Thanks to all who left lovely comments on 'Many Happy Returns?' :) Thanks to qwertygal for the assistance.
And here's hoping these heliclockters today light a fire under some production studio's butt #SaveTimeless
"Life's under no obligation to give us what we expect."
― Margaret Mitchell, Gone with the Wind
A few years from now...
Lucy adjusts the throw pillow behind her back and grimaces, peering down past her stomach towards her bare feet. Well, she grumbles inwardly, at least they're not too swollen today on top of the heartburn currently searing its way up her esophagus.
She's uncomfortable and so pissed off at herself for forgetting a new bottle of antacids when she was running errands earlier. And she's grateful that Wyatt offered to make a Tums run now – the fruity, chewy kind, specifically (it's important, no matter how much Wyatt rolls his eyes and tries to tell her otherwise) – instead of her having to drag her heartburn-y self back out, but she's still mentally cursing him for taking so long, and she's really just not sure how she's going to survive another three and a half months of this; she needs it to be over. Like yesterday.
But as soon as those negative thoughts cross her mind, she's chastising herself and feeling oh-so guilty for griping about any part of this experience. She wanted this; they wanted this, and so badly. For years.
It had taken a while for them to even be in a position to try, given, you know, everything… and by the time they had, she'd already been thirty-seven. When thirty-eight had showed up and still nothing, they'd made the jump to agonizing rounds of endless doctors' appointments and ultrasounds, shot after shot to the abdomen, not to mention the horrible ones that Wyatt had had to stab her in the ass with. And then the even bigger, gigantic, foot-long needles going places that no needle ever had any business going. Plus the side effects of the drugs and the painful recoveries after the procedures.
The elation of that first positive, only to find no heartbeat later.
The second and third attempts not even working at all.
But this one. This one stuck. And they're both over the moon.
Which is why Lucy hates hating any part of the experience, but holy crap, child, she pleads silently while pressing a hand to her burning chest, could you lay off the indigestion for a couple nights here or there?
She props herself up a little higher and then lets that hand fall to her rounded stomach instead, and gives it an apologetic little rub. It's not the kid's fault; she'll survive. Wyatt shouldn't be that much longer.
And the heartburn actually wanes a little with her new position, so Lucy lets her eyes close; if she can manage to doze off, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. Sleep is good. Sleep is always appreciated, because it's just going to be that much more sparse in a few-
"Mommy?"
Lucy's eyes fly back open and focus just to her left. She's greeted by the sight of a mop of sandy golden hair and big blue eyes peering at her from just next to the couch. "Hey, buddy," she murmurs with a weary smile. "You're supposed to be in bed. What's wrong?"
Unfortunately, those big blue eyes are a little tearful, and just so happen to be accompanied by a trembling lower lip as their little owner asks shakily, "Will- will my baby brother be your favorite?"
"What?" Lucy asks, confused as she leans up on an elbow to better address the little boy. "What do you mean? And the baby could be a sister," she adds.
The mention of his brother potentially being a sister does nothing to dissuade the little guy's inquiry. "Will you love my baby brother or sister most?" he repeats, bottom lip still quivering and eyes still shiny. "Will you like them better than me?"
The gravity of the question finally sinks in for Lucy. "Oh, baby, why do you think that?" she asks, her heart aching at the fact that he might think that. "No," she assures him, "no."
"But the baby is in- is in your tummy and I came from Jessica's tummy," he sniffles, one stray tear slipping out. "Not yours."
Lucy sighs and regards her son affectionately. She and Wyatt had wondered if this might come to a head when they broke the baby news to him earlier that day, but he'd been so excited and happy at the prospect of a sibling that they'd figured they'd dodged the bullet.
Apparently they'd been a little premature in that thinking.
She pulls herself up to sit on the edge of the couch and tugs the child closer so she can level with him. "Buddy, I'm still your mom. Just like I'm the baby's mom. I love you both so much," she insists, gently wiping the tears from his cheeks, and adds, "exactly the same amount."
He seems to accept that explanation, at least momentarily. But after rubbing a chubby fist at his eyes, he pipes up again, sounding far more reflective than one might expect of a 4-year old. "Why isn't Jessica my mommy? If I came from her tummy? Did she- did- she didn't want to be my mommy like you're the baby's mommy?"
Lucy's eyes slip closed as she takes a deep breath. They've been over similar questions a number of times before, but apparently the notion of a new baby has prompted a new version of them. Not that it was ever comfortable to talk about, but she and Wyatt had long ago decided that they were going to be nothing but up front with him about who had actually given birth to him. Though that doesn't mean they're comfortable being 100% honest yet about the 'why' of the situation; for one, they don't necessarily know what Jessica's thought process had been back then, and two, a narrative that's a little more warm-fuzzy than what was likely reality feels like the best option for explaining at this stage of his life.
