This was meant to be a one-shot and then the one shot got to 5,500 words and I wasn't even remotely done with it (given I've already written the end so know where it ends up) I thought that maybe it would be better split across two parts. So this is part one of the one-shot (ok two parter) and part two should hopefully be up later.
"And how's my bonnie wee bump this morning?" Jonny grinned as he placed his hands against his (sort of) girlfriend's rounded abdomen. He watched as her eyes darted about the ward, checking to see who was witnessing this spectacle – even now her bump was so very obvious, she still hated attention being drawn to it. It wasn't that she wasn't happy about her pregnancy, indeed she had grown to love the being which dwelled within her swollen uterus, but she disliked how the enlarged abdomen it caused seemed to automatically become public property and the subject of conversations such as guess the gender, birthdate and birth weight. She was very much aware of a sweepstake about the hospital on whether the baby would be born with numbers imprinted on it's forehead; supposedly the current favourite was it would be marked with 333 – because it was only half evil and therefore wouldn't require the full on 666.
"This" she indicated her stomach with a sweeping gesture having ascertained that nobody else was around, although she had a suspicion that Mo was lurking nearby, "is another but 'wee', and I have told you we are not calling the child Bonnie no matter how often you use that name to the bump and finally if you've failed to notice the bump is attached to me and despite you're input in creating this, you do not have ownership of the bump" he tried to hide his expression, though he knew it was futile. It was a discussion they seemed to have on a fairly regular basis, though it was occasionally replaced by the talk on how he was not paying enough attention – or being affectionate enough - to the child he'd helped create depending on the way her hormonal imbalance was swinging. He'd come to learn that conversation tended to happen in the quiet of her office, or on the days they had spent together outside of work.
"Still think Bonnie Maconie has a nice ring to it" Once again he grins at her, watching as she rolls her eyes.
"But unfortunately Bonnie Naylor makes her sound like some sort of happy whore" is the retorted the follows. He's quite impressed that she has come up with something new in response to his naming – albeit joke naming – suggestion.
"A name and her future career sorted in one fell swoop" his eyes are sparkling and in spite of herself she finds herself laughing at him. It's a sound that brings a more natural smile to his lips rather than the much more forced grin he had been wearing.
"You're an idiot Maconie" through her laughter she manages to force out the words. It is these moments that he enjoys most, the ones where she seems to be genuinely happy. Those moments are often scarce and so he has learnt to treasure them, trying to bring them about whenever he can – though he has to admit the child within her has been far more successful than he. He smiles at the thought of it, a memory flickering in to his mind.
She's 18 weeks, the soft rounding of her abdomen so much more noticeable but still disguisable under less tightly fitting scrubs and tunics. It is still very much a secret within the confines of the hospital, or at least it is as far as Jac is concerned. He is well aware of the speculation, the whispered words and the glances. There are a select few who know – their respective best friends and the boss she had been forced in to a sense of camaraderie with. He knows they are trying to keep the secret, though their attempts are often half-hearted knowing how much easier it would be when it is known, knowing – in the case of the best friend – how much he wants it to be known.
The pair of them are working together, a patient on the ward who is causing no end of trouble but not because of their medical condition but because of the inane demands they seem determined to make. He knows she is losing patience with him, the fuse lit and burning quickly. He fears the explosion – knows their colleagues are preparing to duck for cover because the outbursts of their boss have reached a legendary status.
He hears the bell ring out, and without even looking at the panel he knows which patient is calling. He sees it in her face, that she too knows. He notes the tension in her body and that worries him. He hates to think of her under any unnecessary stress, when he knows she'll let him do so little to help despite his attempts.
He watches as she stands, movements slightly cautious because the change in her centre of gravity has a habit of knocking her off balance if she shifts from sitting to standing too quickly. He has had to steady her on numerous occasions, arms snaking around her body knowing that as soon as she has regained her balance she will push him away, that she will become self-conscious that people had seen a moment of weakness, of her needing support.
She walks away from him and he moves the chair, sliding in the desk area so that he has a view of her and the patient, to monitor them even for 'afar'. He knows if he had gone with her, she would have complained at him, though he is certain secretly that is very much an act.
He watches as the patient talks to her, hands gesticulating as he makes yet another request. He cannot hear what. He isn't sure that it matters. He can see her in profile, her mouth moves and again he can hear no words. Her expression tells him that she in unimpressed, that she is trying hard to control herself in front of the patient though she is struggling.
