Summary:
[RL+NT "Did you know that the odds of getting pregnant are only twenty percent?" [My take on what happened when Remus came crawling back to his pregnant wife. Different twist on a familiar plot.
The Miracle Of A Zygote
He wasn't exactly sure what he was expecting when he finally knocked on the door. He had been standing there almost an hour, pacing back and forth, practicing words under his breath and acting like a dog(wolf?) with his tail between his legs.
Finally, he reasoned with himself, there was no way he could hold off on such an event any longer, and his knuckles rapped against the wood of the flat of Nymphadora Lupin.
She opened the door before he was done knocking a third time, and he almost rapped her in the head, stopping to stare at her in shock.
She wore a baggy pair of his sweatpants, her tiny painted toes barely visible beneath the fabric, and an oversized 'The Who' T-shirt, which, he noted with absolute fascination and a ping of adoration and guilt, was protruding in the tiniest bump. More than anything, she looked livid.
"Did you know that the odds of getting pregnant are only twenty percent?" she started, barely giving him a second to recover. And the greeting he received was so unexpected that he found himself searching for words, gaping at her.
"Twenty percent," she repeated, her eyes narrowing, her hair turning flaming red. "Twenty percent! Don't you get that the odds are in the favor of me not being pregnant?"
Again, speechless.
"AND!" she was extremely pissed, her hair glowing orange, her hands grasping the doorway. "Out of that twenty percent of a woman getting pregnant, did you know that LESS THAN fifty percent of the zygotes that become fertilized actually make it into the two-week period? Most of them aren't strong enough to live, and they die, washed away in a woman's menstrual fluid."
Disgusting as the mental image was, Remus couldn't find it in himself to be angry.
"We've beaten the odds," she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest (had it gotten a tiny bit bigger in the three weeks he'd been absent?). "I just went through the most stressful three weeks of my life, during the most dangerous time of a woman's pregnancy, and look, the baby's still here!" she held her belly protectively, while her other hand raised to grasp his chin.
"The baby stayed with me," she hissed, the whites of her eyes reddening. "The baby stayed with me when you didn't. This little creature was developing a nervous system while I was stressing, which, by the way, increases chances of the placenta letting teratogens slide past," her tone began to lose its intensity, and she looked suddenly soft.
"The baby's still here, Remus," she let out a shaky laugh. "And it's about time you are, too."
Remus was still fishing for words, unable to find the ones best for describing how grateful he was that she was still willing to accept him, still hoping for him to be the child's father.
"…When did you learn so much about pregnancy?" he asked in a squeaking voice.
"You've been away for almost four weeks. In the time that we COULD have been snogging, I bought a few books," she muttered. "Because, believe it or not, I CAN read."
"Dora, I'm--"
"Don't you dare say you're sorry, because apparently words are nearly meaningless to you," she growled, and stepped aside, holding the door open. "You can start by making me some food, because frankly, I can't cook to save my life, and I admit I missed your cooking."
Remus looked at his wife a long moment, and took a step inside the house with a self-resenting sort of smile. She stopped him by placing a hand on his chest, though, and cleared her throat.
"Aren't you forgetting something?" she asked quietly, and pressed a single finger to the side of her face. He smiled sheepishly and pressed his lips against her smooth cheek for a long while, smiling against her as she sighed happily.
"I knew you'd be back," she said, sounding happily relieved. "Now make me pancakes. With extra syrup and whipped cream."
His lips left her cheek only a moment, before she pulled him in for another kiss, this one desperate and lonely and in dire need of affection. When at last he pulled away for air, he was leaning against her and she was pressed against the wall, her fingers playing with the hairs at the base of his neck.
"…Will you ever trust me again?" he asked hesitantly, nuzzling his face against hers while her hair turned into a compromising maroon. "I'm a terrible person, Dora, I'm undeserving and I--"
"I trust you, Remus," she said softly, and pressed her cheek against his, enjoying the slight scruff that had grown in his absence. "Whatever it is that's between us, however awkward and imperfect and whatever…I like it. So please, let's not screw it up again, okay?"
He nodded, humble and grateful. And then he made her the best pancakes he'd ever made in his whole life.
+Fin+