A/N: Hey Guys. I hope you had a Happy Holidays. This chapter is probably the shortest of them all, but it's my favorite, mainly because I get to bring back the dialogue.
Answering a few more questions: Aphonous is the medical term for speechlessness or being voiceless or in a more negative probably old time-y sense being unable to speak and dumb. Also SYuuri was absolutely right. The four familiar faces are just Ed x four. You can never have enough Ed.
Finally thank you to everyone who took the time to review/favorite/alert and of course read. I'm glad I could give you a break from Holiday Specials.
Aphonous
Chapter 9
Naevus
Natalie welcomes her with opened arms at the airport. Crouches level with her stomach in the hustle of the arrivals; gives the baby reserved waves like it can already observe its dear Aunt Natalie and coos to it in a language she understands. After a nine hour flight constituting sitting next to a fat, sweaty man who would not stop open mouth coughing, it was nice to see a familiar face. Nat didn't do too much damage to the house either. She actually took great care of the place, there are a few scuff marks on the living room wall and a few stains on the undersides of couch cushions, but after a year and change worse could have been expected.
They're putting away clothing in the closet when she gets emotional. Keeps pulling out smaller, form fitting shirts from a lifetime before. Before when she didn't have to use the maternity department. Before when she could see her feet. Before when her breasts, back, feet and legs didn't constantly ache. Before she had a responsibility to a fetus. Before she had a husband. Before she had a fiancé. Before she had a boyfriend in a sordid love affair. Before she left him.
"He called me you know. Wanted to know if I heard from you."
She shrugs, not really caring what the fuck Sam wanted. Wants. She let him in, over the years and against her initial judgment of him, she let him in. Told him things about herself, about her family no one knows. Showed him her weaknesses and hesitantly let him care for her in the shadow of nothing and no one. He repaid her by acting like her father, like her brothers. By turning and biting her caring hand. She got an earlier flight, headed from the hospital to the apartment. Took her luggage, left her rings. Said au revior to France that same day.
"I told him you texted me from the plane. He exploded. Like, I've never heard him swear so much Jules. And I was around for his angsty teenage years where it was him versus my dad."
The baby kicks her right in the kidney. It's a low shot since the kid is drifting higher in her body, floating nearer to the bottom of her lungs. She tires very easy, within the matter of three heavy breathes. All the voodoo and previous medical history surrounding her lungs and her chest puts a strain on her body, pulls her forward, pulls her down, cramps her up. At least it's drifted away from her back, but it's only growing, can only get bigger. Only more vengeful for not having his voice present, asking them questions and telling them stories. Not having his warm hand to move over the expanse of her stomach placating its growing form inside.
"Oh my God, are you okay?" Natalie stops mid-fold to watch her jam a thumb into the area just under where her ribcage fades on her left side. There's the stab, stab, stab of the ache and then another swift kick.
She nods, face contorted in pain and gestures for her to come closer. Sam's sister takes a cautious step. She holds out her hand and Nat responds in a few seconds by offering her own in return. She places Nat's boney, warm hand on the side of her stomach and watches the girl jump.
"Holy shit, that thing is really kicking." Nat keeps her hand in place when she releases it. Watches the flower-patterned shirt over her stomach like cats watch fish tanks, eyes glowing trying to trace invisible movements under the fabric. "Sam would really love this."
Too bad he's too busy failing to care.
The next day Natalie leaves to visit out West for two months. Promises to come back a few weeks before the baby is born. It's her first experience as an aunt and she doesn't want to miss it. Natalie also wants to throw the baby shower. An idea she hasn't completely embraced.
She spends the rest of the week getting reacquainted with her house, with the creaks and cracks she's missed. With her bed, the perfect mattress that manages to hurt her back so much she needs to retrieve couch cushions to fit between her thighs which is how she finds out about the stains. Sam's toiletries are scattered around her bathroom like he still belongs there. Maybe he does, she wants him too, loves him and—she pushes emotional thoughts down. Ignores them. She opens the cupboard under the sink in the bathroom to shove his shit into the dark depths and the door ricochets off her stomach. She rubs the indent. Besides he forgot something at her place and knows it.
Three weeks later she's twenty-six weeks pregnant. She's huge, can't bend over anymore, and to her horror is constantly hitting doors off her stomach because she's not used to the protrusion. Cupboard, car, entrance, exit, they all bounce off the medicine ball hidden inside her top. She mouths 'I'm sorry' and rubs the bump; the poor kid is going to be born with a permanent dent in its head.
She drives her jeep for the first time, maybe the last before winter comes. It's almost November and again she's missed the blossoming of her perennials. One year she'll catch them. She ends up driving down familiar congested roads delayed with construction and something about it mollifies her, heats her down to the boots her feet hardly fit into. They're swelling badly. Everything on her is. Even if she still had her wedding and engagement rings, she doesn't think her sausage fingers would be able to fit inside them. She can't even look at herself in the mirror anymore.
She ends up in the parking lot of a recognizable building, a place like her second home and she doesn't know what compels her to do it, but she parks the jeep and heads inside. Maybe it's the fact no one has answered her stupid emails in months. She gets they all have families and personal lives, but really, no one could take the time to send her a few quick lines? Another part of her misses Sam and needs to see a few friendly faces to fill the void. She's pregnant; she needs constant reassurance, constant comfort, and a little love now and then wouldn't hurt.
