Title: Falling in Love All over Again
Characters: Malcolm and Maggie Dresden, and mentions of Justin Morningway and a pre-born Harry
Rating: PG (just to be safe)
Spoilers: Possible spoilers for "Blood Rites"
Summary: A tender moment between Maggie and Malcolm as they look forward to things to come…
Disclaimer: The Dresden Files do not belong to me, just playing in the universe and shying snowballs at Jim's fanfic-phobic rules-lawyers (not such a bad thing, since it cuts down on the risk of badfic).
Author's notes: I've had the cute mental image of Malcolm and Maggie having some pillow-talk during Maggie's pregnancy with a certain future snarky wizard, but the story took a turn towards the shadows without going too far, which redeemed this from being mere fluff.... Also, as usual, combination of book- and TV-verse. I found them both at the same time, so elements of the two have become very much blended when I write fic...
Malcolm had hated to bring Maggie with him on the road in her condition: a doctor at a free clinic in St. Louis had warned them that she was mildly at risk for gestational diabetes, but Maggie -- showing the Morningway stubbornness -- had insisted on going along with him. "What else am I supposed to do, stay at home, knit booties, and stir a cauldron for nine months?" she'd said, half-exasperated, but half-playfully. He'd tried to press the issue and suggested that she stay with her brother Justin, but she'd turned somewhat defensive, insisting that she wanted him to be there when their child was born.
They'd had a rocky moment when a somewhat nosy nurse in Boston had insinuated that this was not Maggie's first pregnancy. Maggie had admitted to Malcolm that she had been "messed up with a manipulative entrepreneur" before she she had met him, but she reminded him that she loved him and that he, Malcolm, was the man she wanted to spend her life with and have a family with. He didn't pry into the matter -- it was none of his business what had happened to her or her body before they had found each other; what mattered was what happened now and what they were heading for in the days to come.
Thus, six months later on a warm August night, with a small paper sack under his arm, he climbed the steps to the second level of the motel they were lodged in during his whirlwind tour of the less-ritzy casinos in Las Vegas. Three-in-the-morning ice-cream run for his lady, and this after a day of considerably less-than-sold out shows to non-packed houses of blue-haired old ladies and tourists who'd had a few too many too early in the day. For a moment, as he approached the door to their room, he caught himself wishing he could boast the patter of a Blackstone or the panache of a David Copperfield, so he would have more to show for his efforts, more of a legacy to give their unborn son or daughter.
"Come in?" he heard Maggie call from inside, in that odd one-step-ahead way she had of just knowing he was there. He opened the door and stepped inside.
He found her laying on the bed, curled up as best she could with a book, the small black and white TV on the bureau turned on just for the background sound, though the picture kept fritzing at regular intervals. Maggie must have felt fairly relaxed, otherwise the picture would have gone completely to snow. She pulled herself up higher on her pillows and set the book aside as he sat down on the bed and set the bag on the cheap avocado-colored chenille spread.
"How's my fair lady this evening?" he said.
"Feeling like that proverbial beached whale," she said, with a smirk. She glanced down at her swollen body with a slightly annoyed pucker between her brows. "The little one is especially antsy tonight."
"Well, maybe some chocolate raspberry chip will calm him down," he said, with a smile as he twisted open the bag and drew the pint carton and a plastic spoon in a cellophane cocoon out with a flourish.
Maggie smiled as he put the frosty carton into her hands. "Or her," she said.
The theme-song to "Bewitched" played on the TV. Malcolm glanced at the TV, then back at Maggie. "Thought about naming the baby Samantha if it's a girl?"
"Hell's bells, no," she said, taking the lid and the inner plastic off the carton. "I might keep my talents on the low-down, but if any of her friends found out, she'd never hear the end of it. 'Does your mom clean the kitchen just by twitching her nose?' Almost as bad as those Bible-thumpers who wave certain passages in Exodus at me."
He settled down next to her, slipping an arm behind her back. "Okay, how about those trendy earth-mother-goddes names? Like... Gaia, or Hecate?"
"Ma-al!" Maggie snapped in that two-note cadence she used when she was mad at him, but he had her laughing too hard for her to stay irritated with him for more than a moment. She waved the spoon at him as if she'd face-slap him with it, but he barely felt the breeze from it against his face. He laughed gently and kissed the side of her head, nuzzling her hair tenderly.
"What would you name the baby?" he asked. They hadn't given it much thought and with less than three months on the chart, they needed to get serious about it.
"Oh, my choices would sound corny," she said, spooning ice cream into her mouth.
"Can't be any worse than Samantha, could they?" he said.
She looked up from the carton of ice cream, her gaze growing thoughtful. "Gwen, if it's a girl," she said. "But something plain and sensible if it's a boy, something like Harold or Richard."
"Not Thomas?" he asked. He felt her stiffen in his arms. The TV fuzzed and the screen went dark. "Maggie-babe, you okay?"
"Just stuff from the past, I'd rather not talk about it," she said, bowing her head, hiding the tears in the corners of her eyes. He could see the fear darken her brown eyes, and he knew better than to press her about it. Whatever she'd been through, he did not want to churn up and hurt her, or the baby. He put his other arm around her, pulling her closer, almost into his lap. She set aside the ice cream and clung to his arm. He could only guess at what had happened to make this strong, feisty woman with the rapier wit and tongue tremble like a little girl afraid of a dark shadow that wasn't a dark shadow. He couldn't divine it, but his mind started to speculate what triggered this: was Thomas the father of her first child? Had something happened to her or to that child because of him? With her tenacity, she wasn't the sort to just up and run from someone, unless she had good reason to. He wasn't a strong man, if anyone should come looking for her, but what he had, he would give gladly to make a home for her and their baby.
He felt her shaky breathing slowly even out. She looked up at him, the usual spark of innocent cynicism back in her eyes. "Hormones. Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em," she said.
"It's all right, babe, I'm here for you, and it's gonna take more than some rampant brain chemicals making you crazy to push me away," he said, knowing she was covering, but accepting it and embracing it, just as he accepted and embraced her, mysteries and all. She smiled at him, as if she knew that he knew, letting him know she loved him for loving her so unconditionally.