He watches her leave so fast her husband has no time to react. Looking puzzled Bhaer continues to explain his father's obsession with Greek literature to Brooke who is none-the-wiser. Laurie's wife is still spilling judgment from her small painted mouth and for once, just once he wishes she'd see the people around her. He stands without an excuse and follows Jo.
He steps into the hall and sees her looking wildly at the floor, at the plant, at the picture frames of her family on the wall. Gently he shuts the door behind him and approaches her.
"Jo," Laurie's voice is thick behind her and she spins so fast she nearly knocks the potted plant off the end table beside her. He reaches for her just as she looks ready to fall and split her head open on the carpet runner.
"Te-" she tries to call his name but he can see her struggling to stand and breathe all at once so he holds her and she is clawing at his sleeves, his jacket, her feet are kicking to stand. "Teddy."
"I'm right here, Jo," he says, his voice by her ear and she grips him for dear life. "Shh," he says gently, running a thumb across her cheek. His fingers are wet and it is then they both realize she is crying. He pulls her closer and her head tucks itself in the crook of his shoulder. Jo's hands are tightly buried in his jacket and he wishes once more that his wife could see beyond herself.
For a long moment he just holds her.
"The worst bit," Jo says, her voice muffled by his jacket. "Is that they're right. Everything they've said is true."
Laurie wants to pull her away and shake some sense into her. It's Amy and Meg and baseless opinion but it's tearing her apart so he just holds her tighter. She thinks so little of herself and he can't help but think the world of her.
"How can they say-" she chokes.
"They didn't know," he says. His hand runs over the crown of her head and he feels her trying to rein in her emotions. It's in the little shudders of breath she takes, the way her hands are clenched against the fabric of his good shirt.
"I know that," she says a little angrily, pulling away from him. He feels cold. Of course she knows that, he could beat himself for saying otherwise. Jo takes to pacing up and down the carpet runner, her thin hands adjusting the pins in her hair with such practice he feels her sixteen-year-old self would blanch.
"Amy never told me you were pregnant," he blurts to break the heavy silence and instantly regrets it. Jo spins on her heel and gives him a long look and he feels as though he has run the knife his wife just held into Jo again.
"I didn't know until I saw you at Plumfield on Thanksgiving."
"How-" she starts and he knows the end is 'could you not' before it passes her lips. "I'm sorry," she says instead. The tight lines around her red eyes tell him more and he knows he has inadvertently hurt her. He just wishes he'd known.
"Has it really been that long?" Jo is watching the ground and he has to strain to hear her but the question catches somewhere inside his chest.
"Yes," Laurie answers and it is his turn for anger. She avoided seeing him for practically a year and time has been nothing to her! He'd waited; waited and hoped every day she might show up on their doorstep, a sister's basket in her hands and a smile made for him. It was a useless fancy and he'd known it the moment he conjured it but he'd waited, knowing it was up to her whether it was right to see him or not. "It has."
She looks as upset as he feels and the part of him that wanted to shout and run with her when they were younger is itching to burst free. "You couldn't spare a note?" he asks, forgetting why they were even in her mother's foyer. "No telegram?"
"I thought Amy would have said something," she returns and they both know what that means. That old spark is still there, crackling in the air between them and Laurie wants to wrench the door open and ask his wife why in God's name did she say one thing and not another.
Instead he takes a step towards Jo.
A hand immediately goes up in front of her and he stops in his tracks. "Then it is likely she said nothing about my being ill either." He feels the hot blood that had swarmed between his ears instantly fly to the ground. She'd been sick? Why hadn't Amy said any of this? "It has not been easy, but Fritz has helped me through it." She is looking towards the wall as though she can see through it to her husband and the coldness in him grows.
"I see." He does and it hurts. This is their reality and he has forgotten they are subject to it. He has a wife and a daughter and she has had nothing but that old man who must whisper foreign things to her in their old bed at night as he lies between her knees. The thought sickens him but it does not stop the clarity with which he imagines it.
If Amy had said something, anything of Jo's being over these long months he could have been there for her. He would have been the one to hold her, nurse her through whatever ailed her, and very probably she would not be so pregnant. So disgustingly grateful.
But then that was fantasy again.
These thoughts burn him though he feels like ice inside and Jo will not even look at him.
