Author: Steph

Title: The Anxiety of Not Knowing

Rating: PG-13

Author's note: Thanks to Mare randombtchchick and inbetween _inbetween_ for the betas. You really helped a lot, with simple grammatical stuff, as well as a better grasp of the characters themselves.

Important note: Yes, this fic sort of mirrors a current plot on QaFUS. No, it wasn't intentional. I don't watch the US version, so it didn't hit me until halfway into this story the similarity of the two. I hadn't meant to copy or anything, though I don't know if I wasn't subconsciously influenced by the US show.

Feedback: Yes, please! I like to print it out and roll around in it
a la Scrooge McDuck. Make me happy!

Disclaimers: QaF, the series, characters and concepts are the property, copyright and trademark of RTD and Channel Four. No ownership is claimed by the author, this work is non-profit, non-commercial and not for sale and may not be reproduced or sold for commercial purposes. Characters and situations not specifically owned by the creators of QaF are the sole copyright of the author.

Summary: Vince promises to help Stuart and then doesn't show up. That can't be right.

Requirements: Saila wanted a fic where Stuart interacted with Alfie. Hope this works for you!

Stuart agreed to take care of Alfie for the entire weekend while the lesbians went on a weekend holiday. He demanded Vince’s presence for the duration to keep him company, and possibly change some dirty nappies, should he happen to be around when the time came.

Romey dropped Alfie off at his flat on Friday morning, along with a mountain of clothes, toys, bottles, nappies and bibs, a million different instructions and an entire fucking Rolodex full of emergency contact numbers.

“Oi, woman, you’ll be back in two days. Go shag that dyke of yours; we’ll be fine here. Vince’s coming ‘round anyway, to help out.”

“Promise me you’ll be careful, Stuart. And bedtime is seven-thirty!”

“So I see from section ten of the manual,” he replied, waving the written guidelines in his hand.

“Alright,” she said and took a deep breath. She reached down to the pram held at Stuart’s side and placed a light kiss on Alfie’s sleep-softened face. She looked up at Stuart, a small smile gracing her face when he rolled his eyes at her sentimental display. “Thanks again.”

“You’re welcome,” he snipped back. “As if I had a choice against your fucking guilt trips.” Beside him Alfie stirred awake, and Stuart turned a slightly concerned glance at his son.

Romey grinned again, knowingly this time, making Stuart’s teeth sit on edge. He let her kiss his cheek once. “Of course, that’s why,” she answered. “Bye, Stuart.”

Stuart closed the door without another word. He placed the pram on the counter and watched Alfie gaze around at his surroundings. He even seemed to remember the flat, though he’d only been there a dozen or so times, smart boy that he was. Alfie’s eyes finally landed on Stuart, whom he definitely remembered, because he waved his chubby arms in the air and gurgled happily, stuffing one of his tiny fists into his mouth.

“Hello there, big fella,” Stuart greeted, smiling slightly. He moved forward and picked Alfie up, balancing him with his left arm and hip, and rocking back and forth. He crooked the tip of his right pointer finger into Alfie’s mouth, and the baby gnawed on it with his few, newly formed teeth. “Cor, look at you. You’ve sprouted up in the two weeks since I’ve last seen you.” He shifted him more securely at his side. “Certainly weigh more. What do those lesbians feed you? McDonalds and chocolate biscuits?”

Alfie squirmed and a bright grin spread around Stuart’s finger at the sound of his father’s voice.

“It’s just you and I tonight until Vince gets off work. You remember Vince, don’t you? Spiky hair, bit of a twat? Makes you sit through all those terrible science fiction films at his flat? Has a mad mother?” He jiggled Alfie a bit, and the baby shrieked. Stuart took that as recognition.

Stuart checked the time on the microwave and gave a start. He’d be late for work if he didn’t hurry. He strapped Alfie back into his pram, grabbed one of the three nappy bags filled to the brim with necessities that Romey brought him and headed to the Jeep, strapped Alfie into the car seat set up in the back, and put the pram and nappy bag in the boot.

When he arrived at his office, he placed Alfred, again in his pram, along with the nappy bag, on Sandra’s desk. He let her get her requisite female cooing and baby noises out of the way before telling her to bring Alfie to the daycare Thrive set up on the fourth floor.

Work felt longer than usual, and when he went to pick up Alfie from the women in the daycare, his son was fussy and irritable, sobbing only slightly less as Stuart cradled and attempted to sooth him. The drive home was similarly loud, and Stuart grit his teeth and focused on going the speed limit and looking both ways when he made his rights turns, trying to block out the screaming child in his back seat. He gave Alfie his dummy, but couldn’t get the lad to suck on it for all his wide-mouthed screeching.

