First posted on my Livejournal archive (Apples For Me) on August 29, 2007.
Title: This Wasn't The Plan
Characters: Chiaki/Nodame
Wordcount/Rating: 300+ words / G
Spoilers/Warnings: None
Summary: Somehow, without his knowing it, life has become like this.
Author's Notes: I have proven myself
a liar many times over, so breaking my own rule about "no future fic"
doesn't seem too big anymore. Enjoy.
He isn't sure when tumultuous applause segues into the sound of Nodame's piano and her chatter-chatter-chatter. It's probably baby talk, received willingly by their youngest child's six-month-old ears. Nodame's always been good at spouting incomprehensible nonsense.
There is a sudden burst of laughter. Children squeal, and then he hears the percussive, syncopated staccato rhythm of running footsteps. He can hear a door being flung open with a loud crash, and then there are more giggles and chuckles, untimed, uneven, as full of joy and life as they are devoid of any resemblance to any melodic pattern he can pick out. Someone climbs onto his stomach, and Chiaki opens his eyes to see his eldest, smiling at him. Papa, wake up, Mama's being silly again!
There is a movement behind her. He notices his second, barely able to walk--this morning he walked towards me! Nodame said last month with her too-big mouth and that too-wide smile--appearing belatedly, clinging to the doorframe, breathless but smiling, reaching out an arm when he sees his father's sleep-mussed visage. The toddler loses his balance, sits abruptly, and then bursts into a fit of giggles, matched by his eldest daughter, now clinging to Chiaki's sleep shirt as the laughter rocks through her small little four-year-old body. Her face looks like Nodame's. He can see the beginnings of a smile bigger than her face, and her eyes twinkle in unison with those of her mother.
Chiaki can only grunt and turn, burying his face into his pillow with a moan that is meant to chase his too-loud progeny away. Life isn't supposed to be three children and music lessons to the uncoordinated neighbourhood hopefuls, the principle of mind over matter yielding to hopeless messes of not-even-music and uncoordinated sounds bordering on the verge of noise. This wasn't the plan.
Yet he cannot even begin to conceive of anything else as the baby gurgles loudly and Nodame starts playing again.