Aw man...I broke my own heart with this one. I was writing in public and it was really hard not to just left out a few tears.
I'm sorry in advance for all the feels. Don't hate me, please.
This, sadly, was always part of the plan. I knew I wanted to do a one-shot like this but I just didn't know where it was going to go. And well, here we are.
I don't pretend to know exactly what people in this situation go through and so this is done with a bit of research and a lot of imagination. If you're easily upset or triggered by the idea of miscarriages, please just skip this one and wait for the last one which will be WAYYYY happier. I would rather not offend or upset anyone.
I also wanted to do this because I wanted to show that not everything is rainbows and sunshine and happily ever afters. And just because people in love doesn't mean they're immune to it. I'm going to get off my soapbox now and let you read.
Remember, I own nothing at all here.
"And as the world comes to an ends/ I'll be here to hold your hand…"-Of Monsters and Men "King and the Lionheart"
"You can wrap your fingers round my thumb and hold me tight./And you'll be alright./ Oh, you're just a small bump unknown, you'll grow into your skin./With a smile like hers and a dimple beneath your chin…"-Ed Sheeran, "Small Bump"
The doctor's gone but Monroe can't bring himself to actually walk through the doorway. He stands there and thinks to himself that he's never seen Rose look as small and frail as she does now; ashen and exhausted and curled up on the hospital bed, one arm draped protectively over her middle. But there's nothing there. Not anymore.
Nick had called, frantic, what felt like years ago. He took Rose out to lunch, when she suddenly started complaining of cramps, gone white and fainted. The EMTs let Nick ride along and keep her company when she came back around. As they sat in the waiting room together, Nick told him that he held Rose's hand and told her to keep breathing and that everything would be fine. Monroe could only smile at his friend in thanks, the words lost completely. "You'd do the same for me," was all Nick said before he went to find coffee.
The doctor told him the news in the hall, delicately out of her earshot. But they've got her so doped up on painkillers and sedatives, she'd never remember even if she could hear them. It'll take weeks for her to feel normal again. That is, if she ever will. These things happen, the doctor told him. There's no reason she can't carry to term. In a few weeks, she'll be back to normal. The doctor handed him a small card with the name and number of a counselor. You may want to encourage her to talk to someone though. And went on his way.
These things happen isn't reason enough. Not for Rose. She'll blame herself for all the things she'd done in the past. Even in the present. She'll say that she hasn't been taking it easy enough, that she handled the wrong thing in the shop.
He doesn't know what to say or do. If he'd be able to get the words out of if they'd get lost in the same place as the ones to Nick. Nothing he can think of seems to be enough.
They'd been so excited, maybe not exactly ready, but what first time parents are totally ready? They'd nearly finished the room, the majority of the necessities purchased or sent to them in huge boxes from their respective families. They'd spent entire days sitting on the floor, re-living and telling embarrassing childhood stories and playfully arguing about names. Just like Rose wanted, the photo had been framed and was hanging on the far wall already. And now he wonders if he should take it all down, pack it up and hide it before she comes home. To save her from having to be reminded. Not that it'll ever go away.
He finally walks into the dimly lit room, not liking the smell of bleach and chemicals and death and how close they are to Rose, how they surround her. But she doesn't even smell like herself. The smell of vanilla, lemon verbena and wool is lost among the thousands of other patients before her.
She already seems to know, there's a frown etched on her lovely face, so opposite to how she normally looks when she's asleep; she's one of those people who smiles. Face serene and relaxed. But here, her hands are curled into fists and she's curled in so tight, she'll complain about her back hurting for weeks to come. She doesn't know where she is, or he is for that matter. The last thing she probably saw was a group of unfamiliar faces, half covered by masks, the last hand that held hers was Nick's.
He brushes her forehead with the back of his hand, tucking a few loose strands of hair from her face. The first familiar thing about today since he woke up with her this morning. And now all he wants is to go back. Back to her warm body pressed against his chest, back to her turning around to smile sleepily at him. Back to before her right hand was stuck with IVs and attached to too many tubes and bags to count. Maybe if they restart the day, things will be different.
Her breathing evens out as he pulls up the chair. He glances over at the bedside table to see her pocket watch sitting there, ticking the seconds away silently. It makes him smile, despite how everything else is seemingly falling apart, that she never goes anywhere without it.
Her left hand relaxes enough for him to slip his fingers through hers. Instinctively, she grasps back and doesn't let go. Her face slips more into the serene one he's used to looking at every morning.
"Rose?" he calls, squeezing her hand a little. "Rose?"
"…ten minutes…" she mumbles, exactly what she mumbled this morning. "Ten minutes, then…." She lets out a little sigh. "Coffee."
He laughs a little despite where they are at the moment; the lump in his throat grows with every passing second.
Her eyes flicker open and it takes her a minute of blinking to adjust to the light. Rose frowns, glancing around until she sees her own hand tied down with tubes needles. Her eyes go huge in shock, like she can't even recognize what it is. "What…?" She swallows hard and closes her eyes in remembering. "Oh God…" When she opens her eyes again, there are tears hovering on her eyelashes; a silent question.
Again, the words are not there. He can only shake his head in response.
Rose is quiet for a moment before pulling her free (but IV'd) hand across her eyes.
"It's not anyone's fault," he's barely able to get out. "It's not yours."
She doesn't respond. But it's easy to see her heart breaking as she shakes her head back and forth in denial, of either what he said or the fact that today even happened. Her shoulders shake with tears but no sound escapes her.
It's easy to see her heart breaking. And his. His too. He covers his face with his free hand for a moment, not caring anymore. Maybe it's not just her who feels so small.
And then he feels her abnormally cool hand on his cheek and looks up. Her eyes are rimmed in red, but they're still the same honey brown, a small smile plays at the corner of her mouth, but it quivers. She pulls him next to her so they're pressed forehead to forehead in their grief. He takes both her cool hands in his. He can't fix this. He can't put this back together again but he can keep her warm.
They're quiet for a moment until: "Monroe…?" She asks in a tinny voice, almost as if she's forgotten he's there. Who he is.
He runs his thumb over her fingers. "What is it?"
"I wanna go home." She murmurs. "Don't…wanna stay here."
"I do too."
This is not the end, dudebros, I promise. I've got one last one-shot with these two.
R&R plz!