Back at the flat, things weren’t much better; Alfie continued crying as Stuart changed his nappy, fed him, put on his pajamas and tried to rock him, play with him and put him to sleep. He finally calmed down after several hours when Stuart switched on a nature programme involving lions and their mating patterns. He was so relieved to have the screaming stop that he didn’t mind the fact that Alfie watched what basically came down to animal porn. He’d be back with Romey and Lisa in a few days, and they could deal with any lingering emotional damage the show caused.

Stuart made sure there was nothing small enough for Alfie to stuff in his mouth, and sat him on his belly on the floor, his wide little eyes intent on the telly as a lion climbed on top of a lioness. Stuart went into the kitchen and grabbed some pills to relieve his throbbing headache, double-checked the crib he’d put in his room the night before, and when he came back out five minutes later, Alfie slept soundly. As usual, he had stuck his right fist into his mouth, and the light from the lamp caught on the wispy brown hair atop his head. His pudgy little leg in its blue footie pajamas kicked out a bit in sleep. His chest rose slowly, evenly, up and down.

Stuart watched for a moment, his arms crossed over his chest and his head cocked. He carefully picked Alfie off of the floor and brought him to the cradle, laying him on his stomach. He watched him again, this time under the guise of covering Alfie with his blanket and triple checking the integrity of the cradle.

The day had so exhausted Stuart that he stripped down and slipped into bed right after Alfie. In fact, he’d been so busy, he didn’t remember until he was a hair’s breath from sleep that Vince never called.

***

On Saturday, Stuart woke up at seven-thirty and bathed, fed and changed his son. Then he set up the baby swing Romey left with him and placed it in front of the telly. He switched on another nature show, this one about sea turtles, and strapped Alfie in his swing to watch. The programme looked about as interesting as watching his fingernails grow, but as with yesterday, it kept Alfie quietly enthralled.

Stuart took the opportunity to phone Vince, fully expecting to hand him the bollocking he so richly deserved. However, Vince didn’t answer his home phone, and his mobile was turned off. Frustrated, Stuart assumed Vince still must have been passed out from work the night before. In fact, that morning while taking care of Alfie, he’d convinced himself that Vince was called into work by that bitch Fletcher, and forgot about his promise to Stuart. It wasn’t like him not to at least phone Stuart about the change in plans, but with the amount he’d worked lately, it wouldn’t surprise Stuart if the only thing Vince could remember was the price of tomatoes and which type of bread was on sale.

Around noon, after feeding Alfie again, and with the drowsy lad in his arms winding down in preparation for his one o clock nap, per Romey’s instructions, he rang Vince again. Like before, he reached the answer phone at his flat and went straight to voicemail on his mobile. Vince never slept that late, and he never, never failed to return Stuart’s phone messages.

He tried again halfway through Alfred’s nap, and after tea with the same results. He put Alfie to bed and when he called a fifth time, the mobile phone rang instead of going to voicemail. Stuart’s heart gave a ridiculous thump in his chest at the sound before he regained control over himself. Vince didn’t answer, though, and again his call routed to the now loathed voicemail message.

Stuart let his anger at Vince overtake his growing nervousness. He refrained from phoning Hazel, because he’d be fucked if he chased all over Manchester for his friend, when it was Vince that was supposed to ring him.

In order to take his mind off of Vince, he went on the internet and found a terrific shag named “Cocksucker118” who delivered himself to Stuart’s door in under an hour and set about proving the validity of his name. The two of them had sex on Stuart’s king sized bed, Alfie sleeping soundly in the cradle on the other side of the room. Stuart tossed Cocksucker out afterward, but it was one of the better fucks he’d had in a while. The languor of good sex had him pleasantly exhausted and dozing off by midnight.

***

On Sunday, Stuart felt his blind panic was completely justified. He couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t heard from Vince for two days straight. He gave in to the urge to phone Hazel by lunchtime. She told him that Vince rang her yesterday to say he had to work a double shift and couldn’t meet her for drinks, and to tell Stuart the same thing. She hadn’t bothered though, since she hadn’t seen Stuart on Canal Street. For the moment, Stuart’s relief overcame his anger at the slight from Vince. Forgetting the fact that Vince had completely gone back on his promise to help with Alfie, he had Hazel relay messages to him, as if he couldn’t be bothered to do it himself.

Stuart felt the irritation once again take hold, and he called information to get the number for Harlo’s. If Vince wouldn’t answer his mobile to explain himself—a phone, Stuart was reminded, that he bought and paid the fucking bill for—Stuart would make him do it.

