Author's note: its one week until Restore Me! Which means my fics are almost at an end. I may end up with some more ideas from the new books, but we'll have to see.
The almost silent sigh escapes my lips instantaneously the moment my head falls against the pillow, my eyes falling closed along with it. I savour the feel of the soft material caving in around my head and cradling it, supporting it in preparation for a long and peaceful night's sleep. For the past five hours I have thought of this moment and nothing else, well almost nothing. I pull the covers up to my chin as I make myself comfortable in the surrounding blanket of warmth, wondering how I've not managed to fall asleep on contact considering I've been so tired all day. I feel Warner's arm fall into place around my waist, a movement that's become so familiar to me now that it feels like home, and rest gently against my lower abdomen, his hand splaying out protectively over my warm skin.
"Are you tired love?" he murmurs softly against my ear. His breath causes a shiver that I'm almost too tired to register, almost.
"Very," I mumble in response, nestling myself further into the covers. "I've been pretty much exhausted all day." The truth in this statement ever present in the way my eyes strain and ache for me to close them, the way my entire body flooded with relief when I settled into bed. Although every other organ in my body is telling me to switch off, my brain just can't. I've had so much to think about during these last few days, so much excitement bursting through my system from the news that finally gave an explanation as to why I'd been feeling so off the past week. I'm still so incredibly amazed that right now, even though I can't feel it, mine and Warner's first child is nestled inside me, growing a little more day by day. The realities of this are only just sinking in, and despite my body screaming at me to rest my mind seems to be refusing, thoughts and possibilities exploding like brightly coloured fireworks in my thoughts.
"I wasn't expecting this to occur so quickly, have you had any other symptoms?" wonders Warner, his chin resting against my shoulder.
"I think so, but I also think I might just be looking for them, you know?" I answer, thinking back to this afternoon when I think I had a nauseas spell, but it was so mild I couldn't tell whether I was actually feeling sick or just telling myself that I did because I was expecting to.
"Yes," he laughs, his chest vibrating against my spine. I find it comforting, both the sound of his laugh and the way it travels from his chest until I feel it along my skin.
"I mean, obviously I know some are there," I say, my thoughts wondering specifically to the fact that work has become a much less pleasant environment because the smell of coffee makes me violently ill. "But sometimes I think to myself, am I actually feeling this or am I just wanting to feel this?"
"I understand," he says quietly, the beginnings of a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth, and in turn against my shoulder. "Although I wouldn't complain love, the girls said things will only get worse."
"I know," I mumble in response. A small pause passes through the air between us signalling our conversations end.
"I'm so excited," I say, the enthusiasm practically radiating from me as I mention it. "I've barely been able to contain myself at work all week."
"I know. I've thought of nothing else," he adds, his voice reaching that beautiful tone of softness that never fails to make my heart melt, the one I've come to associate with confessions of deep tenderness and warm smiles.
"I'm not sure it's really sunk in yet," I sigh, feeling Warner nod in agreement against me.
"We have only known for four days," he considers. "That's a considerably small portion of time in relation to processing something so big."
"Everything feels different now that I know, even though it seems like nothing has changed," I say, expressing the feelings of surrealism that have been flooding me all week, like how I still don't feel like it's happening even though I know it is.
"Things will change very soon," he laughs.
"I know. And I can't wait," I beam in response.
"Me neither," he sighs, but then he sucks in a breath and I feel his muscles tense. "And while I'm immensely excited about this, I am also scared."
"Of course you are, we both are," I assure him, giving his hand a small squeeze. The barely there huff of air from behind me tells me there's more to this confession, that this conversation is heading to different direction completely.
"Not just scared, terrified," his voice drops into a whisper, like it's about to break. "Terrified that I'm going to end up like him." He lets out a heavy breath, and I can feel the weight of it rattling on my skin, the silent emotions that it contained. I can already feel ache unfurling in my chest.
"Oh, Aaron," I murmur. "That is not going to happen."
"How can you possibly know that?" he asks, unsteady with insecurity. A jolt of sadness hits my heart at the familiarity of his tone, one that had been dormant for so long only to rear its painful head in the middle of the night once more. Over the years these conversations had started to grow few, the nightmares were beginning to fade into the background and I was helping Warner push his demons into an iron chest and lock them there, keeping them from swooping into the forefront of his mind and attacking like a murder of angry crows. Every now and then one would find a way out, squeeze its way through the chest's security and plague him, and every time I would make sure that he didn't deal with it alone, but it happens so little now that when I hear his voice laced with pain and self-doubt, when I can only imagine the hurt that he must be feeling and every cell in my body wants so desperately to take it away, that every emotion comes flooding back to me so fast that feels like my heart has been punctured by blades.