"I shouldn't have assumed. I should have said something myself." Jo is apologetic and he has forgotten how much they've grown. All his anger fades with her gaze and he feels like a damn fool. He's not the twenty-something boy full of headstrong passions and insults and impetuous romances. He is a husband, a businessman, a father and so much time has passed and he remembers lakes and Europe not skating and calling over the fence.
Everything is so complicated and yet so simple. He has a role to play and the evidence for it lies in Jo's belly right in front of him and he can hardly think. She loves her husband and he loves his daughter and they both must do what is right. The time for foolishness is over, has been over for more than a year and once again he will talk himself into being what he wishes most not to be.
"Never mind," he says quietly and moves to embrace her finally. His lips are against the top of her head and her hand has found his back. She holds him too in that very public room in Orchard House and for the first time he does not spare a thought to their being found. It is not how it used to be and yet they are still not who they must be but he lets go and tries to forget.
"I'm your brother Jo, I'll always understand," he holds out his hand, the other on the doorknob to the sitting room. Jo needs him to say these things, to be this person. She takes a moment, running her fingers across her eyes, trying hard to match his sad smile before she finally takes his hand and they re-enter as sister and brother.
It is the law.
…
He gives himself four days before he sits in their drawing room, index on his lip and legs crossed lazily. He is waiting for his wife to put their daughter to bed and pass through the room for her book before she heads to their bed. It isn't lightly that he has stirred himself into this mood, rehashing in his mind previous conversations on the same topic he will approach with her.
It very probably isn't right that he accuse her of certain things given the extent of his own sins, but he sits there and waits.
Laurie does not have to wait long before a golden head appears in the doorway and the sweep of her skirts stop as they hit the rug and drag. She is closing the handle behind her and does not see him, sitting in the darkest corner of the room, watching her. Her hands are so small, he thinks when she rests them on the breadth of her new dark blue skirt as she crosses half the length of the room.
At last she sees him. "My lord!" that same small hand flies to her chest. "What are you doing there in the dark?" Her hand falls back to her side and she gives him an odd look, as though he will never do what is expected and adult.
"Waiting for you, my lady." He says, though there isn't a trace of a smile on his face.
Something flickers across Amy's face but it is too quickly mastered under her cool reserve before he recognizes it. She moves towards him, instantly fussing about the light. She has never liked this corner of the room. He wonders if that is why he has chosen it. His wife stops beside him and fiddles with the gas lamp that will do no better at lighting the space, and finally he stretches out a hand and holds her wrist.
"Amy, please." She stops instantly and pulls away from the deficient object. Her skirt is touching his knee and yet she still feels so far away. "Tell me," Laurie begins and he sees her take a breath. "Why did you say nothing of Jo's pregnancy?"
There is no pause between his question and her answered sigh. Amy pulls her arm from his and presses her hands tight against the stiffness of her dress-front. She looks as though she is holding herself in, holding herself up though her face remains a still picture of an exhausted wife. As though she has done more than sung to her baby and added another layer of colour to her painting today. As though she cooks and cleans and scrubs and pricks at every insufferable stitch of their house.
"I've already told you, Laurie. I thought Marmee had." And she had told him that before. He'd lived with her long enough to know her half-truths.
"She didn't."
"Well then I honestly don't know what to say other than I'm sorry. Is that what you want to hear? I can't go back in time to tell you Laurie. I would if I could, but I can't so please stop torturing us both with this nonsense."
She sounds tired he thinks.
He should take her hand and squeeze it gently, apologise and take them both to bed but he can't. Even if she gives him the same answer to the same question all their days he doesn't know if he can ever forgive her.
He should have been told.
…
It is cold when he arrives at Plumfield, collar turned up and boots wet from the snow. He raps smartly on the kitchen door, surprised when Jo herself opens it. He spies her small hand rubbing against the mass of her belly and frowns as he steps in.
"The boys are playing that blasted violin and I can't fit in any of the cursed chairs anymore," Jo complains in way of greeting. Laurie drops his hat on the counter top and follows her waddling gait around the kitchen.
"Good day to you too! Really Jo I thought you'd be resting."
Jo spares a smile of the long-suffering for him, her hand still rubbing small circles over layers and layers of material.
"Hard to be comfortable this size don't you think?" Laurie smiles at her and there is a long moment before she turns away and he remembers who he is.
