"Alexander," he says, toweling his hair as he gets out of the shower, he's completely naked and you can't stop yourself from staring at him. That. You think to yourself. That right there is the reason I'm sitting here talking about what to name our child. That perfect appendage. You stop yourself before you get carried away and you both end up back in bed. Currently, you're sitting on the closed toilet seat with a book propped up against your stomach. You're wondering what he is thinking since you can't see his eyes. You hope he likes the suggestion since you've poured over these stupid baby name blogs for hours. You only switched to the book when you realized the only names you were being given were those from fandoms, and while you think that's a great idea, something tells you his very Catholic family will not take it well if you name your child Anakin.
"Alexander?" He repeats, turning to look at you and toweling off his upper body, your eyes are still staring at his physique. He chuckles before turning to face the sink and shields himself from your perverted gaze, you don't realize it but you've audibly whined, but when your eyes lock onto the curve of his backside and you relax. You ask yourself for the millionth time how it is that you managed to end up with this perfect specimen of a man. You're sure that he's been talking to you, but you haven't heard a single word and so you turn your attention back to his eyes in the reflection of the mirror. He's looking at you and smirking with an eyebrow cocked.
"Yes, do you like it?" You ask. He's grabbed a tooth brush and started scrubbing his teeth vigorously, and when he's done he turns to look at you. He's letting you stare at him again but only for a few fleeting seconds before he takes the towel and wraps it around his waist, you groan. He's moving closer to you and once he is standing in front of you where he crouches down and places a kiss to your rounded belly.
"Get undressed." He says standing, and you look at him confused. "You need to shower, and I'm going to wash your hair, and other places…" he says. There's a ripple of excitement that flows through your body. Goosebumps that have cropped up on your skin as you feel the air leave the room. You stare at him open mouthed and there's an instant moisture between your trembling legs. Don't make me shower. You think. Just take me here on the damn floor. You control your breathing, following him as he takes a step back from you.
"But the name…" he places his lips upon your own to silence you. Your entire body is trembling now, not just your legs, and you ask yourself exactly how it is that you're going to be able to get through the rest of your life with this man. How is it that after almost two years of an active relationship and four years of a friendship he still makes you feel this way? How is it that he chose me?
"The name can wait, we still have three months until he's born." He says, turning the water on and testing it with his forearm before he ushers you inside. He reaches around to wet your hair before grabbing some of your favorite shampoo and lathering up your strands. "Have I told you lately that I love your body?" He continues, letting the suds from the shampoo travel down your back. You can feel his gaze on you and it makes you blush harder than you did the first time he saw you naked. The suds tickle your spine and at this moment you don't know if you can feel them or his fingertips gliding down your skin. You decide that either way it's sensual and you relax.
"Luke," you exclaim as his hand slides over your bottom. "I want to discuss our child's name." He reaches around to rub his hands over your swollen stomach. He's silent for a while and his hands are roaming your body before he speaks again, his hands resting on your bump. "He's the size of a Philly cheesesteak." you laugh.
"Where are you coming up with this stuff?" You turn around to look at him, stepping further into the shower and pulling him under the stream of water with you. The water is cascading over the both of you now, soft droplets kissing your skin, drenching the towel as it slips off of his waist and pools at the bottom of the shower. You look at his caramel skin in contrast to your own and wonder what your son is going to look like.
"Website." He says, pinning you against the shower wall. The shock of the cold wall against your back causes you to gasp and arch your back pushing your breasts into his chest. He hisses at the contact of your hardened nipples on his bare skin and dips his head into the crook of your neck, biting at the skin there. You're roaming your hands all over his body and you moan loudly when your hand comes in contact with his hardened member. You give it a gentle squeeze and giggle when he curses into your neck as you continue with the gesture.
"So…Alexander." You say before he covers your mouth with his hand silencing you. His fingers are trailing down your body. He's taking control of the situation now. You realize you love it when he gets that serious look on his face and you wonder briefly if this is the look he gets when he's chasing down an UnSub, but that thought leaves you as he brushes his hand against your breasts on his way down from your mouth. He moves back to look into your eyes as he gently lifts you up off the floor, keeping your body pinned to the shower wall.
"Not right now Penelope." He says to you, before his spreads your legs and enters you. "Not right now."
It's too hot in here. You think to yourself.