That busybody Marcie answered the phone, and Stuart felt his panic rise again, acid bile in the pit of his stomach, when she informed him that Vince had called off of work the last four days in a row, finally utilizing some of his fortnight of paid leave.

He accidentally squeezed Alfie too hard in his consternation, and the boy began to sniffle and cry, only adding to Stuart’s frayed nerves. He loosened his grip and kissed the top of his head soothingly. He’d just turned on the home phone to ring Hazel when his mobile went off in his bedroom. He ran there with Alfred jiggling at his hips, the ride cheering his son up considerably. He wrapped his arms around Stuart’s neck and beamed and shrieked.

Stuart felt a bit like his son when Vince’s mobile number came up on his called id.

“Where the FUCK have you been?” he demanded gruffly and without preamble.

He heard Vince sigh into the phone, and that one familiar sound made him faint with relief. He sat on the bed.

“I’m sorry,” Vince said. “I know I’ve been away all weekend.”

“Yeah, away from me, away from Hazel, away from Harlo’s. What the fuck is left? Did you run off with some Doctor Who impersonator?” Now that he’d gotten over the surprise of finding Vince, his emotions swung again to the angry extreme he’d vacillated to and from all day.

“Listen, I’m really sorry, yeah? I just…I need…that is, could you come here?”

“Depends,” Stuart answered blithely. “Where’s that exactly?”

After a pause, Vince responded, “I’m in hospital.” Stuart didn’t think his heart could take any more shocks.

***

He gripped the steering wheel tightly, willing himself not to break any traffic laws on the way to the hospital. Fucking Romey, making him swear he’d drive carefully with Alfie in the car.

Vince had refused to explain the situation over the phone; only making him promise not to ring Hazel. A million different scenarios swam through Stuart’s head. He didn’t sound hurt, so it couldn’t be that bad. Then again, he’d taken the last four days off of work, so he could be recovering from whatever it was. Stuart tried to remember if he’d spoken to Vince on Thursday. He had, during his lunch break, to confirm plans for the weekend. He’d been fine then, so whatever it was that happened, it must have been after he’d talked to Stuart.

Was it those fucking kids from down the block? Stuart had told Vince that he lived in a bad neighbourhood, but Vince refused to leave, said he couldn’t afford anything better, the twat. Well, Stuart would see that he was out by next week, if he had to buy Vince another flat himself, and just let Vince try to argue with him.

He entered the hospital practically at a jog, Alfie bouncing contentedly at his side. His serene son was so incongruous with the way he himself felt that he briefly wanted to shake him. Of course he didn’t.

His nervous energy wouldn’t let him wait on the lift, so instead he went up the three flights of stairs to get to Vince’s room on the fourth floor. He bounded in to see Vince sitting on the edge of the bed, blue hospital gown on, talking to a tall, weary looking woman with a clipboard in her hands and a white coat.

They both turned to face him when he walked into the room. Vince looked perfectly fine, and for a moment Stuart felt like he could breathe again, until he realized that if the problem wasn’t painted black and blue across Vince’s skin, then it had to be something inside. Something he couldn’t see. He didn’t spare the doctor a second glance as he immediately rounded on his friend.

“Now will you please tell me what the fuck is happening?”

“Stuart,” he placated at the same time as the doctor said, “Excuse me.”

He turned to her. “Doctor…” he read her name tag. “Doctor Knightley, could YOU tell me what’s going on? This fucking twat wouldn’t say anything except that he’s in the bloody hospital!” He turned again to face Vince. “The hospital, you cunt! You don’t call me for TWO DAYS, and then when you do, it’s to tell me you’re in hospital, but not tell me WHY. I could KILL you.”

Vince looked at the doctor. “Do you mind…?”

She smiled and shook her head. “Of course not. I’ll just step out for a moment.”

When the door closed, Vince looked at him and finally noticed Stuart’s son in his arms. “You have Alfie.”

“The whole weekend. You were supposed to help with him, remember?”

“Oh my god!” Vince swore, his eyes widening. “I’m so sorry, Stuart, I completely forgot.”

“Yeah, obviously.”

“How was it, then? The weekend, I mean, because…”

“Vince,” Stuart said warningly.

“It was only a check-up, you know?” he said abruptly.

Stuart nodded. He recalled Vince saying he had another doctor’s appointment during their phone call on Thursday. Due to his vague hypochondria, Vince got routine check-ups every six months. How had Stuart forgotten that?

