Disclaimer: This character belongs to Dick Wolf, et al. I don't make money on it.
This chapter is an aside to make the numbers come out so no one gets confused about the titles.
Chapter 11 is posted under Chapter 10 and now 12 really will be 12. Thank you Pacey W's.
Johns Thoughts
Well, here I am sitting at home waiting for Charlene to come back from class. Why her professor had to call and evening session is beyond me, but she went because she wants her degree. Good for her and I can wait for her to get home because I know she'll be glad to see me when she does get home.
Besides she's always waiting for me to be done. I'm sitting here looking around my apartment, our apartment, and I realize how much homier it is than anyplace I've ever lived. There are artificial flowers in the vase on the table, and that awful quilt my grandmother made draped across the leather chair I keep especially for guests I don't want to be comfortable. With the pillows she picked out it doesn't look half bad.
And pictures. She has a ton of pictures. Karen, Don, the kids, even the blessed dogs. But right there in the middle are the pictures of us. Pictures taken when we went to the picnic that I didn't know were taken, pictures of how I look when she's just given me one of her beautiful smiles, like a besotted puppy. And I love the one where she's laughing because the wind just whipped off her straw hat and she has to chase it again. She never got it back because the puppies pounced on it and tore it to shreds.
And the one where she's reading Katie a story. Katie is nearly asleep sitting on her lap and the tender look she'd give our child. The one she wants so much, but is afraid to talk about. I keep hoping for us that it will happen. I've never wanted a child as much as I want one with her. I want that smile for her everyday.
But I worry for her too. What if something happens to me and she's left raising a child all on her own? I'm older than I'd ever thought I'd be to have a child, but I want so much to please her. She's always doing little things that I enjoy. Or thinks I might. I remember that sausage she tried to make because she thought I'd like it. Oh, that was awful and she nearly cried when it came out so bad.
I took her out to dinner and gave her flowers for trying so hard. Then we came back and made love here in the living room. I was so sure that she'd get pregnant that night. It was pure magic. But she didn't and she still believes in me. Please, God, let me do this right for her. I promise I'll be good and not teach the kid all the conspiracy theories all at once if you do this for us.
I have all the things ready for dinner that she asked me to get for her. If I knew what she was cooking I'd do it for her. I just don't seem to be able to do enough for her. She doesn't demand things or even ask for them yet I want to do more for her than I ever did anyone else. I think that if she asked me to I'd try to build a bridge to the moon for her with my bare hands.
I hear a car. Is that hers? I tried to get her to buy a new one, but she just keeps driving that old beater. Stubborn woman! I wonder how much it would cost me to have it disappear. Probably more than I could afford. No one would want it.
If we find out we're expecting, I'm going to put my foot down. She will drive a nice one. I don't think she'll give me a hard time then. I found out that putting my foot down at the wrong time with her is dangerous. I will never again tell her no if she wants to go somewhere. She nearly took my head with a broom handle. Not my fondest memory.
Wait, I hear her car. There's no mistaking that noise. She's home safe. Thank God. I go out and help her bring in her books and the grin she's giving me makes my toes curl in anticipation. We put her stuff down inside the house and she steps into my arms. I'm satisfied as she kisses me deeply. She touches my cheek. "How was your day?" she asks because she cares.
"It doesn't matter. It's all better now." I tell her and mean every word.
We have dinner and she tells me about what she's learned in class today, I listen but more to the sound of her voice than the actual words. We go into the bedroom and I show her how to make more noises. Then we rest. She's asleep now, content and smiling. I pray to whatever Gods are listening that she's always as happy as she is now.
I stroke that glorious red hair for a few minutes then find my own rest.
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