You're sitting down to eat dinner with Luke and his family, and you're beginning to wonder what made you think it was a good idea to wear a sweater dress. It's December and tomorrow would have made Amalia's second Christmas, had she survived, but she didn't you remind yourself. It's not getting any easier no matter what everybody has been telling you, and in a few short months you'll be holding your new child, in your new home, with memories of the five minutes you allowed yourself to have with Amalia before you screamed at anyone who would listen to take her from you. You remember your voice trembling, your body trembling, your mind completely shattering as you held your little girl. You remember the tears that were pouring down your face. But most of all you remember Luke, and how he was standing completely still and looking out the window in blood soaked clothes with one hand on his hip and the other covering his face as he silently cried into the night. You remember cursing at the nurse who took a picture of you sobbing over her, and you wonder where that picture had gone off to. Could I even look at it now? Would it still hurt? You know for a fact that Luke still has pictures of her on his phone, not that you ever checked, but you did find him crying in her nursery while looking at them. You wanted to comfort him at that time but instead chose to walk away and crawl back into your bed, staring off into space.
There was nothing more that you could do for either of them. You had already failed.
You bring yourself back to the present, giving your head a small shake and you realize that you've been staring at Luke's nose and he's smiling coyly at you, with his hand touching your bare skin under the table. You've moved his hand from your thigh several times, but that doesn't stop him from trying. You're glaring at him but he's persistent in keeping his hand firmly on your thigh, for fear that you will break down, for fear that you will run away, maybe. You're not entirely sure. But he's giving you a gentle squeeze every now and then, and just when you start to relax he begins to draw lazy circles on the inside of your thigh. He's feeling the bumps he left earlier from his beard, because for the life of you, you can't figure out why his favorite place in the world to be is between your legs. You shiver at the memory of his tongue working his way over your body, those thick lips leaving kisses all over your skin. Of him looking up at you and telling you in his pleasure filled voice "You taste divine."
"Have you decided on a name yet?" You hear his mother ask, snapping yourself out of the memory of several hours earlier. You look at her and shake your head, smiling sadly. You're playing with the food on your plate, and you realize that she's expecting you to say something so you look up at her.
"Your son is being stubborn, Lucia." You say after swallowing a bite of food. "He refuses to talk about naming our child, instead he keeps comparing him to sandwiches." She turns to look at Luke, glaring at him. He's chuckling lifting his glass of wine to his mouth, taking a sip and licking his lips when he's done. He looks over at you, taking one arm and wrapping it around the back of your chair, slouching down a bit. He's waiting for something and it doesn't take long for his mother to deliver.
"If you don't name my grandson this evening, Lucas, I will disown you." He laughs before turning to his mother holding his hand over his heart. You're completely ready for the theatrics.
"Mami, you'd disown me? Your baby?" He asks her sounding wounded. His eyes have taken on a darker shade of brown and he's pulled his lips into a frown. His hand is trembling slightly and he's strumming his other fingers on your right arm. You're smiling, completely amused by his antics, and you wonder if this is how he will get you to undress for him later tonight.
"Si, mi hijo, because in three months I'll have a new baby boy." She says, taking a bite of her rice. "And you will just be my son." He looks wounded. Serves him right.
You laugh lightly, lifting your glass of water to your lips. You cast your eyes downward, remembering that she wasn't happy about Amalia. She wasn't happy that her "baby boy", as she called him, was going to spend his life caring for another man's child. No matter how noble it was. But now, now she was all tears and happiness and couldn't contain her excitement at being a fucking grandmother to your child. But you decide to not voice your opinions on the matter because it would only cause further problems. Amalia is gone, and Lucia was coming around to the thought of her by the time of her death. That's what you choose to focus on, remembering Amalia and your new baby. You press a hand to your stomach, resting it there for the duration of the meal. Even now knowing that you were growing a child both terrifies and calms you.
"I have something in mind," he says "but I want to meet him first," Luke says, removing his arm from your shoulders and picks up your hand instead, pressing a kiss to the back of it. He releases you and turns back to his dinner. "Penelope likes the name Alexander." He says. This sends Lucia into a frenzy, speaking Spanish causing her husband to laugh loudly.
While the other members of the table are conversing, Alma turns to look at you from the next seat, reaching out to touch her hand to your own.
"The pain of losing her won't ever go away, but I can promise you that you will always have a family here." She whispers and you look up at her with tear filled eyes.
"Thank you." You say to her. It's been a while since you've had an actual family, one that wasn't assigned to the same department as you at work. You look around the table, seeing the smiling faces of your future in-laws and their spouses and their children. You realize that there is more love around this table than you have felt in years, and you let it consume you. You let the warmth of the night wash over you and you realize that it's not too hot in here. It's just warm enough to help you to heal.