The elevator opens and it's like walking back into high school. Everything is exactly as she left it, including Winnie who sits exuding ennui at the dispatch desk. Her hair is a little shorter; she looks a little darker from a Canadian summer spent by the lake. "I need you to sign in—Oh my God Jules."
She grins, the first time since seeing Natalie. It's nice to be missed. Nice to be rewelcomed.
The dispatcher's eyes land on her stomach, her mouth falling agape. "Wow, you're really—Wow."
Pen is already scratching against paper, scribbling out important questions.
"You still can't—?" Winnie asks looking her straight in the eyes, grasping the piece of paper. She nods. She likes Winnie, not many people would have the guts to ask it. Not many people would feel comfortable enough around her to ask it.
Reading the question Winnie answers with a distressed expression. "No, we didn't get any of your emails after the engagement one." Her own face adopts the same expression and Winnie continues, "Jules, Sarge started—"
"Winnie is there anything on the radio yet?" Ed exits the workout room; towel draped around his neck, a 'v' of perspiration soaking his shirt and slightly out of breath. He appears older, has aged more than a year in the same amount of time.
"Nothing yet Ed." Winnie answers, clacks on the keyboard doing busy work and points to her.
"What?" And then he notices her and laughs. It's not cruel, not like how she remembers Sam's laugh in the hospital room, but heartwarming. "Mademoiselle Julianna Callaghan." Oh boy, have they not got her emails. Sarge really needs to check his inbox more often.
Ed leans in for a hug, but then he really notices her. "Holy shit Jules. Did you smuggle a little immigrant back from France with you? When did this happen."
Six fingers go up as proxies for months and she tries not to notice the minor falter in his face when he learns she's still voiceless.
"Ed listen, if I work out anymore I think I'm going to have a heart attack. How come Raf got to go—" Spike pauses midsentence before staring at her. "Jules, you're back."
The way Ed is standing blocks out the majority of her stomach, so when Spike hugs her, he received the brunt of a pregnancy bump. "Jesus, what do you have in your purse?" But as he glances down the joviality drains from his face. Instead a shocked expression of clarity remains. "A souvenir from France?"
"Used it already, Spike."
"Maybe if you didn't make me work out like I'm training for a cage fight." Spike mumbles and turns his attention back on her. Hands hovering over her stomach like it's a bomb. "When did this happen."
"She's six months along." Ed interjects for her. She smiles in gratitude. This is what she has been missing the last year. These guys may not be her real family, but they know her. They understand her. Maybe not as well as Sam, but they still treat her the same way. She doesn't feel out of place when she obviously should.
Spike's fingers clench and unclench, wiggle through the air like he's typing on an invisible keyboard as he tries not to stare at her stomach. Apparently he's not good with pregnant women.
"So, Sam must be ecstatic." Ed's leaning with his back against the dispatch desk. This time the interjection is to save Spike.
She holds up her hand and Ed mutters, "What an idiot."
"I don't get it."
"There's no ring, Spike."
It's not really fair because they don't know the whole story. They're making rash judgments on Sam, when the majority of the time in France he was her rock. The thing that kept her from cracking. Sure he was the reason she was there, but he was the thing that made it better.
"Do you want us to go talk some sense into him Jules?"
"Yeah, my uncle forced my cousin to get married because of the same reason. I mean I've only seen it done once but I think I could manage—" She grabs Spike's hand midair and places it on her stomach as the baby is in the middle of its acrobatic routine. "Oh man," he yelps but doesn't pull his hand away from the somersaulting life within her. "This kid can kick."
"Jules, are you sure about—"
She mouths three words and all conversation about Sam stops. I left him.
Ed nods once, stiffly in comprehension.
Spike bends his head closer to her stomach, apparently over his fear of girly parts. "Does it make sounds?"
Ed groans. She's missed it. The banter, the guys. Her guys, all of them even though a lot of them are missing. The main one is missing. Doesn't care about her or—She reaches forward and embraces Spike again. Clinging to him with the full effect of pregnancy hormones. He mumbles an 'okay' and awkwardly pats her on the back.
"You know why you're here we should get a picture for Greg. He'd hate that he missed you, especially in this condition." Ed chuckles at the last part, shaking his head and disappearing apparently to retrieve a camera or cell phone.
She mouths 'Sarge' to Spike because she hasn't seen him. Wants to know where he is, what happened, why he hasn't been answering her emails. She misses him.
"He started drinking almost a year ago. He's in a rehab program right now." The news hits her like Sam's words did. How did this happen? How could she not know? But then she remembers his last email, the one with the garbled spelling and a little part of the past bleeds within her.
Ed snaps the photo with her fake smile after just hearing the news. Spike has his one arm behind her and his other on the top of her stomach. Apparently it's addicting. The guys promise to fit her into their schedules and she feels like a burden, a liability. Ed must sense something about her financial woe because he says they need someone to train and run the drills starting in September and he'll put in a good word for her. Spike tells her she needs to see his new place, his bachelor pad, 'The Spike Cave' he calls it with an eyebrow wiggle. Ed tells her she needs to come see how much Izzy has grow, and as much as his daughter loves Wordy's girls, she'll love having a playmate closer to her own age. They make plans for coffee. They make plans to go visit Sarge. Part of it is so rudimentary, so normal it's almost passable. But the larger part of it is empty. Like her whole life is fake.
Last Chapter - Nothing gets resolved. Seriously, think of everything you want to happen in the final chapter. It won't happen. I gave you fair warning.
