start drinking, I'll never stop."
Badd set the bottle aside and put a protective arm around Faraday's shoulders. "We'll save it for afterwards, then," he said, and kissed Faraday's temple.
Faraday blinked at the affection, unprompted, but so very needed-- he leaned against Badd, sighing an unsteady breath out, listening to the water in the tea pot begin to hiss. "Yeah. Definitely." He couldn't manage to sound enthused.
Badd dutifully poured Faraday some tea, being encouraging by being effective. Ish. He was moving, at least. "I'm not mad," he said, trying to find a good combo of empty phrases to bring Faraday back from despair. "You didn't know."
"If you were mad, I think I'd have to smack some sense into you." Faraday grinned weakly at him "I was more worried about you freaking out.”
"I am freaking out, I got a guy pregnant." A guy who was also his partner and one of the best prosecutors in the state. It was like a six car pileup of what the hell. Badd put the tea down in front of his partner. "But freaking out in a supportive way," he added belatedly.
Faraday's grin melted a bit towards genuine fondness. He held a hand out to Badd. "Thanks," he said.
Badd took it and squeezed it, hard. "Go call in. We'll head up tomorrow, get it taken care of, nobody'll know."
Faraday squeezed back, unsteady, and wondered if it was the right choice. "... Does it have to be tomorrow?" he asked, after a moment. "God, I found out... an hour ago. Less. I think I need a bit more time to digest."
“Longer you put it off, probably the more trouble it'll be..." Badd didn’t stop holding his hand but he was getting mildly suspicious. Faraday did want to do the right thing here, right?
"Can't be more than a month or two along," Faraday pointed out, "it's still probably about the size of a tadpole. A couple days won't hurt."
"Can I still take some trauma leave?" Badd looked absurdly pathetic. He'd rather be here with Faraday than at work frantically obsessing over it.
"Hell, yeah. I'm sure as hell not going back to work until this is dealt with."
Badd took the tea in one hand and Faraday in his other arm and guided him back to the living room. "Anyone asks, I caught the flu off you or something."
Faraday chuckled. "Sounds good to me," he agreed, and curled up against him. Badd, far larger, managed to get all of Faraday into his lap. He couldn’t resist flicking his eyes towards the door, confirming that it was locked--a routine check, Faraday was used to the constant paranoia. His hand slid down Faraday's chest and rested, almost innocently, on his stomach. Of course he wouldn’t be able to feel anything but he still wondered...
Faraday tensed, then laid his hand over Badd's. "Like I said, tadpole," he murmured. "Though I guess it has some of your genes, could probably already kick the ass of every criminal this side of the Pacific."
"It's probably a better detective right now than some of the guys at the station." Badd patted Faraday's hand and tried not to think about it as ‘baby’ rather than 'horrifying disease that will ruin everything after Faraday starts swelling up'.
Faraday laughed. "That's not saying much. I'm pretty sure the couch is a better detective than most of your coworkers."
Certainly spends less time complaining, too." Badd shifted and moved his hand upward, holding Faraday around the far less awkward chest.
Faraday snorted and went silent, thinking. If he was going to get rid of it, he shouldn't be talking about how it shared bits of Badd. And he shouldn't think about it like it's anything more than an inconvenient clump of cells.
Badd was thinking similar thoughts and pretending he wasn’t. He was good with other people's kids, came of being a walking candy dispenser, but that wasn’t the same thing as having a little scruffy miniature Tyrell. It was impossible. Didn’t fit into his job, his life, his anything, and it definitely wouldn’t keep Faraday where Badd needed him to be. He distracted himself by undoing Faraday's hair and coaxed him into ignoring the situation for the rest of the evening.
It wasn’t the first time they’d had to cover up an unpleasant truth for the sake of getting the job done.