You're nervously tapping your fingers against the steering wheel of the red Jeep. His vehicle is the only one that will house your rather large stomach anymore so you've taken it over. You've been sitting in this car, in this parking lot, for over an hour now. The same routine that you've been doing for the past month. There are two months until your son was born, your unnamed son you remind yourself, and you can't bring him into this world with this hatred in your heart. Unnamed, but not unloved, and you wonder when the hurt of losing Amalia had dulled down and was replaced by immense love for your son. You thought that losing her was going to consume you for every single waking second, and while her memory is still there in the back of your mind, you've come to terms with the fact that you have another life that you are responsible for now. You have a life to take care of, a life to nurture, a life you created…
Today is the day. You say to yourself as you unbuckle the belt and step out of the car. It's January 2nd, and there is a fresh coating of snow layering the ground and you're careful of your steps in case the parking lot is icy. You pull your pea coat tighter around your body, and you shield your bump from the world, as you race to the door. You've pulled out your ID and handed it over to the officer on duty. She looks up at you surprised, and you wonder if she knows his story, your story. Does she know that the man you're here to see brutally raped and beat you and killed your daughter? Does this woman know that you were cut open because you were in distress? Does this woman know that the doctors wanted you to give birth to your daughter naturally, and that fact is what caused your heart to race?
Does she know?
Do they all know?
"I'm here to see Ryan Lockwood." You manage to say, though the words hurt you coming out. He killed Amalia. You remind yourself. He killed Amalia. They show you to the visitation center and you make yourself comfortable with your back to a wall, that way you can see exactly what is going on around you. You also chose to sit here to make sure that your face is the first one he sees when he enters the room. You're not disappointed when he steps into the room and freezes. He eventually makes his way over to you, sliding into the chair with his head down. He's let his blonde hair grow out and from the way it hangs in his face, he hasn't washed it in days. You open your jacket and calmly lay your hands on your stomach. You look down at his hands noticing that they used to be neat and clipped and there is a layer of dirt crusted under the nails now. His skin looks rough and dry, and there's a slight bruise on his wrist. You wonder what's happening to him in this prison, but you decide that no matter what he is getting, he deserves worse. You take a deep breath.
"Hello, Ryan." You say to him, remaining perfectly still. You even out your breathing knowing that you have to stay calm for this visit. You can't show him any fear, you won't show him any fear. It's what he gets off on. You know this now.
"Hello, Penny." He says and you flinch slightly. The last person to call you Penny was your father, and nobody since then. He knows that you hate it, and that's why he chose to call you that, time after time after time. You choose to let it go. "Whose knocked you up?" He asks. His head is tilted and he looks amused at your stomach. You instinctively cover your child with your arms, much like you did all those months ago, but that didn't save her then. You shake your head.
"You don't get to ask me questions." You say. "I'm here to say something to you." You take a deep breath, steeling yourself against his glare.
"You took my daughter from me." You begin. "You took her without a second thought because you couldn't keep your hands off of me. You couldn't keep yourself from beating me. You gave her to me nonconsensually but I loved her with every fiber of my being. You raped her into me, and then you beat her out of me. That is what you did. That is what you have to live with." You take another breath. "But I'm still living and breathing, and that was the point wasn't it? You wanted to kill me, not her. But you got it wrong. You got it so wrong, you wanted her to be motherless like you were, a motherless son of a bitch, but instead, you ripped my child from me. You ripped her from a loving home, loving parents, you did that." You begin to reach up to wipe a tear from your face, but you decide against it at the last moment. "I came here because I refuse to let my child be born into this world where I hate you. My child deserves a life where my heart isn't heavy and filled with a darkness because of a mistake. My child is going to flourish and my child will always remember his sister." You stand.
"I'll never forgive you, Ryan." You continue, raising your voice. "You're a child killer." You begin to walk away from him before you turn back to him. "We all know what happens to people who hurt children in prison. If you don't stop this appeal I'll make sure that my fiancé tells all of his old colleagues what you did and the word will spread like wildfire to your fellow inmates." He laughs and reaches out to grab your arm, you stiffen as you hear the guards shouting about there being no touching, but he clings to you. You flash back to all the times he's touched you before and you yank your hand out of his grip using it to swipe your hand across his stubbled cheek.
"Don't ever fucking touch me again." You hiss at him. "You don't ever get to fucking touch me again."
"Tell Luke I'm waiting for his next visit. I've grown used to them."
"Penelope?" You hear, and you freeze looking up into the eyes of your fiancé. "What are you doing here?" He asks, rushing over to you and placing a hand on your stomach. He's running his hands over your face and he's pulled your arm to him pushing up your sleeve to examine the harsh imprint from Ryan's hand. He looks into your eyes, the hurt flashing through them at failing to be there to save you once again. But you're not a damsel in distress, you don't need any fucking saving.
"I could ask you the same thing."
A/N: I'm not sure if I have to up this rating to M or not. I think I'm still within the guidelines. Anyway, I hope you all like it! It's longer than the past few updates. It's almost time for the birth! Which took me several times to write it...because I just couldn't get it right!