And then he finds himself pushing himself up from the desk in a quick motion, watching as her hand shoots to her abdomen, a look of momentary confusion on her face. He has heard nothing of the conversation but he hears the soft gasp that escapes her lips.
He moves to her side, and sees her reaction again. Panic chases through him, but it is halted by the way her lips start to twist upwards. The very beginnings of a smile. She shoots a glance at the patient before she grabs the sleeve of his tunic top, pulling him through the rear door of the bay out in to the thankfully clear corridor. For once the skeleton weekend staff a blessing rather than a curse.
"Jac?" he whispers her name, confused by this, scared and yet filled with an emotion he cannot name but which he is sure isn't negative. She closes her eyes for the briefest of seconds, as if preparing herself for something, an action which isn't going to come naturally. Opening them, she takes hold of his hand, pressing it to her abdomen.
"A kick" it's a whispered response. Her smile broadens now as she feels it once again, the first movement she can definitely attribute to her child rather than the beats of a butterflies wing that she has herself is little more than gas rather than the baby. But this, this is real.
He smiles in response though he cannot quite feel what she can, still he doesn't want to destroy the moment and her happiness in it. He thinks that maybe he can see a glistening in her eyes but he doesn't push his luck and query it. Instead he stands, enjoying this moment of being connected with her and their child – hoping that there will be more to come.
He is drawn out of his daydream by the flicking of a finger against his arm. He rubs at the spot with his free hand and looks in to the disgruntled face of Jac.
"This child is pressing on my bladder and you are in my way – move" she doesn't mince her words and knowing that she has at the very least roused him – even if she did so by inflicting pain – rather than forcing his chair away from hers, he pushes his chair backwards without question or comment. He watches as she heaves herself upwards, using a hand placed on the desk for leverage. "You comment or laugh, you die" she hisses at him, as he watches the movement.
"I wouldn't dare" he responds dutifully, though he knows this is very much a lie. That he has watched her with amusement as she developed the waddling gait and seen how she has had to adjust how she performs certain activities due to the changing shape of her body. Still he has watched with wonder, knowing that the cause of the change is their child.
She doesn't even dignify this with a response; instead she makes her way as quickly as she can in the direction of the ladies. He watches as his best friend approaches the desk, he has no idea where she has appeared from but he gets the distinct impression that she has been hovering nearby. Darwin for some reason is going through a rather civilised spell.
"You two seem to be friendly today" the grin on her face, confirms to him that Mo has been watching them. He knows his colleague is bored, that he has been neglecting her more than a little bit but then he thinks she has things in her own life to keep her occupied.
"But for how long is anyone's guess" it's the sad truth. So many moments have led to an increased hope of reconciliation between them but these are often dashed soon after. The current status in his mind is that they are together, but it is rather tenuous and he finds himself at her mercy as to how much involvement he is allowed at any one time, knowing that it could change a split second later.
"These things take time" he knows she is speaking the truth, but he worries that time is of the essence. He knows that all of this has been overwhelming for Jac; that she has had to learn to trust him and to let him in. He knows that at times he has suffocated her with his concerns, but he thinks he knows it pained her when he tried to give her space – despite the fact it had killed him to do so. He has come to know how much she needs him, and how that scares her.
She is twenty one weeks. Last week they had their anomaly scan and to his relief everything had seemed normal. They had debated beforehand finding out the gender of the child. She wanted to know, he less so. He wanted the surprise, the moment when he would discover the child's gender at birth. She had teased him, saying the surprise wouldn't be that great; the options limited to male or female. The child it seemed was on its father's side and while it had allowed the sonographer to study each area that needed to be checked, it had kept its modesty hidden from view.
He is aware that her presence on the ward is lesser today. He has seen little of her beyond the brief time she'd spent doing her ward round before she had disappeared off. He knows something is up with her, but he cannot tell what. She has closed off again, suddenly wary of him once more.
He can hear others asking after her; hears various answers from she has an appointment somewhere (said with a sly wink because the 'secret' is still supposedly secret) to she is hiding in the supply cupboard with her stash of biscuits. He knows the latter could very well be true. What had once been the place of their stolen moments of passion had become the place where she disappeared to hide the fact she was eating for octuplets rather than the singleton she carried. How she had not put on more weight was beyond him.
He walks towards her shared office, thinking that is the first place to try looking for her. He is concerned, worried. He doesn't bother knocking, just opens the door and walks in. She will moan at him for doing so but it is something that has never bothered him.
Only she doesn't say anything when she sees him and that causes his heart rate to increase. He takes her in, the way her eyes shine and the wild panic within them. She is clutching in her hand something he doesn't recognise, though he notes the ear buds sit in her ears like her stethoscope.
