A/N: Okay, okay, I know, I know. But better late than never, right? For those of you with patience, here's chapter 3. Warning: It's a dark one.
Disclaimer: I own the sick mind that comes up with this story. I do not however, own the characters that star in it.
Chapter 3
The kind young assistant, who introduced herself as Rhona, helps you settle on the table and instructs you to bare your stomach. The gel she squirts on feels cold and icky and you squeal. She smiles and apologizes for not warning you while she sets up the monitors and grabs the small device she needs to work with. Making small circular movements, she scans your tummy and the first contours of…well…something, appear in the monitor. She remains silent.
Too silent.
And so does your baby. Muttering something unintelligible, Rhona adjusts something on her machinery and tries again. Still, nothing.
Excusing herself, she hurries out and comes back with another doctor, an elderly man who must be very close to his pension. Still, it must mean he's a lot more experienced than the girl helping you before. The doctor, whose nametag says Dr. H. Donahue, doesn't bother with any formal introductions, yet sets out to work.
But even his expertise can't change the outcome you already dreaded.
There is no heartbeat. Your baby is no longer alive.
He's full of sincere apologies for you, as he tries to explain how this could have happened. Or, more accurately, tries to explain how they just don't know. It's tragic, but there are hundreds of small and bigger circumstances or possibilities as to why this baby did not survive.
Like not really wanting it, you think, as the guilt rises inside of you. Has this child felt your initial rejection and decided for itself? Has God heard your first prayer to make it not be true and taken it too seriously? Have you not been careful enough? Eating the right things? Resting enough?
These last questions you dare ask, but Dr. Donahue is quick to deny your own incriminating thoughts. According to him, it's bad luck. Nothing more.
"This very unfortunate situation will most likely result in a natural abortion within the next four days, but if not, we may need to arrange for you to have it removed by curettage. Neither process is comfortable, but the last option might be safer if a spontaneous abortion doesn't happen in that time span. Again, I'm very sorry not to be able to give you better news."
He shakes your hand with a sad smile and greets Matt too. Matt, who has gone pale, whom you haven't looked in the eyes lest you'll break in a million pieces.
It feels like you've let him down somehow. After all he's done to help you adjust to becoming a mum, up to a point where you were even starting to look forward to it, you still end up with nothing.
And now what?
Will he retract his support? He said he would be there for whatever you chose to do, but this was not your choice. Or was it? And will he know the difference, even if you're not sure yourself? And how will this end?
Truth be told, you were very much looking forward to having Matt around, even if it was just for the baby's sake. You had pictures him falling in love with the little boy or girl, and perhaps…finally admitting he was in love with mummy too.
Not now though. His promise of the two of you having this baby as a real couple is now null and void. And without the baby, this real couple thing is no longer a necessity. And you wonder how long it will take before he lets go of the hand he's now still holding. He'll always be a friend for sure, you're not afraid he'll disappear altogether, but…
It's the thought that you can lose so much more than just a baby that now makes you cry. Matt, seeing your tears, awakes from his own shock. He stands, grabs a fresh towel from a stack in the corner and gently wipes the goo of your stomach. Your lifeless, hostile stomach. His gesture is intimate, almost like a lover and you revel in it for as long as you can, still convinced that this sweet attention for you will fade in time as there's no reason to take extra care of you any longer.
Tears stream freely down your face and exchanging the towel for some tissues, he wipes the tear stains from your cheeks.
All this time, he doesn't utter a word, but when he looks at you, his eyes shine with his own unshed tears and he swallows convulsively. Your own hand reaches out to brush his tears away and that gesture is enough for him to lean into you. A mere moment later, you're in his arms, crying harder than when you just told him, now a lifetime ago. Just like then, he says little, he only lets you weep and sniffle until you're exhausted. When he feels you slump further against his chest, he carefully unfolds your embrace, stands and picks up both your jackets from where you've left them as well as your purse. Making sure he has taken all your belongings, he helps you get off the table and into your jacket.
"Let's get out of here love. We can always call them for an appointment later, if you want. Right now, we could use some fresh air and some less depressing surroundings."
In the hallway, Rhona hands you some folders, indicating what you have to do when your miscarriage sets through.