"Well then, how about a turn in the garden? It's a bit chilly but that's never stopped you before."
"I've never been –" Jo stops herself and he knows how she would finish it.
"Come on then," he says quickly and takes her arm, finding a cloak on the stand by the door. He wraps it around her shoulders and reclaims his hat as Jo buttons the cloak tight across her chest. They step outside and the air is crisp enough that he can actually feel it fill his lungs. Keeping a hand on Jo's back they set off only ankle deep in snow. This time they walk towards the woods instead of the field and he knows Jo is thankful when her eyes briefly meet his.
"How is Amy?" she asks. He takes a while to think of an answer.
Really he has barely spoken to her since Christmas, save their one repeated conversation over Jo's condition. Laurie has hidden in the study under the pretense of work and he thinks, reassuring himself, Amy hadn't exactly sought him out either.
"She's well," Laurie says at last. "Bess is crawling and making a mess of her parlour these days." He swallows at such a generalization of his family but Jo says nothing of it. Her eyes are trained on the thinning snow at their feet. They approach the tree-line and the ground hardens, feeling tacky underfoot.
"Does she know you've come?"
Laurie's step falters a little at that but he reminds himself he has nothing to feel guilty about – he has resolved to be only Jo's friend, her brother (at least he will have a part to play in her life) and Amy believes his role to be just that.
"I told her I was going out for a walk – and here we are," he gestures about them and tries not to feel a pang at the little lie. He had left a note; if his wife wanted him she would find it.
"It seems as though all Fritz does is give lessons sometimes," Jo changes the conversation and Laurie doesn't miss the mournful note in her tone for a moment.
"You really love him don't you?"
She is quiet after his soft question but she surprises them both when her hand slips into his.
"Yes, I do."
Laurie looks at the trees then and tries very hard to stop his vision from clouding. The moss on the trunks is green and slick and he absently wonders how long after winter it takes for them to dry. Jo's hand is still tight in his and they say nothing for a long while.
Eventually they slow their already snail-like pace and Laurie takes his hand back, putting it safely in his pocket. It feels as though there is moss in his throat.
"We're not lost are we?" Jo looks around the woods that now surround them fully and shakes her head 'no'.
"No, we're not far in. I know the way back." She stops when her gaze catches his and they stand in that old wood, Laurie with his hands in his pockets, Jo with hers on her stomach.
"Oh Teddy," she says, her eyes dropping to the forest floor. He knows the colour, it matches her hair in the shade of these pines. "He has helped me a great deal," Jo starts and he can see her working herself into a speech. "He is a good man, Teddy, a good man. And he cares and loves me – how can I not love him back? I carry his child – our child!"
Jo's cheeks are red and her eyes shine with frustration and guilt and any number of things he knows best she'd rather not feel.
"It shouldn't be a duty, Jo! You should love someone because you do, not because you owe them something. You don't owe him your love Jo." He punctuates his words, pointing where he thinks they've come.
"You don't understand, Laurie. He has done more for me than any other human being and I can't help it." She instantly regrets her choice of words and he knows it when she takes a step back, looking at him as though she is afraid of how he will take it.
She has nothing to fear from him.
"I told you this day would come." He says so quietly, but tears are filling her eyes. "So you'll live and die for him, Jo just as I said. And I'll-" But Laurie chokes on the end of his sentence so he does what he knows will hurt more than help and kisses her.
Jo's mouth opens a second later and as his tongue touches hers so gently he realizes it is more of a mistake than he was willing to commit. Jo's hand moves to his cheek, her thumb at his chin on that tiny mole Amy did so admire and his hand leaves his pocket heading straight for her waist. The sudden feeling of her swollen belly against his hard, flat one shocks them both and they pull apart, sensibility thrown over them like and icy bucket of water.
It is that moment too that Jo's face flickers like a switch.
"Oh!" Jo's hand flies to her stomach and though he is still breathing heavily from their kiss, Laurie is instantly concerned.
"Jo, what is it?" but he knows the answer when her face scrunches up in pain and she falls to her knees. Laurie drops down beside her, panic starting to fill him and he notices with a detached annoyance that his hands are shaking as he puts them on Jo's shoulders.
"Jo, are you okay?"
She twists her neck to look at him, a similar panic in her eyes. "Laurie it's – I – I feel wet." Laurie closes his eyes, he knows what this means.
