Maggie wiggles in her discomfort, her eyes popping open. The nausea washing over her, traveling across her body, overheating her with that same feeling she'd been having all too often lately. It sends her bolting for the bathroom, the bed and the flop of Glenn's arm that had been wrapped around her abandoned.
At this point she doesn't even have anything in her stomach to get sick, the mucus of a dry heave the only contents able to be sacrificed to the porcelain demanding its toll for the baby that grew inside her.
The cool tile of the floor calling to her, as she slowly slides down, releasing her grip on the toilet, to spread her hands out beside her, putting the side of her face on the floor. She can feel the feverish sweat evaporate, as the tile works its magic on her, having become something of a good friend, one that she was well acquainted with by now.
The sight of Maggie lying on the floor, spread out, as much skin as possible touching the floor, eyes closed, and deep, laboring breaths might have caused Glenn panic before (and it did). But after a handful of times, she can hear recognize his bare feet on the floor approaching her, and while the worry still lingers, she hears more of a sigh of relief, the sight of the empty bed not something either of them care to see these days.
He doesn't need to say anything, as she peers up at him from the floor, a slow smile catching on the hard surface, leaving her with a crooked grin.
Letting out a vocal shake of his head, that little smile she'd long since memorized pops up on his lips, as he extends his hand to her, gently lifting into a standing position, her greasy hair matted to her face.
And when he starts undressing her, she can't say she really remembers, as her eyes close at the gesture, her shirt shed to the solace of her friend, the floor. Her hands coming to rest on his shoulder, her head resting on her arms, as he struggles to undo her belt and jeans. The clanking of the metal making her smile at how many times he'd tried to quickly remove her pants, the endgame far more enjoyable than just cleaning themselves off, raucous laughter carried throughout the house, the feeling of running water washing down them leaving them giddy and eager.
By the time her eyes open, the water's running, the trickle reminiscent of raindrops hitting a car windshield, the steam clouding their vision, and taking its place on the mirror, blurring its occupants.
Stepping under the spray, his hands are there to steady her, the last thing either of them needed was her slipping in the shower.
His long hair falls into his face, wetly clinging to his skin covering his eyes under the water, she laughs at the sight, his hair long overdue for a cut. Her own hair hitting the back of her neck, and the realization that she too had let her hair grow out to a length that was once a burden, now a sign of age, days survived.
Her nails travel over his scalp, the shampoo working its way into his hair, his eyes fluttering shut on instinct, the long lashes tracing the edges of his eyes, lost in a thought of their child with the same long, fluttering eyelashes, leaving her letting loose another laugh that has him peeking his eyes open at her. His hand coming to turn her around.
She knows exactly when he gets to the bruise, the soap lightly traveling over her skin, following the path of her spine, his knuckles catching more skin than the actual residue of the soap. Her hair veiling her eyes, a dark shield against the pulse of the bruises having formed on her.
He pauses, and she swears she can feel the remorse and relief cloud his eyes, radiating off of him, casting onto her back. The possibility of what could've been hanging over them. Pushing her hair out of her face, she stares ahead, the immediate danger having been pushed back, eradicated, the looming threat always present.
Glenn's face comes to press into the back of her head, a silent prayer of closed eyes and reflections on just how differently he could've been taking her home. Their luck always threatening to run out, but persisting through the darkness like a beam of light in the form of their child.
Turning to rest her own head against his, a tight, closed-lipped smirk comes to her face. An equally silent promise that they were okay. Guarantees were something of a fools errand, never able to be carried out, the love between them the only promise they were able to bet on.
Never once taking for granted the time they had together, Maggie knowing full well what he meant to her.
His arms come to wrap around her, careful of her bruises, his thumb drawing slow, soapy circles over her stomach that still remained flat, as the water continued to sprinkle them in a dome of tranquility, security for just a moment, the three of them, safe.
The start of another day, together.