With a soft sigh, she regards the boy once more. "She…" Lucy contemplates the best way to articulate the explanation they'd already given him multiple times."…loved you so much that she knew it was better for me to be your mom. That's why she gave you to me and Daddy."
That earns a solemn little nod, and a contemplative silence interrupted only by a couple small sniffles. "Was Daddy always my daddy?"
With a soft smile, Lucy reaches to ruffle his hair, confirming, "You know that one, bud. Yes."
But, baby blue eyes wide and ever-inquisitive, he adds the classic, "Why?"
"Because he was married to Jessica," Lucy explains, despite knowing that he already knows all of this.
"But he liked you better, right?" he asks.
Lucy can't help but smirk at that simplistic (and very clearly Wyatt-influenced) view of everything that had gone down almost five years ago. "Yeah," she confirms with a soft chuckle.
His voice a little shakier this time, he speaks up once more, "Jessica went away and left me?" He sniffles again.
And oh, for all that the woman had put Wyatt through, Lucy still hates Jessica most for being the cause of this kind of questioning and doubt in the poor kid's mind. "Yes," she confirms gently. Still, she can't allow herself to be too upset at how things had played out; had Jessica not left him as a baby, Lucy wouldn't be in the position she's in today, being the mother that has the privilege of raising him.
He just echoes the tried and true little kid line of questioning. "Why?"
Because she was a horrible psycho, brainwashed by my own mother's evil organization, and she only got pregnant with you in the first place so she could manipulate your father and hurt me, but then couldn't be bothered by you once you were born because you would have interfered with her plans to help said evil organization take over the world by time travel, Lucy replies in her head, allowing herself a touch of cattiness.
Except she certainly can't say that to a 4-year old.
"…She was friends with some mean people," Lucy explains, trying to be diplomatic and phrase it just so for his current level of understanding, with a smidge of what was probably a white lie. "And the mean people made Jessica do some bad things. She knew it wasn't good for a little baby like you to be near mean people and bad things. She still loved you."
That earns a little nod of acceptance before, "Where did she go?"
"We don't know, baby," Lucy replies honestly.
"Will she come back?" he asks.
Lucy shrugs sympathetically. "We don't know that either."
And they really didn't. With time travel having been in the mix, who knew where, or when, Jessica had ended up.
He thinks for a beat, then asks quietly, another tear slipping out, "Will she take me away?"
Forget heartburn, Lucy feels nothing but heartbreak at such a question. In spite of Jessica having signed away parental rights, it's still a possibility that, maybe irrationally, haunts Lucy every day.
"We won't let her," she promises, her own eyes tearing up.
She's ever so grateful that that seems to be the last of the tough questions; the next thing she knows, she's ended up with his arms wrapped around her (widening) midsection, his little face pressed to her stomach as he declares, "I'm glad you're my mommy."
Lucy blinks back the threatening tears with her own sniffle, hugging him close. "Me too."
She just holds him like that for a minute or two, until his small voice breaks the silence. "Will you tell me the story? Of how you and Daddy got me?"
"Sweetie, it's late," Lucy chides softly." You know that story, and you're supposed to be asleep in bed already. We already read the Winston Churchill book."
But he pulls away from the hug and looks up at her with wide, puppy-dog eyes. "Please?"
And dammit all, but she's never able to resist those eyes, not on Wyatt, and certainly not on the kid, especially when he'd actually said 'please'.
With a wry sigh at how much of a pushover she is, and at how much worse it will be when there are two of them (three, if you count Wyatt too) ganging up on her, Lucy leans back to her original position on the couch and pats the small space next to her. "C'mere."
That earns her a gleeful grin as he scrambles up over her legs to tuck himself between Lucy and the back of the couch. Once curled up against her, he reaches out to poke her stomach, then asks almost reverently, "The baby is here?"
Lucy nods, stifling the laugh that threatens, because she's been obviously pregnant for a few months, but, until they'd told him earlier that day, his little 4-year old mind had remained blissfully oblivious to the fact that his mother was swelling up like a balloon. "That's why my tummy is getting bigger," she explains, "to let the baby grow."
He regards her bump thoughtfully, then wonders aloud, "Can the baby hear us?"
"I think so," Lucy nods, smoothing his hair as he leans over her stomach.
Lucy bites back another laugh at the exaggerated stage 'whisper' of "Hi baby!" that gets directed at her midsection. Then he settles in, asking, "The baby can hear my story too?"
"Yeah," Lucy nods, before correcting him with a soft smile, "and it's our family story, bud. All of us."
TBC...