Author's Note: I'm taking a break from my Shamy streak to write a sweet little Howard/Bernadette piece. Hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer: The Big Bang Theory © Chuck Lorre and Bill Prady
Howard stands in the doorway outside the delivery room, where his wife lies in a hospital bed a few feet away, her blonde hair pulled back in a stringy side ponytail and her pale face shining with sweat. They're parents now, which is a strange concept for him to grasp. Yet, the proof is right there, sleeping soundly in a transparent bassinet beside his exhausted mother.
Twenty hours of long, strenuous labor had really taken a toll on poor Bernie, but she'd held her own and powered through it with Howard by her side every step of the way. He'd let her squeeze his hand so hard that his already pale skin had turned a little blue. He'd clenched his teeth through the pain and kept all of his energy on Bernadette, on her wails and contractions and pushes, on the nurses' and doctor's instructions, and finally, on their little baby boy as he was finally delivered in the wee hours of the morning at a healthy seven pounds, eight ounces.
Howard hadn't cried when the doctor placed their messy, screaming child into Bernadette's arms for the first time. He hadn't cried when she gazed down at their son and cupped a hand over her mouth, letting out a choked sob into it before looking up at Howard with watery eyes and whispering how perfect their son was. Howard had smiled, though, having never been filled with such intense pride and adoration in his life.
Now, at nearly eight o'clock in the morning, both mother and son are fast asleep, having peaceful dreams, Howard's sure of it. He feels delirious from lack of sleep. He's been awake longer than Bernadette, but he can't fall asleep now. He feels like he's straddling a very thin line, crossing over from the role of son, and taking on a new role as a father. It's scary, because he's only ever been a son, a son without a father ever since he was eleven. Now it's his chance to be a dad, a real dad, and he'll be damned if he's going to let himself screw it up.
He doesn't walk into the room, just lingers by the doorway, watching the two best things that has ever happened to him sleeping soundly. He thinks about his relationship with Bernadette and how far the two of them have come, how unbelievably stupid he'd been for almost letting her go that first time around. As he looks back on the journey he's been through with her, he knows now more than ever that he belongs with her.
He notices how she looks especially small in that hospital bed. She's not wearing her glasses or any makeup, and the light seeping into the room from the window basks her in a warm, womanly glow, making her look all the more fragile. He looks at their fast asleep newborn next, wearing a blue cap on his bald head and wrapped in a white cotton blanket, his tiny hands balled into fists.
The feeling that hits Howard then is indescribable. It's a full heart, full of love, wanting to protect and teach and play with his son already, but beneath it all, there's still a tiny lacing of fear, fear that he'll fail as a father, that he won't be good enough, or worse, that somehow, one day, he'll turn into his own father.
But even as he thinks that, he knows how ridiculous it is. He simply isn't like that. He's far too familiar with the ice cold sting of abandonment and how much it hurts, even after so many years, that he can't bring himself to be like that. He'll never be like his own father. He'll be better. It's a promise, to himself, to Bernie, to their son and, especially, to his mother.
Howard swallows heavily as he finally turns away, not wanting to wake them. He'll come back in a little while. Right now, there's somewhere else he's needed. Call it a son's intuition or whatever you'd like, but he can't ignore the incessant nagging in his head, that same nagging he'd put up with from his mother practically every single day of his life. He'd taken it for granted and found it undeniably annoying, of course, but right now, he'd give anything to hear that raspy screech that is his mother's voice again.
It's somehow brighter in the hallway than it was inside that small delivery room. Howard passes by nurses in blue scrubs and doctors wearing face masks and rubber gloves as they walk into private rooms, ready for surgery. He keeps his eyes straight ahead of him as he walks through the hospital corridors. He almost feels like a scurrying mouse, walking through a maze with no way out.
As he rounds another corner, he begins approaching the hospice section of the hospital, and already, he can feel this sense of dreariness and depression anchoring him down, slowing his pace and making his heart feel heavy. He notices the nurses are all very solemn and very much exhausted, working around the clock to take care of their patients.
He suddenly feels a bitter smile cross his face, because it really is ironic, in a cruel sort of way. His mother has taken care of him all his life, spoiled him and catered to his every whim, and now, she's here, being taken care of, because she physically can't do anything on her own anymore. He throws his shoulders back and forces himself to put on a brave face as he approaches his mother's room. She needs him to be strong right now.
However, any semblance of strength immediately disappears when he enters his mother's room. He stops in his tracks and stands there for a moment. Unlike the room where his wife and son are, this one isn't warm and relaxing. It's cold and dark, the blinds shut, a heart monitor set up beside her bed. He can hear it beeping loudly, slowly ticking away at his mother's health.