"I can't find it" the words torn from her throat in a sob, as she fails to keep back what scares her most. She presses the end of whatever she has against her swollen abdomen, and he watches as a wave of fresh tears roll down her cheeks as she does so.
He comes towards her, panicked even more. Feels tears fill his own eyes though he cannot let them show, he has to be strong for her in this moment. He kneels in front of her and gently takes the object from her, removing it from her ears. The trumpet at the end looks like the pinard he has seen the midwife use. Only this one is attached to a stethoscope. He wonders why she has one, knowing it is not something she would have owned previously. He guesses she has bought it to monitor her baby, terrified that each day will be the day she loses it.
"I can't find the heartbeat" there is such desperation in her tone, and yet there is something deeper within it that tells him this is expected. That she had known this would happen. He wonders how long she has been trying, sitting here with this object holding it to herself and trying to find a heartbeat she cannot seem to locate. He thinks that the longer she failed, the harder it would have been to hear.
He starts to place the ear buds in his own ears, until he feels her hand on his arm, halting his actions. There is so much sadness and pain in her eyes, backed up with a hopelessness.
"There's no point" there's a hitch in her words, as she tries to regain her sense of control. It is futile. She wants nothing more than to curl up in a ball and to push out the world, to envelope herself in blackness until there is nothing left. He places his free hand on hers for the briefest of moments.
"Let me try" wordlessly she removes her hand from his arm. She allows him to take over, almost relieved he is here. That he can take away the what if, that he can confirm what she knows. She watches as he places the plastic trumpet against her, brow furrowed in concentration.
He moves it slightly, he listens carefully trying to distinguish sounds. He has to be confident in what he hears, he cannot give her false hope but he cannot destroy what little she has left either; not without certainty. He pauses, mind ticking over as he tries to make sense of things. He counts, numbers building in his mind as his eyes glancing down to his fob watch. Corners of his mouth twitch.
"Strong and steady" the words come now, joined by the smile on his lips. He looks up at her, doubt still colouring her face. Holding the trumpet steady with one hand, he pulls the buds from his ears passing them in to her hands. He notes how they shake, how unsteadily she takes it and the reluctance with which she places them in her ears. It's almost as if she expects to hear nothing, that his words were a cruel trick. And then he watches as her expression changes. More tears fall but they join with a watery smile. She sobs with the relief, body shaking still. He shifts drawing her body in to his arms, awkwardly still holding the trumpets against her, not wanting to remove the sound from her ears. He hold her, them, in his arms. Wishing he could hold and protect them for a lifetime.
"Earth to Maconie" he is drawn out of the memory by the sound of her voice. She had returned from her toilet break and he looks at her. She looks paler than normal, bags forming under her eyes. He knows she is exhausted but she doesn't want to admit that she cannot quite keep up with her non-pregnant self and so she pushes herself too hard. "What planet are you on today?" she asks, taking in the still slightly dreamy look in his eyes. She glances up at Mo who is still leaning against the desk, an expression of amusement on her face.
"Just thinking" he sees a look pass between the two women but neither makes any comment and he makes no complaint about it. They have become closer over the months of her pregnancy. He isn't quite sure he would classify it as a friendship; in many ways it is more than that but in others so very far from it. Still it reassures him that they have become closer, that she has someone beyond him to look out for her. Certainly she has her own best friend – Sacha –but he has so very much going on himself.
"Take it easier there Jonny-mac, don't want to over work that poor brain of yours" is Mo's gently teasing response. He smiles at her, flicking his middle finger in jest and watching as mock hurt passes over her face before she laughs at him.
"His wee brain could do with the workout" the consultant adds the words with a grin, using a mock of his accent on the words wee brain that draws more laughter from the registrar. She enjoys these moments, when the tension is less between them; when they are act like a normal couple. She knows the complexity of their situation, but she wishes they could see the simplicity of their true feelings. She has tried in her own way to push them together, tried to engineer moments and tried to plant seeds in their minds. They are close, she feels, to finally getting to the point of togetherness.
"Why do I put up with you two?" there is faked seriousness in his tone, a vague sense of hurt and wounded pride. He forces his expression in to one resembling a wounded, abandoned animal left behind in a cold kennel cell. He knows it is a pitiful look, and one he can only keep up for so long before he is forced to laugh.