"Because I know you," I say, hoping that it comes out reassuring and that my voice sounds strong even though my heart is breaking for him. I take his hand that rests against my stomach and squeeze it gently, running my thumb over the top. "And you will not become your father, you're nothing like him."
"Maybe not, but what if it's inevitable," replies Warner, dejected.
"What do you mean?" I mutter, lacing my fingers between his as they rest over the skin that somewhere underneath our child is slowly growing. A few seconds flow by before he speaks, and I can feel the slow inhale he makes as his chest moves against me.
"He's in my blood. What if it's unavoidable, beyond my control?" he starts, voicing his worst fears while I try to think of a way to console him. "What if no matter how much I try to be the exact opposite of what he was it still finds me?"
"It won't, you're too different," I say, my voice soft as it tries not to break. Another dagger falls into my chest and twists as I think about the fear in his words, how it makes him believe that he could be even remotely like his father. I know that he could never, but I only wish right now that he could see that too.
"It's been known to happen, in too many cases," he states.
"And you will not be one of them, you're much stronger than that," I counter, hoping that he can sense the force with which I believe that, that he knows I have every faith in him. He pauses to release another shaky breath and by now I'm so emotional that I'm fighting back tears.
"He had such a strong presence in my life, he controlled so much of it for so long. And I'm so scared that despite my every intention I can't help but become him, that no matter how much I try to stop myself it's inescapable." The words fall from Warner's lips, every one of them more vulnerable than the last. My head feels scrambled as I try to contain myself and support him, reassure him that his worries are just that without letting myself crumble with him. Both of us sigh, mine quiet and calming and his heavy, filled with both doubt and relief.
"It's not, and I understand why you're worried," I assure him, by voice hovering tenderly above a whisper. "But there is no way you are capable of being that cruel, you have too much heart."
"I've done terrible things," he replies flatly.
"So have I. And they do not change the fact that you are nothing like your father and never will be," I continue, hoping he can feel the burning force with which I believe in him, hoping that he knows that there is more compassion in him than there ever was in his father and that he can do this, hoping that he believes me. "I completely understand, and I would be lying if I said I wasn't worried about my own ability to cope with this, I think everyone in our position worries, especially those who have known nothing but neglect and abuse in their own childhoods." I take a breath, reflecting on every niggling doubt that's crossed my mind ever since I found out. I've been scared too, I've been hit with flashbacks of being locked in my bedroom and being constantly ignored, but I'll use that fear to motivate me, make myself the mother that I never had and I know that Warner will do exactly the same, he just needs to believe that he will more than whatever mental fear his past has created.
"But I also know, that I want to give our child everything I never had and more. I will love them unconditionally and I know that you will do the same," I finish, turning my previous thoughts into words. He relaxes against me, just a little, and I feel him try to pull me closer.
"Of course I will," He whispers.
"I know that you are going to be an excellent father. You will give this child more love than it could ever need, and I couldn't think of anybody I would want more to share this with," I assure him, the words soft and barely there on my lips. I roll over and face him, gently caressing his cheek as he looks into my eyes. I stare back at his, wide and shining, watching him blink slowly as he measures the weight of my words, feeling how much genuine faith I have in him, he looks almost as if he can barely believe it. I crack a smile, my breath escaping between my lips in an almost gasp as Warner does the same. His eyes fall gently closed, and I hear him let out a long exhale as his face falls back into a neutral expression.
"Thank you so much," he whispers, bringing one hand up to brush my face. I fall into his eyes once they open again, get swallowed up in the look of such tenderness and love that has always held me transfixed, even now still, when these vulnerable confessions and reassuring conversations happen so little now. His eyes reveal just how much my support means to him, and that look alone is enough to pave over every crack in my heart that hearing him upset had caused. "I really needed to get that out."
"It's alright, and if there's anything else I'm here," I soothe, knowing that this will be the last I hear of this worry, whether it disappears for good or not. Voicing his insecurities once is usually enough for him, he uses the reassurance and support I give him to then shove them aside, far from his mind. They never get brought up again, which is okay with me because I assume it means that they are long forgotten, but there's still a noticeable difference in the way we both deal with things, like a scar almost done healing but not quite.
"I know. I'm fine for now," he says, and means it.
"You'll be everything he never was." I say once more, wanting to pour any extra confidence into him that I can.
"I know." he whispers.
"And remember, we are in this together. You have nothing to worry about," I soothe, gripping his shoulder, smoothing my thumb over the thick muscle.
"Ok," he whispers, allowing the silence to coat us like an extra comforter.
"Now I don't know about you, but I need to sleep," I say, noting that I'm struggling to keep my eyes open.
"Goodnight love," he says, kissing my lips again before I roll back over and settle down to sleep.
"Goodnight," I mutter as my eyes drag themselves shut and I wait for the blissful release of sleep to carry me away.