A/N: This is pretty much based on one of the RP verses I have with Elizabeth and is so far removed from the actual Chess canon that I want to be sorry but I'm really not.
He doesn't realize until he's already sitting in the waiting room that he was wrong.
The clock ticks deafeningly. Anatoly is beside him, drawn and pale and nauseated by what he's about to do.
He looks like Freddie feels, except he doesn't have the right.
Typical fucking male victim complex.
He makes Freddie sick.
Actually. Freddie isn't sure exactly what's making him sick right now - Anatoly, the child growing inside him, without his consent, with noregard for how this is going to ruin his fucking life...
Or maybe the idea of having it scraped from his uterus and vacuum-sucked out like a ball of useless lint.
It's not a baby. It's not a baby -
He took a course on this shit in college, on bodily autonomy and the right to choice and all that jazz, whatever, there were plenty of feminist organizations on campus and at the time Freddie had been somewhat of a lesbian and always sniffing for another chick to feel up, to kiss and touch and tease.
It doesn't make him feel any better.
Why. Why doesn't it make him feel any better.
He's so fucking angry at himself, feels like such a crazy, indecisive bitch - all the way here he'd been so sure, so goddamn sure that he wanted to do this, he needed to do this. He didn't have another choice.
But maybe...
No. He can't do it again.
But he can't do this, either.
Anatoly is sitting next to him while he's having his epiphany, blissfully unaware and perfectly miserable, like someone's about to kill his puppy and there's nothing he can do about it.
Freddie doesn't want to kill anything. Anyone.
It's not a baby!
But...
But, but -
He wants it.
It hits him like a train and before he can do anything to subdue the panic attack on the verge of imploding his brain he has Anatoly by the collar, is on his feet, dragging him toward the coat rack.
"Ow - what are you - " Anatoly gasps, a little strangled, and then all of a sudden they're in the tiny bathroom tucked into the corner, and Freddie kicks the door shut behind him and pulls Anatoly on top of him and sucks his lower lip into his mouth with an exaggerated groan.
It's too easy. Anatoly is too easy.
"Fuck me," he breathes against his neck, and hitches a leg up around his waist, pressing up against his thigh where he already feels him throbbing.
"Okay." Anatoly is so fucking easy. This is perfect.
He misses his appointment. They don't bother with condoms, even though there are some right there on the counter next to the sink, as though this kind of thing happened often here.
Why the hell do they need condoms if Freddie is already halfway to popping out a second little parasite?
He wants him, and he's not letting him leave.
Anatoly comes, buried in him, practically whimpering and Freddie scores his back with deep nailmarks and smiles up at the ceiling.
He's missed his appointment.