"Poor wee Jonny Maconie" it is mock concern from Jac, a lilting lullaby tone to her voice as she almost sings the words, "The saddest little nursie in all of Holby" she almost sings the words as she places a hand on his arm, petting him as she would a dog. He cannot hold his laughter now and gives in to it. The two women joining in soon after.
He watches as Jac stifles as yawn, tries to hide the fact she is wearying and that she is glancing at the watch pinned to his chest; that she is disappointed to find there are still so many hours left of her chest.
"You ok Jac?" it is Mo who gets in there first asking the question as she watches the consultant for a moment close her eyes.
"Just tired" the answer comes wearily, a voice quiet. Jonny wonders if really she should be here, knows that the board have tried to persuade her to take leave because of how she struggles. Only she takes offense to this, claiming she is no less competent just because her due date is rapidly approach and they have, for now, left her be.
"Take a rest" Mo advises, looking towards the on-call room. Jonny nods his agreement. His overwhelming desire to look after them taking over. He is still sure there is so much she doesn't tell him, that she won't tell him and so he has to guess and now he has decided that she needs sleep.
"I'm fine" but there is no honesty in her words. He can read it clearly, how she is lying. She lies so very often, those words the most common.
"Take a quick nap in the on-call room, no-one'll notice" he sees the conflict in her face. Her desire to rest against her desire to prove herself. But he has told her time and again she has nothing to prove to him. He realises she won't go and so he decides to try a different tact, he gives her a smile, "I hear Elliot has been hiding his snacks in there to stop you sniffing them out" he sees the curiousity in her eyes. Food having become such a part of her life over these months, in fact today is the longest he has seen her go without eating in a long while.
"I could just go have a peek" she twists her lips, he knows she's interested; he knows too that it is a lie. Elliot had long since abandoned that hiding place in favour of somewhere even Jonny wasn't sure of. He watches as Jac stands slowly and slips away in search of the hidden treasure. He's sure the lure of the bed will get her before the search even begins.
Part of him wishes she would admit defeat and take her maternity leave, but watching her go the other part is relieved he can keep an eye on her here. Another memory flits in to his mind.
She is 32 weeks now. Her bump larger and much more obvious. No longer is it a secret, though no formal announcement has taken place. It is just known and accepted. There is no way of hiding it any longer.
He has finished a shift and found on his phone messages demanding that food be bought to her. A list of things that once she never would have touched but that now she devours. He has learnt on the days he delivers food that it is not for sharing – that the slipping of a chip from her pile and in to his mouth will result in his hand being slapped and a barrage of abuse aimed in his direction. She is protective of her food – though she sees no issue with taking that which belongs to others.
He makes his way to her flat, lets himself in with the key that she gave him. He was surprised when she presented it to him, she had been so natural as if it was just a small insignificant thing when really it had meant the world to him. It meant that things were improving, that he had access to her personal space though he knew enough not to abuse that privilege.
He is surprised to find she is not lounging on the sofa, eating or waiting for the food which he will bring. That is how he is used to finding her. He thinks he hears noise coming from the box room she had previously used as a study but which she had decided would work for a nursery until she decides on somewhere bigger to live.
He makes his way to the room, placing the food down on a counter as he goes, before he finds himself frozen in the doorway at the sight of her pregnant form balancing a little haphazardly on a little ladder trying to put curtains over the window. If he wasn't so panicked, he thinks he would find the sight amusing. The way she is holding fabric adorned with childish pictures, trying to get it up and failing.
"What on earth are you doing?" he speaks more sharply than indeed and watches as she turns on the ladder, balance lost in an instant and he finds himself crossing the room in record time in order to catch her.
"What was that for?" the words are shouted once she is steady on solid ground. He watches her, the way she rubs at her bump, the way her face is crossed with annoyance at the disruption.
"Oh I don't know Jac, maybe the fact you were rather precariously up a ladder while heavily pregnant" the words are sarcastic and he watches as she rolls her eyes at him, for a moment glancing at her bump and then back at the ladder.
"I was perfectly safe" he looks about the room, unable to quite comprehend her argument. She has done so little over the past few months that is even remotely dangerous and yet he finds her here on the ladder, seemingly unaware of the risks it poses. But as he looks about he realises, the other things she has done here, the heavy items she has attempted to move on her own.
"Why couldn't you just wait for me?" it seems reasonable to him that she could have waited. He would have done these things for her, for their baby. She could have relished her role as dictator, bossing him around and complaining he was doing it wrong even when her instructions were followed to the letter.
"I am not an invalid!" she shouts the words, hands having moved to her hips and away from her rounded abdomen. He can see the anger and frustration in her face, the internal struggles she faces.