A chill shoots down his spine as he slowly approaches his mother, and he feels his breath leave him in a mangled sigh when he sees her up close. She barely looks like his mother anymore. She's asleep, but unlike Bernie, she doesn't look peaceful at all. She looks weak and uncomfortable, her thick, curly hair clinging to her forehead and her face tightened in distress.
She's withering away right before his eyes.
Howard draws his lips together and swallows heavily, his throat feeling tight all of sudden. She's been in the hospital a little over a month now, breathing through a bunch of tubes, and her health has only worsened over time. He's not sure how much longer he can put up with the heartache that stabs him every time he enters this room, thinking that maybe she'll be doing better today, maybe she'll wake up and yell his name in her hoarse voice, but he's sadly mistaken every time.
Now, all he can really do is…keep her company.
He clears his throat and takes a step forward, inhaling a long breath as he stares down at her. He can feel words bubbling inside of him. There's so much she's missed already. He's a dad now. He has a son. She has a grandson.
Of course, that's just some more cruel, bitter irony for him, that she's finally got a grandkid that she's always wanted, yet she won't even be around to watch him grow up, or criticize Howard for holding him the wrong way, or feed him so much candy until he gets sick.
Howard shakes away those thoughts and smiles through the pain. "Hey, Ma," he begins softly. He watches for any signs of life, a twitch of her eyelid, a crick upward of the corner of her mouth, something, but she just lies there, her chest slowly rising and falling.
He clears his throat and starts again. "Your grandson is here. Howard Michael Wolowitz. He did not want to come out of Bernie, let me tell ya. Let's just hope he doesn't turn into a mama's boy like his old man, right?" He cracks a forced grin at his joke. His mother sleeps. The smile fades. He bows his head a little before lifting his eyes again.
"I was…holding little Howard Junior earlier. 'Course, the nurses did put him in Bernie's arms first, but she didn't hog him for too long. He's surprisingly heavy for having such small parents." He smiles again. Still nothing. He decides to change courses. "He looks just like Bernadette. He's got her nose. And her eyes. At least, I think he's got her eyes. I guess it's a little too soon to tell." He pauses, drumming his fingers against his thighs. Nothing happens.
Just like always.
His chest droops with a long sigh. He brings up a hand and presses it to the side of his forehead, massaging his temple with his fingertips. Frustratingly, he pulls his hand away and slaps it against his leg.
"You know, Ma, this really isn't fair. All you've ever talked about ever since you found out I was gonna marry Bernie was, 'When am I gonna get grandkids?' And then, when we told you she was pregnant, it was nothing but, 'Oh, finally, I can't wait to be a grandmother! I still have all of Howard's old baby clothes up in the attic. They're so tiny and effeminate that the baby can wear them whether it's a boy or a girl.' Well, the baby's here now, Ma, and where are you? Lying in that hospital bed. I mean, really, you can quit the act and wake up anytime now, Ma. I think a month is more than enough time to recover from a fucking stroke!"
He freezes, blinking his eyes open wide, letting the last bit of his outburst ring out in his ears. His mother hasn't stirred even the slightest bit. She just keeps breathing, in and out, in that same agonizingly slow rhythm. A choked noise quickly travels up his throat, but he suppresses it, and instead all that comes out is a squeaky whimper.
"Come on, Ma," he says with new found desperation. "Bernie and I need you. We've got her parents, sure, but let's face it, her dad's gonna be one hard ass grandfather. Tell ya what, if you promise to wake up and get better, I promise you can come over and visit Howard Junior whenever you want. You can even take him to that kosher deli you love and feed him pieces of challah bread which he'll probably just suck on until he starts growing in some teeth. What do you say to that?"
He smiles tightly, because he knows she can't refuse that offer. He waits for something, anything, just a sign of acknowledgement that she can hear him. He waits with the same foolish hope he used to have when his father first left them, thinking that he'd return one day. He was a naïve little kid back then, just as he's being naïve right now. A thick lump, heavy like a rock, forms in his throat.
"Why are you doing this to me?" he asks hopelessly, his voice extremely soft now. He brings up both of his hands and covers his face with them, dragging his open palms down his cheeks and letting out a muffled groan into them, before lifting his head again. "Is it because I wasn't a good son to you? I know we both drove each other crazy at times, but that doesn't mean that I didn't…that I don't…"
He stops, silencing the rest of his words by pressing his teeth against his bottom lip. He's never felt so irrevocably helpless before. He closes his eyes and exhales slowly, trying to calm down. He re-opens his eyes and swallows the lump that's now starting to burn.
