Thank you to anyone reading / reviewing :) and as usual I hope this is alright
He settles himself down on the sofa, and watches as Jac waddles awkwardly towards the chair. Her gait altered by her swollen stomach, it had once been a source of amusement for him. He, along with Mo, had teased her good naturedly when the waddle had started making an appearance. It had been subtle at first, the slight altering of her pace and movement to accommodate a change in her centre of gravity, before it had developed in to what it is now. Only seeing her like this is no longer quite such as source of merriment for the nurse, he can see now how uncomfortable it is for her, the weary way in which her body stoops under the additional weight and strain caused by the growing baby. She presses herself in to the chair, and turns to look at him.
"You sent a text" He thinks as soon as the words leave his mouth that they weren't quite what he should have said, that while so many buzz around the still panicked space that is his mind, it is these that become audible. He watches as for a moment her shoulders slump further, and how she tries to recover her expression to one with is neutral, bordering on indifference. He thinks that at one time she would have forced a glower on to her face but he sees the exhaustion and knows that in this moment that would take too much effort – though he knows that too many wrong moves and that would be his reward.
"It was an accident" her words are flat and empty. It is probably his fault, though often he is unable to quite process why. Still he wishes he could keep her present; keep her with him long enough to break through the barriers which she has felt up around her. He notices though that at the very least she is still watching him, her gaze still rests upon his face and that is something resembling progress. He has sat here so often when her line of vision of wandered anywhere other than at him, her way of demonstrating that she is no longer interesting in him, that studying the blank walls is more entertaining to her than the words he speaks.
"An accident?" he raises an eyebrow. He thinks of the phone she uses, how it seems strange to him that an accidental text could be sent from it, particularly a blank one. He has sent drunken texts by accident, or accidently pressed the send button on a message typed in frustration but never meant for the recipients eyes, but that doesn't fit with this. It seems more than coincidence that the text was sent to him, the father of her child, that there is something in the atmosphere that has put him slightly on edge.
"Yes an accident" One of her eyebrows rises, matching his, a dare to question her further. She has crossed her hands across her abdomen; a pose that Mo had once commented was so like his most commonly used stance, and in that she saw how matched their were, that they mirrored each other unconsciously even when they weren't together. It was something he hadn't even noticed until the words had left his friends lips, but now he sees it all the more. They are so different and yet so very similar.
"Jac" He doesn't need to say anything more. The one word, her name, is enough to tell her that he doesn't believe the words that escape her lips. Despite how flat she is, he thinks now he can see something in the depths of her eyes, something she is trying desperately hard to push away but which is slipping ever closer to the surface. She is shuffles slightly in her chair, though he is not certain whether it is discomfort from her pregnant state or from the situation in which she has found herself.
"I just" she pauses, shaking her head causing a wave of auburn hair to flutter over her shoulder obscuring part of her face. He longs to push it from her face, to run his fingers through the fullness of her mane. Pregnancy has given it a sheen and a volume that entices him, causing his hands to itch for the feel of it and yet he has to resist. She doesn't react well to his touch.
"You can tell me Jac" he moves to the edge of the sofa, shifting his body closer to hers and watches as she recoils backwards in to the chair. It is as though his closeness will burn her, it is something from which she has to withdraw. It saddens him that they have gotten to this point, when there was a time they had fought to keep their bodies apart, stealing moments together in closets and cupboards. She blinks, and he tries to imagine her inner-conflict, the battle between honesty and another lie. It is a near constant fight within her, and one rarely won by the truth.
"I'm tired" the answer comes finally, and he can hear in the weary way in which she speaks the exhaustion she feels, but he knows too that this is not the whole story. The tiredness of which she speaks goes beyond the physical drain of pregnancy.
"You're not sleeping properly?" another stupid question that he chides himself for. She had never been a good sleeper, though she had tried to hide this from him. He had felt her body shift and stir against his, as she had battled her way in to the unconscious world though even then her mind did not let her rest. Her sleeping form was rarely still, twisted words mumbled though he could never make sense of them.
"The baby has nocturnal tendencies" as she says the words she rubs at her stomach, an affectionate movement that causes the tiniest of smiles to play on his lips. He has enjoyed those moments, of watching how almost without conscious effort she had started to caress her abdomen almost as soon as it had started to swell. Her arms would form a cradle around the bump as though she was protecting the baby within. He has longed for his hands to join with hers, taken pleasure in the moments when she has allowed him physical contact though as the months have progressed these brief snatches of closeness had decreased. He watches as she swallows hard, "I just want her to be born"
"Her?" his eyes widen at the slip she has made, they had decided – for once a decision made together – not to find out the baby's gender beforehand. It had been him who had wanted to know, while she had shot him down. There are only two options she had told him so it would hardly be a surprise, and anyway she had pointed out no son or daughter of hers would be limited to gender-specific clothing colours so not knowing meant she wouldn't be bombarded with masses of pink or blue. Not that she had been overly inundated with gifts, though he suspected had she agreed to the baby shower Mo had tried to throw her she would have amassed a great deal more.
"Him or Her, it just feels slightly kinder than it" she twists her lips at little, and he can see how very hard she is trying to cover, a flash of something resembling guilt in her face at the realisation of what she has done.
"You could've used Blomp" he says with a smile, and despite herself she laughs before ducking her head to look down at her rounded form, "You know though, don't you?" the words are added, though he needs no answer. Her reaction has confirmed it clearly enough. She runs her hands over the length of her abdomen, feeling the curvature of her baby's spine.
"No" she tries to protest but it is half hearted, "Yes" she tilts her head up slightly to look at him, flashing a slightly apologetic smile.
"And we're having a girl?" he cannot quite hide the excitement in his voice at the idea of a daughter. Over the last few months he has dreamed of his child, of the future they will share and despite his efforts he has never quite managed to summon a son in to his minds eye. The child, the mix of him and her, has always been a daughter.
"Yes" she confirms it softly and his grin widens.
"Our little Blompette" her laugh is much more genuine now as he twists the nickname he had used from early on in the pregnancy. She rolls her eyes too, as she looks up at him.
"You idiot" the words are good natured, and for a moment it feels like old times between them. He had always been able to make her laugh, even in some of the hardest moments between them. And then almost as if she realises she has relaxed too much, she presses herself further back in the chair, hands interlaced.
"Talk to me Jac" he implores her gently once more and she bites down on her lip.
"I need" she twists her fingers nervously together, a habit he has noted before. She draws in her bottom lip, her teeth biting upon it as she pauses, trying to stop herself from saying the words. He watches silently, waiting. The silence that hangs in the air is stifling but he doesn't want to talk, he wants her to do this. He watches as she releases her bottom lip, her mouth moving but no sound is made. It doesn't matter, he can track the movement, the shapes her lips form, the word they make. He sees the conflict in her face, as she tries to make the word audible but fights against doing so. He sits quiet, letting her take all the time she needs.
