Dane stretched his long legs out on the coffee table and kicked back on the lounge.

Home.

God, he'd missed it.

Even more than usual.

Usually, he had Fox to keep him up-to-date with the happenings in the family, the acting world, and the real world. She kept him grounded, otherwise he'd always feared slipping completely into character and being lost.

Over the year's he'd jokingly called her "Fox News" mind you she'd called him "Will you shut up" on a lot of occasions. He liked her sense of humour and her straight-talking, she kept him in line.

Not this time.

He'd not rung her but what surprised him was that she hadn't rung him. Their friendship was as important to her as so to him wasn't it?

Dane had expected Sarah to offer some form of communication to ring or text him, to tell him he'd been an arse, to stop being so damned emotional and pull himself together. Just like when he'd been too timid to kiss her or dance with her at 16 or she had suggested they pop their cherries together and then gone down on him despite being scared. 

Oh god, he could actually still feel her lips from that first time, he'd called on that memory in lonely hotel rooms from time to time. But now he had a new memory, he could still feel her much more womanly body now even if it was three months later, even if he had had another woman in his bed since. 

If he closed his eyes he could still feel her, hear her - Jesus christ.

He had to pull himself together or he'd have a hard on even before he got to have dinner at George's.

She'd be there.

She always was and then she'd give him a good telling off and they'd be mates again, best friends. It's just he'd expected it before now been surprised she hadn't skyped him just to tear strips off him.

She hadn't.

And then he'd disappeared, no Dane, just Paul the lighthouse keeper on a lonely New Zealand beach. He was still using the Australian accent at times; the inflections were still coming through. He'd disappeared entirely and he'd had no contact with the world outside the cast and crew.

Of course, he had Sabine, but it wasn't the same and she'd only stayed for half the shoot. She had her own work. He hadn't heard from her for six weeks nor had he wanted to. 

Actually, that's what he liked that most about her, her independence. 

They were together kind of but they didn't need to be in each other's pockets.

He liked strong independent women, he'd have to in this family from his mother through to his niece Ruby, they were born like that.

He leant forward and grabbed his phone, it was sitting on the coffee table between his untouched cup of tea and the picture of him and the gang in Spain the year he went up to Cambridge, before Edward had died, before acting took over his life, before Sarah had become Doctor Huntington, the eminent historian, and television star, before he'd sat in his room in New Zealand and wanked watching a documentary on Shakespeare. They were young and innocent and full of plans for the future back then, and by god, they'd got there, both of them. If you looked really carefully you could just see his hand touching hers maybe that's why he kept this picture close, looked at it when he could, they weren't sleeping together by then but they were still there for each other.

But obviously not now.

She'd moved on.

He put the picture back down.

He couldn't do this to himself.

Three months of separation should have been enough.

But absence had made the heart grow fonder.

And it sucked harder than a vacuum cleaner.

However, the forced separation was almost over he'd see her in an hour or two and then he'd tell her. What he'd tell he didn't know. But they needed to talk and he needed to stop thinking about her now or that shower he already needed would have to be at least 10 degrees colder.

Two hours later he was standing outside George and Petra's swanky suburban semi, expensive bottle of wine in one hand, a beautiful hand painted scarf, beautifully wrapped in delicate paper for Petra under his arm. He hoped she was pregnant – viably so - they'd been down this track before and he knew not to bring stuffed toys now or acknowledge anything until they offered information. But George had seemed so excited when he'd messaged him two days ago, so much so that he'd jumped at the chance even though he really needed to run or maybe sleep off his jet lag and just enjoy being home.

But he missed his friends and family and he needed a healthy dose of normal, of reality, the real thing not the reel thing. Old friends and family were what kept you grounded, they loved you for who you are not what you'd become.

They didn't take his shit.

Dane needed someone not to take his shit right now and he knew it.

He rang the bell and waited for the inevitable skidding paws and thud against the front door of Tiny, their old English sheepdog. He didn't disappoint. Barking, sliding, the door shuddering and George calling him off and probably hauling him away from the entrance by the collar.