“Anyway, it was nothing, it was fine, and then…”

“And then what?” Stuart prompted, dread creeping slowly up his throat.

“She…I guess she felt some…lumps.”

“Lumps? What kind of lumps?”

“Lymph nodes, actually. They’re swollen, up under my arm,” he answered, and for a brief, flickering second Vince looked so fucking scared.

“What does that mean, exactly?” Stuart had a sickening feeling he knew what it meant, but his head told him that it couldn’t be right. He snuggled Alfie deeper into his arms and bent his head to sniff at the baby powder scent of his nearly non-existent neck and shoulders.

“Could mean nothing,” Vince responded, “could mean loads of things.”

“Could you be any fucking vaguer, Vince?”

“She wants to check. She wants to make sure it’s not. Cancer,” he finally choked out.

“You don’t have cancer,” Stuart answered immediately, vehemently.

“Stuart…”

“You DON’T,” he repeated. “It’s like you said. It’s something else.”

“Still, Doctor Knightley did a biopsy, just to see.”

Stuart’s eyes widened. “You had surgery? Vince, you had surgery and you didn’t tell anyone? Are you mad?”

“It was nothing. It only took a few hours. I didn’t want to worry anyone, especially Mum, when I didn’t even know if anything was wrong. The doctor was telling me that the results would be in soon. I had to call someone to be here, in case…in case she said…”

Stuart couldn’t stand it any longer, being so far away. He made his way across the small room in three long strides and wrapped the arm not holding his son protectively around Vince.

Vince clung to him desperately, his erratic breath huffing against Stuart’s neck. “Fuck,” he whispered. “Fuck, fuck, oh fuck.”

They stayed like that a long time before Stuart pulled away and sat on the bed next to Vince, their thighs touching. Alfie sat on his lap, his ever-present fist engulfed in his little mouth.

“You know what else?” Vince said after a moment. “I don’t know whether or not my health care policy covers the biopsy. How am I going to pay for that?”

Stuart shook his head. “Don’t worry about the money.”

Vince stared at him. “No, Stuart.”

“Don’t worry about the money,” he reiterated. The flash of pure relief that sprinted across Vince’s face before being replaced by the infamous Tyler stubbornness that had fucking plagued their relationship was enough to convince him. He made a note to talk to the doctor later.

They sat side by side in silence for several seconds. It wasn’t comfortable silence like they were used to, though Stuart wanted it to be. Stuart wished he could say or do something that would make this moment not what it was, make it not one of Vince’s deepest fears coming true.

“Can I hold him?” Vince said, breaking the quiet.

“Hmm?” Stuart responded, furrowing his brow in confusion.

“Alfie,” Vince clarified.

“Oh, right. Yeah.” He passed his son over, and Vince gently took him, cradling the small, warm body to his chest. Stuart stared at them, at the picture they made. The only two people he’d ever loved. His throat burned and he dug his fingernails into his palms.

“I have to take a piss,” he said, and ignoring Vince’s concerned look, got up and went out the door.

He stood outside of it pacing back and forth for long minutes, thinking and running his hands through his hair.

‘Yeah, like anything’s gonna happen to you,’ and suddenly Stuart felt sick. He took a deep breath and walked back into the room. Vince watched him enter and gave a wan smile. Stuart noticed the dark circles under his eyes for the first time.

“You need to sleep,” he said.

“The doctor will be back soon,” Vince argued.

“I’ll wake you when she gets here,” Stuart replied. “Now have a lie down…that’s it.” He took Alfred from Vince and helped him maneuver himself under the covers. As he twisted, the gown he wore rode up slightly, showing off one lean thigh. “Nice,” Stuart commented and wagged his eyebrows lasciviously.

“Fuck off,” Vince responded, his face coloring a bit, but there was a genuine smile there, and Stuart felt himself grin back, an uncontrollable reflex.

Once Vince was settled, Stuart placed Alfie, sleepy because he’d missed his afternoon nap, in his arms and covered them both. He pulled up one of the hard, uncomfortable plastic chairs next to the bed.

Bending down, he kissed Alfie on the top of the head, and moved to Vince, kissing his forehead. He pulled back, but then couldn’t stop himself from doing it again, this time lingering for a moment. Vince sighed under him, and Stuart brushed their lips together in a short, intense kiss meant to comfort them both.

He sat down. Vince reached out the arm under Alfie and Stuart grasped his hand. When Vince spoke again, his voice was already sleep slurred and slow, and his eyelids drooped. “You’ll be here when I wake up?”

“I suppose so,” Stuart replied, and shifted to find a decent position in the chair, preparing to be there for a while.

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