Elation By: Chshalogrl 'aka' Ellie
Disclaimer: I own nothing. That's why I have to get up and go to work tomorrow. Don't sue me. Your legal fees will be more than the settlement.
Rating: PG, just to be safe.
Summary: Companion piece to "Bliss".
A/N: Good Lord, I don't know what's wrong with me. I wasn't planning on doing this for quite awhile but… I literally just finished this and I have to wake up for work tomorrow, so I really should be sleeping. This is the companion to Bliss that I promised. This thing just took off on its own little tangent, I don't know how else to explain it. But I started and kept going. And here I am two hours later with this…whatever it may be. It's a different feel to my other one-parters…I'm not sure how I feel about it yet. I'll let you know tomorrow when I get back from work. But I hope that you get some enjoyment out of it. Good night, all! Happy Reading!
~Ellie

The link to "Bliss" is in my signature. It doesn't matter the order you read them…but they do go together.


Elation




Elation

Every time I think I know the meaning of the word, it is redefined by another event in my life.

I thought I lived in a state of euphoria when I kissed my husband for the first time.

It was.

And then it wasn't.

Life couldn't get better.

And it did.

Hand in hand, the two of us navigated our way from a relationship fractured by secrecy and duplicity, to a seamless companionship bound by wedding rings and marriage vows.

Everything was perfect. It was euphoric.

Elation.

And it couldn't have been any better.

We thought.

I never believed in the cinematic pregnancies that caught those flawless women completely off-guard. I never believed that a woman could be unaware of another life within her. I never thought that it would take nausea and fatigue to clue me into the most momentous event that my body would ever undergo.

I'm a believer.

I woke up in the middle of the night. Just a night. Nothing spectacular about it. Hunched on the bathroom floor, it took a cool hand on the back of my neck and soft kisses on the top of my head to dull the queasiness that had settled in my stomach. Carrying me back to bed, he looked at me with such reverence that I felt my stomach begin to knot again.

For entirely different reasons.

In sickness and in health, we each made a promise.

He kept his.

And he was by my side the next day, holding me in our bed as I attempted to rest off the bug that had infiltrated my body. Sweaty and exhausted from the effort of vomiting, I looked at him sleepily and was soothed by his perfection.

Green eyes. That little cleft. Untamed eyebrows. And ridges of concern in his forehead.

Perfection. Euphoria. Elation.

This hasn't changed.





The trip to the doctor was a terrifying one. My life had been chock full of ironies, both bitter and cruel.

How ironic would it be for a woman who's defied death by gunshot, stabbing, explosion, and drowning to lose her life to a circumstance of nature?

Laying on that examination table in a paper gown without Vaughn by my side was terrifying. Not as terrifying as the single word I absorbed from the doctor's speech.

Pregnant.

Me?

No. It can't be.

My mind spirals through my past and I instantly recall the punches, the kicks, and the devastating blows my body has been subjected to.

Surely my body can't be that forgiving.

But it is.






Telling Vaughn makes it real and for some reason, I'm proud of myself. After all the things he's done, the sacrifices he's made, I feel as though I can finally offer him something.

Something priceless.

I'm going to make Michael Vaughn a daddy.

His reaction is better than I even imagined. Hoots and hollers as he momentarily forgets I'm on the other end of the phone line. His concern over my health and well-being touches my heart.

His sudden appearance on our doorstep touches my soul.

I love this man more than I know how to convey and the very sight of him, hopeful with two roses in his grasp, moves me to tears. Within moments of his homecoming, I'm on the floor of our living room sobbing with a hand on my stomach and my husband in my heart.

I blame it on the hormones, but I know better.






I'm far from perfect as a pregnant wife. Sweaty, bloated, and irritable, I carry a constant sense of guilt over the fact that I'm more helpless than I've ever been in my life. Watching in the mirror, day after day, as my body distorts itself in ways I've never imagined, I smile. I'm doing the world a favor.

I'm making another Vaughn.

One is perfection.

It doesn't get any better.

Until another is born.

And.

Elation is redefined.






I've been tortured, injured, and maimed. But I didn't know pain. Gritting my teeth and pushing until I fear that my muscles have been stretched to their limits, I work to bring our baby into the world. Vaughn is at my side through the entire thing and he seems to be awestruck. Words of love and admiration of my strength is whispered in my ear and, in that moment, I want nothing more than for him to disappear.

I tell him so.

But I refuse to let go of his hand

So he stays.

And Aimee is born.






Another Vaughn has arrived.

And while she looks like a tiny me, she is her father through and through.
With Aimee's arrival comes a multitude of firsts. First smile, first laugh, first step, first word. Each is a milestone as we observe the culmination of our relationship. As we watch her grow and learn and become.

Become a Bristow.

Become a Vaughn.

Vaughn and I were two halves of one whole. Aimee changed that.

The first night we brought her home, neither of us slept. Instead, we sat in chairs by Aimee's bassinet and held hands through the night, reveling in the miracle that occurred every time her tiny chest rose and fell.

Every breath was amazing.

There was Vaughn's first time changing a diaper after Aimee went to solid foods. I'll never forget the sight of her hanging from his hands as he held her towards me, convinced that there was something wrong with her.

Nothing good can smell that bad, he reasoned.

Then, the first time Aimee managed to hurt herself. Starting to crawl, she managed to bang her head on the coffee table, and screeched out of fear more than anything else. The look of agony on Vaughn's face as he watched his baby girl suffer brought tears to my eyes.

He treasures her.

Christmas rolled around quickly after Aimee's summer birth and, before we knew it, our little brunette was clad in a red, candy-cane sleeper completely oblivious to the excitement while her parents couldn't wait for Christmas morning. Retrieving the hazy-eyed beauty from her crib was thrilling and, while she didn't understand the commotion, it was important to take turns guiding her chubby hands in the art of tearing wrapping paper. It was an art she would perfect by the next year.

Elation. Redefined.







It's funny the way we define emotions and feelings with words.

But we don't truly understand them until we possess them. Until we know them intimately.

I can define elation as Webster knew it.

But it won't be elation as I know it.

A husband who loves me. Who dotes on me and inspires me every day. A husband who put a ring on my finger and took hold of my heart. Whose smile still puts a blush in my cheeks and a twinkle in my eye.

A husband who gave me my daughter.

My little girl with green eyes, dimpled cheeks, and a spectacular smile. The one who climbs into my arms when she's had a nightmare. The one who says she'll never outgrow the words "Mommy" and "Daddy". The little girl who wants to be a doctor, a ballerina, a teacher, and an angel when she grows up.

I would say that it doesn't get any better than this.

But I've learned.

It will

This is elation.

For now.


Fin.


Okay guys. I don't know if that really met your expectations. But that's what my fingers typed…so, there you have it. "Bliss" and "Elation". Please excuse any silly errors. I'm tired and might have missed something, but I'll re-edit it tomorrow. Thanks for reading. Let me know what you thought!