"I didn't say that" he wants to reason with her, to calm her; knows this isn't good for her or the baby but he can see that this has been building in her for some time.
"You implied it – just like everyone else" flashing eyes stare back at him, but he is not sure who she is angry at; he thinks perhaps it is aimed primarily at herself but she has displaced it on to those around her. He the unfortunate one who is here right now taking the brunt of her anger.
"You're 32 weeks pregnant Jac, you're allowed to take things easy" he keeps his voice steady, not wanting to rise to her bait; to inflame her all the more. Only he knows that his calmness can have the same effect as matching her in tone and emotion. She is unpredictable – even without the addition of hormones – and that scares him just as much as it intrigues him.
"Allowed?! You allow me to take it easy – or is that an order?" he wishes he understood how her mind worked, how she took words and twisted them. How her mind twisted things to make life harder for her, he wished she would let him help her fight against it; only she is trapped within it.
"Stop" it's a command and as soon as it slips from his mouth, he realises his mistake. Sees the way it riles her all the more.
"You think just because I am carrying your child that you have the right to order me about" the words are spat at him, he can see everything coming to a head inside of her. He knows that one wrong move on his part and he could lose her – and the baby – for good.
"Jac, listen to me, I'm only trying to help you" he has to sound calm, to not show how he is feeling because he knows she'll feed on that, knows it'll be used against him until he has no choice but to react. She is watching him carefully.
"By telling me what I can and can't do – all that matters to you is this" she indicates her bump. He frowns, wondering how she has come up with this conclusion.
"You know that's not true, Jac, you know how I feel about you" He looks her in the eyes, trying to show her his feelings without saying the words. He cannot say them like this, knows if he does they'll be taken the wrong way and thrown back in his face. She blinks.
"You're a liar – that's what you told me once; that you're a compulsive liar so why should I believe you?" her words are panicked and fearful, but that is hidden behind the anger. She is desperate and scared but she cannot bring herself to show it, so instead she chooses the blind anger.
"Because you know it's the truth" she is shaking now, and he is worried all the more. This isn't good for her, for either of them and yet he is powerless to stop it. He doesn't know how, the right words to use or the action to take.
"I don't" the words tear from her lips and she has to turn from him. He wants to reach out and touch her, but he cannot bring himself too. He doesn't trust how she'll react to it in this state.
"What do you want me to do Jac - Shout that I love you from the rooftops, put an announcement in the Holby gazette?" he wishes she would give him an answer, to tell him to action to be taken.
"I want you to leave" she turns back to him, eyes hardened, face set in stone.
"Why?" he doesn't understand, doesn't get why she has turned again and yet he has been expecting it.
"What if I told you you're not the father would you go then? Prove that your only here with me because you have been stupid enough to think you fathered my child. Prove that you couldn't be stupid enough to love someone like me, stupid enough to think that someone like me could love you back" the words are spat, filled with venom designed to fill him with the poison that courses through her veins in that moment. She laughs a wicked laugh, though it sounds hollow to his ears.
"Why do you find it so hard to believe that I could love you, that I want to look after you?" he questions her gently, trying to ignore the feeling inside of him, the desire to shrink in to the floor, the sudden fear that this child he has started to love may not be his.
"Because why would you want too – I don't need looking after; I can do this on my own. I can cope like I've coped my entire life. I don't need you to command me, to order me and change me. I don't need your false love and empty sentiments. I don't need you" she pauses, watching him and his reaction. Knowing how close she is, knows the final blow to deliver, "we don't need you" she places a hand over her bump watches as his eyes change.
"Jac" he whispers her name, but she says nothing. Just watches him with those cold, hardened eyes and he knows. He turns and walks from the room, heart beating hard, tears sting his eyes. He blocks everything out, doesn't hear the way her body slumps down against the wall of the soon to be nursery or the way sobs start to tear from her body.
He's in a daze until he gets back to his shoebox flat and sees the flashing light on the answer machine. He presses the button, preparing to hear a message from Mo inviting him out for a drink only the sound that fills the room is the heart wrenching sobs of the woman he has left.
"I'm sorry" the words fill the flat. Just before the tape cuts of he thinks he hears three whispered words 'I was scared' but he isn't sure. Finally he allows himself to break down as he tries to work out what has happened and how he can even attempt to fix it.