"I just want you to know that…despite the fact that you were way too involved in my life…to the point where it pretty much scarred me for life at times…you were still an amazing mother. I know I didn't always make it easy on you, but I'm glad you never gave up on me after…that guy walked out on us."
A blazing spike of anger suddenly jumps through his body, surging him with the immediate need to make something else clear to her right then and there.
"Ma, I hope you know that I am never going to let myself even think about doing what he did. I'm gonna be there for my kid no matter what. And for Bernadette, too. I'd be the biggest idiot in the world if I ever left her. I love her too much to let her go. And, Ma, I…"
The lump starts to swell again. He pierces his lips shut and fights back a sob. He sniffs sharply, his voice dropping to a whisper as he continues, "I love you too much to let you down. So, I promise you, Ma, as your one and only son…I'm gonna make you the proudest mother in the world by being the best damn father I can be."
He smiles as the sadness encumbering his heart momentarily dissolves into a light, soul-satisfying feeling of sheer pride.
And then, his mother makes a sound, a wheezing intake of breath, and just like that, the room is filled with the piercing, elongated noise of a flat-lining beeeeeep.
Howard's face drops. He doesn't move. The sound rings loudly, unbroken, taunting him with finality, but all he does is purse his lips as he stands there, his skin prickling with sudden numbness.
Finally, unable to listen to it anymore, he turns and walks out of the room. He passes by a nurse, who notices the stoic look on his face, a look that's brimming with fear and denial of the obvious. He hears the nurse walk into the room he's just walked out of, but he doesn't look back. Instead, he lets the shock to his system mechanically lead him through the hospital, back to his wife and son.
As he enters the room where Bernie's still fast asleep, his gaze lands on the tiny infant who's apparently no longer sleeping, but instead fidgeting in the bassinet. He can see small fists moving as a high-pitched cry starts to fill the room. Howard walks over to his fussing child and reaches into the bassinet to carefully scoop him up in his arms, making sure to support the baby's head with his hand.
"Hey, buddy," he says quietly, gently bobbing his son in his arms, watching his red, wrinkly face scrunch up as he cranks out another cry. Howard starts rocking him in his arms, trying to soothe him. "Shh, shh, shh. It's okay. Dad's here."
Suddenly, he hears a different sound, a rustling of sheets, and he looks up from his son to see Bernadette rubbing a hand against one of her eyes as she reaches for her glasses with the other.
"Howie?" she murmurs, unfolding her glasses and sliding them over her eyes. She settles her gaze on the two of them and blinks in confusion.
Howard offers her an apologetic grin as he bounces Howard Junior in his arms.
"Oh, gosh, what's wrong? Why is he crying?" Bernadette asks in a newly frightened tone. "You think he's hungry? Oh, Howie, call one of the nurses."
She starts to sit up, but Howard stops her by walking up to her, still protectively holding Howard Junior as he leans down and presses a chaste kiss to her forehead. When he pulls away, Bernadette slowly looks up at him, her eyes widening. They stare at one another, and as they do, the frantic look on Bernadette's face starts to change into a look of concern. Howard Junior's cries gradually quiet down as Howard continues gently rocking him in his arms.
"Oh, Howie," Bernadette says, completely and undeniably full of sympathy. She knows.
He tries to smile at her, wanting to assure her that he's okay, that they're going to be okay, but it dies halfway up his mouth, and suddenly he feels a warm, wet tear roll down his cheek. It drips off his chin and lands in the middle of the cotton blanket covering Howard Junior.
Howard looks down at their son, then back up at Bernadette, who lifts her hands, allowing Howard to gingerly place their son into her arms. She brings the baby close to her chest and looks down at him, kissing his forehead. When she looks back up, there's a fresh, gleaming mist of tears shining in her eyes, and Howard's heart breaks at the sight of it.
"I love you," she whispers in a cracked voice.
He knows she's trying to comfort him, but right now, he can't bear it. He just wants to be with her and not think about it at all. So, he draws closer to her, placing his hands on either side of the bed as he leans his head down. She tilts her chin up, and just before their lips meet, he whispers a heartwarming, "I know," and he kisses her.
Because he does. He knows that she loves him, that he'll be okay, that they'll both be okay, because he's got her, and their son, and that promise he just made that will keep him going. He can almost hear his mother's voice in the back of his mind, telling him the very same thing in response to his promise: "I know."
Author's Note: Thanks for reading. Reviews are greatly appreciated.