"Call us anytime. We're so sorry," she tells you in a hushed voice, regarding the other women in there in various stages of pregnancy. You envy them, while only a few weeks before, you would have done anything not to be one of them.
And now you're not. You got your wish. Too late though.
Once outside, you breathe in the clean air, wishing it would bring some life into the still foetus in your belly. You wonder what it would have been like to feel its first kick, to know its gender, to make up names.
Matt tentatively wraps one arm around your shoulder and you don't ward him off. In silence, you reach his car and he gently helps you inside.
"Do you want to go home or do you need to go somewhere else first?"
"Home, please, I'm so tired."
"Okay then."
The car ride home is silent, with every now and then his hand covering yours. You're not alone. In your flat, he offers to make you some tea, but you decline. All you want to do is curl up in a ball and sleep for a decade.
You head into the bedroom, but before you close the door, one thought occurs to you. What if your miscarriage starts in the middle of the night and you're alone?
"Matt?"
"Yes, love?"
"Stay with me. I mean…"
"I know. And I will. You try and get some sleep. I'll be right here on the couch if you need me."
Relieved and eternally more grateful than you know how to show, you give him a watery smile and close the bedroom door, falling into bed exhausted.
The cramps start around midnight. It's like having your period, only much, much worse. Groaning, you try to get comfortable, but it's pointless. You need help. It hurts so much! Luckily, your hazy brain remembers your best friend should still be here.
"Matt! Matt! Help!"
Indeed, a moment later, he comes stumbling in, worried but alert and calm. Asserting the situation, he calls 999 for an ambulance, using his DS badge to bully them into hurrying over. While you wait for their arrival, he gets you some water, some towels and clean bed linens for later when the worst is over, in case you can stay home.
Another cramp hits you and you double over with the force of it. Matt wipes your sweaty forehead as he coaches and calms you.
In the end, you don't know how long it takes, but finally the paramedics are here. Since you're still in a lot of pain, it's decided you should go to the hospital and suddenly, you're in an ambulance, which races through the blessedly empty streets of London, while most of its occupants are still asleep.
Matt never leaves your side. Still holding onto your clammy hand, he manages to answer most questions about your condition coherently and none of the paramedics ever doubt he's a worried partner of a woman who is losing their child.
At the hospital though, he is kindly being asked to step aside as they examine you. You feel a small pinprick in your arm and a few moments later, the worst of your cramps subside as the painkillers do their work.
Later, you don't know how much later, a young female doctor tells you the worst should be over. You have now officially miscarried. She asks if you want to know the baby's gender and when you nod, she tells you it would have been a girl. Thinking of little Tessie, you start sobbing and calling out for Matt.
He's being shown in. He grabs your hand and kisses your damp forehead. You're too drowsy to wonder if he's merely putting up an act for the hospital staff. But you hope not.
"Will she be okay?"
"Physically, yes. We'll keep your wife here overnight, just in case, but if nothing out of the ordinary happens and she has no fever in the morning, you can take her home. We'll have a room for her ready soon."
He doesn't correct her in her assumption, merely nods his thanks. The doctor does some more checks, then tells you you'll be taken up to your room now. Gathering your things, Matt walks next to your bed as it is being taken through the hallways and into a lift, where you finally arrive at a rather stereotype, gloomy room. After they secure your bed and hook up your IV, the two of you are finally left alone. Finally, there is nowhere else to look but straight at him.
He looks like death. Worry and fatigue shine through his normally sparkling eyes. He's so subdued, you wonder if they put the right person in this damned hospital bed. Yet, he still manages a smile as he kisses the back of your hand.
"Alesha, I…"
You interrupt him quickly, unable to deal with his grief on top of yours. Plus, he really does look like he might keel over any moment.
"I know. But we'll get through this. I…I think you should go home."
"What?"
Irritation works better than pain at the moment.
"Please, Matt. You heard me. Go home. You're dead on your feet and there's nothing you can do for me now. These painkillers make me drowsy, so I think I'll probably be asleep soon. And then what's left for you to do? Please, sweet man, sweet friend. Go home. Get some sleep, take a shower, have some breakfast and come back to get me out of here."