He shocks himself back to the present day, remembering that night. How he had tried to right himself and how things had seemed so desperate until at some ridiculous hour of the morning he had been awakened by the sound of his doorbell being pressed repeatedly and found her standing there shivering. She had broken down in his arms, talking of her past and of what she feared most. It was in that moment he'd agreed to support her to work until she could work no longer knowing the loss of that could very well tip her over the edge. He had cursed himself for not spotting the warning signs in her and now he was doing so again. Failing to see things that were in front of him.
He stands slowly, noticing that Mo has left him, obviously bored by his lack of social skills today. He walks towards the on-call room, though he is not sure quite what possesses him. He slips inside and smiles at the sight of her, she is sleeping and looks almost peaceful lying there with her hair splayed out over the pillow and her arms wrapped protectively around her bump.
36 weeks and they are so very close to the end now. She is sitting next to him on her sofa, the television playing but neither of them are watching. Both are wrapped up in their own thoughts, their fears for the next day and the scan they have to attend.
"It'll be nice to see the baby again" he places a hand on her rounded stomach and smiles. He knows he is trying to come up with positives, to try to push away the fears they both have. She rests her hand on top of his.
"and hopefully the next time, she'll be in my arms" there is a wistfulness to her voice as she says those words. She has been trying to imagine the moment for so long and yet somehow she cannot. It is the moment she has been waiting for but try as she might she can't conjure in her mind how it'll play out.
"Or he" is the response but like her, he is almost certain that the baby is a girl. She rolls her eyes at that but she smiles at him. She never did tell him about the scan she did on herself one quiet nightshift, unable to resist not knowing any longer, "if she doesn't play ball, it'll be alright" he whispers the reassurance.
"She's cephalic" she looks at him with bright eyes. Their baby had been breech for so long, tomorrow they would check if it had turned otherwise it would be the offer of an ECV or a c-section having been advised that, in her case, a vaginal breech delivery wasn't in their best interests.
"Please don't tell me you've been scanning yourself again" he scolds her lightly, gently knowing that he has to tread carefully. He sees the smile waver for a second before again she rolls her eyes, though she is a little surprised that he has guessed her secret.
"No need for scanning" she tells him, moving his hand from her abdomen and lifting her top revealing the taunt skin, paved with stretch marks. She takes hold of his hand placing hers over the top of it and guides his fingers, pressing them against the skin. She watches as he smiles, feeling the shape of their baby's body beneath his fingers. It is one of the few times she has let him touch the naked skin of her bump.
"No need for scanning" he confirms with a smile, as he hand hovers over his above her pelvis, the shape of their baby's head evident beneath their hands.
He smiles at the memory, of the closeness he had felt to her that night. He settles himself down on the edge of the bed, still watching her. Officially they aren't living together, but unofficially he spends most nights camped out on her sofa. She claims that she likes having him nearby, that it makes her panic less though he knows at times it worries her more.
The way she calls for him, startles him in to wakefulness. She is 37 weeks. She is term. His body is stiff from her sofa, and he is not sure how many more nights he can cope with this. But he does it for her, for the both of them. She calls again, and he moves from his resting place to her bedroom. Finds her sitting up, wild panic in her eyes as she tries to control her breathing.
"Jac?" her panic, panics him and a chain of thoughts chase around his head. So many implausible theories mixed in with the sensible. So many things could be happening and yet the most logical, is the one that he stumbles past and ignores because it is too early. He comes to a halt by her side and is left grimacing as she grips hold of his wrist and squeezes tightly, a moan escaping from her lips as she does. Finally her grip lessens and she releases him, he sits down on the bed in front of her. "Is it time?" he asks, watching her.
"I don't think so" she whispers in response, "it's Braxton hicks but" she can't quite form the words, but he nods his understanding.
"Do you want me to stay in here tonight, on the floor obviously?" she closes her eyes, for a second, opens them to find him rubbing at his spine.
"The bed'll be fine, it's big enough" he senses the hidden meaning, knows enough not to acknowledge it. Instead he whispers his thanks, acting like it is for him and his back rather than for her and her need for comfort.
It has been just under a week since that night. Some nights he has ended up curled up with her in her bed, others he has stayed on the sofa. He smiles. So much has changed, and yet so much has stayed the same.
He doesn't realise that she has woken, that she is watching the way he watches her, the emotion in his eyes revealing the truth of his feelings. She shifts, grimacing a little as her abdomen twinges, a slight moan escaping her lips. She watches as his gaze shifts up to her face, registering that she is now awake.
"You ok?" he whispers, watching as the grimace leaves her face.
"Just a twinge" she answers, trying to force a smile on to her face. Hoping she is right in her assessment. A niggling doubt telling her otherwise.