"Okay," he says quietly, "okay, okay – can you stand?" Jo's eyes are filled with fear and she quickly shakes her head as she clamps her legs shut tight.
"Okay, okay –" he wishes he could stop saying that word. "Alright, can I lift you?"
Jo hesitates a moment, "Yes, if you can."
Laurie leaps to his feet and prays that this will work. He is strong, he is fit and he can do this. He bends and helps Jo to stand shakily, her right hand firmly planted on her belly. Her left arm is wrapped tightly around Laurie's neck and he counts them lucky she can move at all.
"Okay," that word again "alright, hold on, you ready? One, two, three!" A swift bend and he lifts Jo, sweeping her skirts and legs under his left arm.
"I got you," he says steadily, wondering silently just how far he was going to make it. "Which way?" Laurie asks and Jo raises her head to see before another fierce wave of pain makes her clench in his arms.
"Come on –" his voice is shaking now and he worries that she feels a little too hot for a woman in the middle of the woods in the middle of winter. "Jo."
"There," she gasps between deep breaths, pointing over his shoulder and Laurie spins, moving off as quick as he can. The rocks feel as hard as metal under his boots as he half-walks, half-runs, long legs carrying them both back to Plumfield. Twigs snap under his gait and he cringes when Jo exclaims in pain, her hands so tight against his neck.
He prays it wont take long, but every tree looks the same in their winter coats.
The trees soon begin to thin and he silently thanks the Almighty that they hadn't enough time to wander further in before Jo screams. He has never heard her make a sound anything like it before and she is yelling at him, "Put me down! Put me down!" He stops, so close to the fields now and lets her down as gently as he can though she is still in so much pain.
"Jo, we're so close now! Can you hold on for just a little longer?" Laurie crouches in the melting snow beside her as she tries to breath, her face contorted in agony. He sees the sweat on her forehead and pulls a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe it. Wisps of hair stick to her skin and she is concentrating so hard on breathing the pain away. "Jo –"
"Find Fritz!" she interrupts him, her hand strong and tight around his arm. He pulls his hand from her forehead and sits on his haunches looking at her like she's mad.
"I'm not going to leave you here by your self!"
"Get help!" she sounds desperate, gripping his arm, pale though she feels like fire. "I can't do this – not here."
Laurie can't move as she starts to cry, fingers digging into the mound of flesh that holds her child. For how much longer God only knows. He runs a shaky hand through his thick hair, torn between doing what she wants and staying beside her. She is in so much pain and now she's crying and he can't help any of it but he can bring her child into this world. He can, he convinces himself. Laurie can't leave her alone out here, he decides.
"Come on," he lifts her head up, looking straight into her eyes. "You can do this Jo. We're going to bring your baby into the world."
"How?" Jo looks as though she'd rather anyone else to be the one doing it, and frankly he couldn't agree more but they had to make do. This child would come regardless of who was waiting to catch it.
"I took lessons in College," Laurie lies, taking his hands from her face to watch her belly instead. He tries desperately to recall everything his medical friends ever said about childbirth and hopes it is enough to get them through this. He looks up to see Jo staring past his shoulder sadly.
He turns and sees her house, two fields over it sits in the distance, far enough it would be hell to get to, but close enough to distinguish it.
"Sure you can't make it?" he asks again, turning back to her. Jo's eyes refocus on his and he reads a lot of fear and desperation, but there is determination. The same determination that lost her hair to pay for her mother's train ticket, the same determination that sent her to New York, the very same that married her to her Professor.
"Let's give it a go, shall we?" Laurie stands and scoops her arm about his neck, pulling her to her feet. She is holding her belly tight but her eyes soon fix on Plumfield.
"-Should never have gone out," Jo grits between her teeth and Laurie laughs.
"Well that's my fault I believe."
"Don't you forget it!"
It is slow going but they have made some progress. Only now they are without the protection of the trees and Laurie worries when Jo can barely take another step, the pain bending her form. The winter field is too exposed but there is nothing they can do except collapse to the ground.
His hands pull through his hair again and they both look out to where the house stands.
The snow has made Jo's dress sodden and she shakes with the cold. Her teeth start chattering and Laurie pulls his coat off, quickly unbuttoning her cloak. Jo watches him silently, her mouth a grim line as she follows his movements. He wonders why she isn't calling out like his wife had in such pain but he is grateful for small mercies. Her cloak is finally off and he helps her into his coat, noting the high fever of her skin as he pulls one arm through and then the other.