Reluctantly, he gives in. He doesn't like it, but your reasoning makes sense. Plus, he needs to inform Nat, Ronnie, James and George as to why you won't come in for work today and not for another few more days after that.
"What do I tell them at work Alesha? Do I come up with some random disease or…"
It might be easier. But sooner or later, the truth always comes out. Besides, there's nothing to be ashamed of. You already dread their concern, but you'll man up to it. They're your friends and they care. You're happy about that.
"No…tell them."
He nods, bends over to give you one more quick kiss.
"Are you sure you'll be fine?"
"I'm at the hospital, Matt. People here are trained to make sure of that. But I can rest more assured when I know you're taking care of yourself. Now go, before I'll have you kicked out."
Shoulders slumped, he leaves the room and you finally allow yourself to drift off to sleep.
Interlude: Matt's POV:
The first thing you realize when you get outside is that you came here in the ambulance with Alesha. Your car is still at her flat. This late at night (or early in the morning, depending on your point of view) there are no tubes riding and you don't have either cash or bank card with you to pay for a cab. So walking it is. Thank God it's only a few blocks.
When you finally reach the sanctity of your car after a brisk fifteen minute walk, you notice how your hands tremble and not from the cold either. Way too much to start the engine and drive away safely. Unbidden, tears spring in your eyes as the events of the night and the days before finally take their toll.
It's gone. It's all over. And how crazy warped are your feelings about it. When Alesha told you about the pregnancy, all you knew is that you would be there, no matter what she decided to do. You could even more than understand her first urge to just get it out of her, regarding it as nothing more but a parasite she was left with after her rape.
Your own urge to drive to prison and throttle Merrick surged up again, but it quickly got subdued as you realized Alesha needed you there, not in jail for murder. You thought you had done your best comforting her, soothing her fears, if only a little.
You saw, even before she did, when she made her permanent decision. Outside that store. Right then and there, the moment before she stated she was going to have this child, you too had made up your mind.
Matt Devlin was going to be a father. Not in a way you ever thought it would happen, but still. That's just a technicality. This child had a right to have a doting daddy and you stepped up to the plate. No regrets or second thoughts allowed.
And sure, you had ulterior motives. You would have been a liar if you were to deny the blatantly obvious. In your mind's eye, a picture took shape. A standard, syrupy sweet family portrait. The way you always secretly wanted to have it, because you never had it in your childhood.
A mummy and daddy. House, white picket fence. And inside: a happy, healthy, slightly naughty, thriving child. Infant, toddler, pre-schooler. First word, first step, first tooth. First Christmas. First day at school. Learning how to ride a bike. The usual stuff nobody ever really appreciated enough, because it was so easy to take it for granted.
A sibling…
Your natural child. Not dearer to you than your firstborn, but still…
When you made Alesha that one sentence promise, it was with this picture in mind. You figured that, if only she would see how much you would love her child (no, your child, both your child), she would ultimately recognise it was born out of your love for her.
She would grow into loving you. For real. Fearlessly and completely.
Matt and Alesha and kids. The Devlin family. That's what it was all about.
But it had shattered to a million pieces. Your love for Alesha was still growing strong, your need to be there for her, with her, to help her get through this, is still there on full force. But the dream is over. Already she is retreating. Accepting your help with gratitude, but not seeing the depth of your feelings for her. Treating you as any other friend. As if it could have been any random guy offering his services.
It hurts beyond measure. You were so close, dammit! So close to finally getting it right, the irony of needing Merricks creation to get there not forgotten, but firmly placed on the backburner.
You take a few deep breaths and manage to start the engine. The streets are still pretty much deserted and within ten minutes, you find yourself at your own flat. It's a miracle you made it home in one piece as you can't remember anything of the ride over. Perhaps, in hindsight, you should have taken a cab instead. You're sure the driver would have waited for you to get some cash from your flat had you shown him your police badge. Oh well, too late now.
The only one seemingly happy to see you is Lucky, but then again, he probably just wants to be fed. You can't image the elderly feline feeling any of your gloom, let alone sympathize.
