Title: Expecting
Author: Juanita Dark
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Dark Angel, S2 - Medium Is The Message.
Summary: Counting down to conception - third time's the charm.
Disclaimer: Dark Angel belongs to James Cameron, Charles Eglee, Fox, etc., not me.
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Expecting
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"I give up," he said
"I give up, you win"
"Creation baby, has failed again"
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She had called out for him in her sleep; a soft lilting sound, like the mewling of a small animal.
"Ames... Ames."
He had paused in the kitchen, fingers closed tight around the cold stainless steel of the refrigerator's handle. Her pain - even in sleep - was distinct, penetrating for a moment the weird atmosphere of his nature that maintained pain was entirely a figment of the mind. Slowly he released the handle, pressing the fridge door closed; the cold air that had coalesced across and crisped the front of his shirt shifted as if moved by a warm hand. Doubly weary and wary, he made his way along the darkened hall to the nuptial bedroom.
The lights were low and curtains drawn - he doubted she had opened them since her return from the hospital. She lay curled on the bed in a foetal position, fully clothed except for her (carelessly removed) shoes to which still clung the residue of once wet earth and stray blades of grass. His approach was silent but as he drew nearer she moved quite unconsciously, the black coat she wore splaying slightly, parting like the wings of a dead bird. As her head tipped forward and down from her pillow, it worked free pale strands of hair from the singular braid at the back. Despite the comedic and inebriated aspects suggested in her position, the hand clutching mindlessly and persistently at the tiny blush-coloured blanket, had twisted the material until it's knuckles blanched. Sitting lightly on the edge of the bed, he actually regretted having to wake her, but he breathed in the process - all feelings eliminated as his means sought an end.
"Wendy," his voice, lower than intended actually held a deceptive quaver. He shook her shoulder carefully, remembering again how easily she bruised without the proper consideration. "Wendy."
It wasn't like the movies, she didn't disorient, lose track of the day or even hope she was somewhere else, the red-rimmed eyes simply opened - pupils adjusting to him and the shadows - understanding his action but for an instant flickering with a resentment of the intrusion. His reactions were fast - even then - and he registered her entire response to him in the second before she pushed herself upwards and into his arms. Tiny gasps beginning in the back of her throat became harder, breaking into sobs that crashed like waves through her body and into his.
The act of sympathy was cathartic.
Her hot tears eventually leaked their way onto his neck and he failed to hold her and her emotions in check. His arms closed around her, mimicking her own embrace - tighter than before. He stroked the back of her head, replete on the language of her grief.
He understood in his way; back through generations, from century to century, linked by an arcane tradition and purpose: a second child had been lost at birth.
Slowly, mentally deliberately, he began to count backwards to the next moment of conception.
-fin-