And then the door opened.

And there they were in all their glory, George, Petra and the monstrously friendly Tiny. George had hold of him for safety sake. His youthful exuberance and excitement had landed Tom on his tailbone more than once over the past four years. Tiny loved Dane and Dane was fairly fond of Tiny. He was more a cat man but being greeted so enthusiastically was just what he needed, he was home; home being hugged into the bosom of his family well to Petra's boobs. He tried not to wonder if they were a bit bigger if her tummy was a bit rounder, it was, but he wasn't saying, he'd put that foot in his mouth before.

He was on egg-shells and looking over her shoulder. Not at George but past him. Past him to someone who wasn't appearing. His heart was sinking.

They welcomed him into their warm lovely family home that was just waiting for the family to fill it. He felt a pang of jealousy but it passed, they had been through so much and he didn't envy that.

"Who else is coming?" he asked as they chatted and backslapped their way down the long corridor to the warm kitchen/dining area at the back.

"Just us," George laughed. "Petra figured you wouldn't want to be overwhelmed by the entire crew on the first night back, actually we'd have waited but I have to go out of town on Friday and Petra has a busy week at the gallery.

"Oh right – um what day is it?" Dane asked, making his friends laugh.

"Oh man you were out of it down there in New Zealand," the successful stockbroker laughed, slapping him on the shoulder for the tenth time in 10 minutes.

"It's Sunday night," Petra giggled, handing him a glass of red she'd had poured and breathing for him.

"And we did invite Sarah but she's in Strat until tomorrow or the next day – who knows with her these days," she added.

"Yeah, it's all a bit strange isn't it?" George laughed shaking his head. His wife shot him a warning look.

"What it is?" he frowned back.

 "You know, what with the baby and everything."

Dane smiled, finally, they mentioned the elephant in the room, "baby", his eyes widened and he turned to Petra hopefully.

"So you're pregnant?" he asked. "How far along and everything is going well?"

Petra smiled and nodded, patting her stomach.

"Yes placenta is in the right place this time, no dramas with the scan, fingers crossed for this one," she said as Dane hugged her and shook George's hand.

"I'm so happy for you, it's great news," he said catching them in another round of hugs.

"Yes, though we had hoped to tell you at dinner – sorry I was talking about Sarah's news though," George said and Petra watched Dane's face contort from smiles to something unreadable. Oh shit, he didn't know? Why the hell didn't he know? She knew why Sarah kept the news from them given all the dramas they'd had conceiving, but not tell Dane? What the hell was going on? Unless? No? Maybe? Petra went into internal monologue but not George, no not Mr Oblivious.

"News?" Dane asked curiously, almost not wanting to know the answer.

"Yes you know, that she found a sperm donor or went to the sperm bank or something and is having a baby," he said picking up his glass and taking a sip of his own wine before waving the glass in the air as he talked with his hand (he was a famous hand talker even when he was armed with cutlery or in this case red wine).

"Just a week behind us – about 14 weeks I think isn't that right darling?" George said.

"What?" Petra asked coming back to the here and now, still struggling not to add to and two together and come up with Dane.

"You're 15 weeks aren't you?" he asked his wife. She nodded.

"Yeah so Sarah's baby is due the week before ours."

Holy shit, had George just told Dane? Oh god. Petra watched his face. It was blank and he was suddenly pale. Was he counting in his mind? Had they done something on her birthday? She'd been oddly cagey about that day, it made sense if they'd –well it was better too, they belonged together. A baby might finally push them over the line.

Unless George had just fucked it up.

Dane's mind whirred, for a moment it, made sense for a moment, though he was shell-shocked, and for a few seconds he thought he might be about to be a dad. And then reality hit, he'd been gone exactly three months it had been a 12-week shoot (well three days short).

She was 14 weeks pregnant.

His heart dropped.

No wonder she didn't want to see him.

She'd slept with him despite knowing full well she was already pregnant with some stranger's child.

He suddenly felt ill and so so tired.

,