You find a can of cat food and fill his bowl. Just as you thought, you're immediately dismissed. Oh well, you can stand another rejection.
Underneath the hot, pelting stream of your shower, you realize that that is exactly how she made you feel when she send you home. Rejected. It's complete bullshit and you know it, but you're tired beyond belief and you can't help yourself. This shouldn't be about you, it should be about her, but how can you make this be just about her when she won't let you?
You bed is warm and welcoming, at least your lower back seems to think so after the abuse it had to endure while lying on her sofa. Yet, you shiver in misery, thinking of how you ended up here while you should be at the hospital.
Even if she doesn't need you there.
Will she ever admit to needing you again?
A million thoughts assault your mind and after an hour of useless twisting and turning, you give up. Much as you need it, sleep is apparently not on the agenda for tonight.
It's four am. You make yourself a strong cup of coffee, watch the news, which is still on repeat from the evening before and call the hospital just to make sure nothing bad (or at least nothing worse) has happened. The night nurse quickly assures you Alesha's sleeping soundly and not in any pain or discomfort. Oh well, you suppose that's good news.
You check your email. It's a lot of spam, as usual, and some jokes your pub mates send around whenever they have nothing better to do. Which is a lot of times, apparently. You browse through some of them without knowing what exactly you're reading. Answer a message from a friend who lives in New Zealand. Surf the net a while. Play a mindless shooting game and lose in round two. Your reflexes are non-existent.
Five fifteen. Another cup of coffee. A bowl of oatmeal, which looks like you didn't like it much the first time you ate it. You get dressed in just a pair of jeans and a shirt. Five thirty. You're in your car again, headed for the MIU building, where you're sure the night porter will let you in.
At this hour, the office is an eerie place. Too dark and gloomy. The light at your desk is still off and so is Ronnie's. There's no movement from within Natalie's office. The only one there is Angela and you're relieved to be talking to someone as kind and level headed as she is. She doesn't comment on your shabby attire and dark circles around your eyes and you don't elaborate. Sweet as she may be, Angela is not the first person you want to tell about Alesha. The two women hardly know each other after all.
With your third coffee of the morning, you settle at your desk and start leafing through some paperwork, though you honestly have no idea what you're looking at or which case file is in front of you. You're almost comically relieved when Natalie arrives at seven. Unlike Angela, she immediately notices your change in clothing style as well as the almost comatose state you're in.
"Matt, you want to tell me what's wrong with you in my office?"
The fact you don't even protest about her assumption something is indeed wrong with you makes it all the more glaringly obvious that there is.
In her office, with the door closed, you tell her all. Starting with Alesha's pregnancy and ending with the awful night you've just had. The one thing you don't tell is how this all makes you feel, but one look at your superior's face, which shows a motherly concern, tells you she knows anyway. Might even have known all along.
A few moments later, Ronnie joins you. Too tired to repeat the entire story, you allow Natalie to fill him in. Your partner merely puts a warm hand on your shoulder and squeezes gently, knowing any words will horribly fall short.
The quiet support warms you to the core and you're quick to take up Natalie's offer to inform James and George. You guess it doesn't really matter who tells them what. Had you been the father, it would have had to be you, but now…
You won't be a father. Not of this baby and you fear not of any baby. Because Alesha doesn't love you that way, is not in the right mind-set to deal with you loving her and might not want to have another go at a baby ever. Not with you or anyone else.
And neither do you, with anyone else.
God, what a nightmare. And how selfish are you if you think for one moment her nightmare is not a hundred times worse?
Right at that moment, your mobile buzzes. It's Alesha. She's awake, in not too much pain and doesn't have a fever or any other indication her miscarriage has left her with some kind of nasty infection. And could you please, please, please come pick her up?
Again, your DI doesn't need to be told. She grants you the rest of the day off and promises to tell both Alesha's superiors not to count on her for a while.
"Matt?"
You turn at Nat's voice.
"Take all the time you need. Take care of her and yourself, son. Call me tomorrow if you need more time off."
You thank her for her offer and her concern and after a quick goodbye to Ronnie, head out to take Alesha home.
Hoping that indeed, she lets you take care of her. And yourself.
To be continued...reviews most welcome.