all the colors have washed away
.
.
.
Harley had to pee really, really bad. She didn't remember drinking any fluids before her and the crew set out on another one of J's insane missions yet Harley found herself inside a dirty porta potty at two in the fucking morning, her intercom blowing up like crazy, and bullets piercing her eardrums.
That's when she felt it.
Not an it. A girl. A baby girl. A crying baby girl. Then, nothing at all.
Harley wasn't the type to pray, having been raised in a neighborhood where that kind of thing was unnecessary. When everything in life comes to you, fame and success, you don't take it for granted. You hold onto it til you can't anymore. There was no point in praying; praying meant setting yourself up for disappointment.
Harley had love and love was all she needed.
"Harley!" J wouldn't quit calling her name. "You're wasting my time, sweetheart. The boys need you. Go. Now."
She can't believe the baby is dead, floating in a porta potty toilet, lifeless, unmoving.
She wonders what color eyes they had; if they looked like her or J; how they'd feel in her arms. Simple things. Simple parenthood things.
"I lost 'em, J," Harley fumbled with her intercom. "I-I lost 'em, J. Please. Take me home!"
Somehow he understood.
Because he waits with her while he has his best doctor run a few tests.
Because he rubs her back while she dry heaves into a trashcan.
Because he kisses her forehead, her cheeks, her lips, just so her tears can stop falling.
Because he holds her when the news is delivered.
Because he doesn't leave her alone, in their bed, unless she asks him to. But even then, he can't seem to stay away. How could he?
Because he wanted this for as long as she has and now it's impossible.
It's all her fault.
Because she doesn't miss the way his eyes roam over her stomach in earnest. Because she can't ignore his cries of agony outside their bedroom door. Because she sees how attached he is to the little baby tees hanging from a hook inside their closet. Because she looks at him and she knows.
Who would want a mother like her anyway?
A/N - I got the idea for this story from an experience my mother faced before she gave birth to me; like Harley, one of her miscarriages took place inside a bathroom and she was truly devastated that she couldn't prevent it sooner. If you or anyone you know has ever had a miscarriage, I want you to know that it's okay and although things may not look too good right now doesn't mean it'll be this way forever. Things will get better.