He lays her cloak out on the snow; thankful it is not as deep as it could be. Laurie helps her scoot over onto it and then he is done. There is nothing else he can do to make her comfortable. The air is cold without his coat and it is then he notices he has been sweating.
He runs his hand through his hair again and looks back to Plumfield.
"Laurie," Jo grabs his hand and he squeezes it tight. "Teddy, you have to go get them."
She looks up at him, eyes lidded heavily, her face damp with sweat and pain and although he thought he could never deny her anything he realizes he can. "I can't," Laurie says.
"You can," she says, her fingers trying to grip his hand just a little better. "You must."
"It's not possible. I can't! I can't leave you in the middle of this field to give birth while I'm off fetching your goddamn husband so don't ask me, Jo!"
She lets go of his hand and holds her belly again and he feels so sorry. He hadn't meant to shout or swear but there was no way he was leaving her out here in the open. What if something went wrong? And something was bound to go wrong at this point. Jo was far too hot and she hadn't stopped shaking since he put his jacket on her. He was not going to leave.
He sees her start to cry again and anger and hopelessness fill him. He has no idea what to do and no amount of pretending is going to help them. He can't help her but he can't leave her. He feels sick.
"I'm sorry," he says, scooting closer to hold her to him. Jo's forehead rests against his shoulder and she cries honestly now, her frame shaking and sobbing and he wishes for once he could do the same.
It was hopeless.
He holds her until she calms down, rubbing her back in large circles, remembering how it had helped when Beth caught with fever. He smiles briefly, recalling this kiss she gave him after that. He hadn't been able to think of anything but that kiss on the drive to the station that night and he can still recall the sensation. He thinks of Beth curled up on the sofa in the Marchs' sitting room, smiling at him as though she knew him best. He thinks of the piano his grandfather gave her, and then thinks of his grandfather. He hasn't seen him since the old fellow went to New York to take care of business. It should have been Laurie's job but the gentleman always could read more of his situation than he let on.
Laurie tries not to sigh. It was getting harder to think of anything else so that he wouldn't fall apart. Jo was breathing quieter now and though he was expecting her fingers to dig into his arms at any moment as another wave of pain crashed through her bones he held tight. He had to be strong for Jo.
"Oh!" and there it was, as though every other moment should be punctuated with her incredible hurt. It wasn't fair. Nothing about this was. Laurie keeps his arms about her, though hers go to her belly. "Oh, this is by far the worst," her teeth stop chattering to grind against each other and he looks down in deep concern.
"Help," she whispers pathetically when the pain passes. Laurie's hand goes to his hair but stops when Jo's expression changes so radically. He turns to see where she is looking and there! A field away he sees them – It is Fritz and four of the stronger lads running towards them.
"Jo!" he shouts to them though his voice is still faint. He looks down at her and sees she is crying, as they hear cries of "Mother Bhaer!" They are tears of joy this time and he doesn't stop his own two or three short drops as the boys outstrip the old Professor.
"What happened!?"
"The baby's coming," Laurie says as another wave hits Jo and she doubles over without his arms about her. The boys gather around and one of them carries a box of bandages and vinegar, two with the shabbiest stretcher Laurie has ever seen.
"The Professor was right," and the two eldest lay the stretcher beside Jo, moving around her. "Wait!" Laurie stops them, thinking he and the Professor should be the ones to lift her but Jo throws her arm out to him and nods at the boys. Everyone helps her onto it and it takes two of them on each side to lift the bed and head back to Plumfield. There is so much bustle and motion and Laurie feels as though he is caught in time watching them all move about her and start to head off.
"Friedrich!" Jo calls when the Professor finally meets them and he catches her hand immediately, whispering things to her in that calm German voice of his that only she will understand. Laurie stands there as they all move as fast as their strength allows.
He realizes it's cold as they reach the next field and he is still standing beside Jo's cloak on the snow. She has his jacket.
A/N: well laurie tried deluding himself for a bit here again that he could just be jo's brother. All these characters lie to themselves! Oh well :S also sorry I haven't been really involved in the fandom these days guys, but I'm about to switch uni for the fourth time in three years so yeah, hectic!