Snapshot Nine
With one hand on her growing belly she used the other to feel along the top of the box, flipping the lid open when she got to the corner. She knew what was inside but took another look anyway, wondering if she should just put the thing together herself. It wasn't beyond her by any means, though she was feeling tired, but Gene would disagree, especially as she'd already spent the afternoon painting the room - even if it was just to piss him off. He hadn't wanted her to carry anything - or actually do anything other than make him cups of tea - all day and they had argued over it, an argument she had ended by picking up the nearest box to hand and storming off upstairs with it. Truthfully she'd known the box had been quite light but she'd been lucky really; the more he coddled her the more she fought - and she worried that one day it would end badly. There hadn't been much to move into the house anyway; she'd arrived in this world with only the clothes on her back and a warrant card - the few clothes she did have had been 'borrowed' from a dead woman and no longer fit.
"You okay, Bols?" he asked quietly, finding the source of the smell that had invaded his nostrils as soon as he'd hit the stairs painted on the walls. She'd done a good job on the room, he had to admit, and he felt guilty for walking out but annoyed that she had done it alone. He wouldn't tell her either of those things though.
She jumped a little at his voice as she hadn't heard him come back in - his departure, some hours ago now, had been an altogether louder affair. It took two to argue, she knew that, but he didn't seem to. At least he was making the first move this time; probably sensible on his part as she was fast losing patience with him which really wasn't a good start to their first night in the house. She stared at the box silently, ignoring him for now; she'd took Gene, rather reluctantly on his part, with her to choose the cot but he'd not been much use and had just agreed with her choice. The small bubble of excitement that had been building inside of her since she'd found out she was pregnant was now beginning to spill over, especially now she had felt her baby's first, fluttering, movements but she had yet to feel the same enthusiasm from him. She was starting to wonder if he really wanted all of this. Her other hand was still resting low on her stomach as she finally answered: "I'm fine - no boxes fell on me, I navigated the stairs without falling down and even managed to paint the nursery."
Gene pursed his lips and sighed softly, biting back the sarky comment that involved her and stairs; he wanted to make this right, not worse. But she was obviously going to make this as hard as possible for him and he supposed he couldn't blame her - he kept trying to wrap her up in cotton wool when he knew she only struggled against such binds and against him. He stared at the back of her; she didn't look pregnant from behind but he knew that if he took the few steps towards her that were necessary he could slip his hands around her waist and disprove that illusion. He'd done so many times before but he had a feeling she wouldn't allow it right then. She wanted something emotional, not physical which was a shame because he was so much better at the latter. "It's... hard to not treat you differently," he admitted slowly.
"I'm pregnant, Gene - not made of China," she said harshly as she turned to face him. "I'm not going to break."
"You don't know that!" he started, his voice louder than he'd wanted it to be. "You don't know..." he tried again, softer this time but he couldn't quite finish the sentence.
"I don't know what, Gene?" she asked, her own voice dropping in volume as she watched him closely, his eyes so clear and open that she could almost see into his soul. Almost. "Tell me," she urged, wanting to hear what it was that he'd been unable to say for so long and hoping she wouldn't regret doing so.
He dropped his gaze, her voice was soft but demanding and he couldn't put this off any longer. She moved closer to him, narrowing the gap between them and he could see her swollen belly, one of her hands resting gently under it. His earlier statement had been true; it was hard, even harder to tell her why. He met her gaze once more, her eyes still imploring him to tell her and he knew he had to, had to rake up feelings that had been pushed down so far, for so long. But he didn't have to tell her everything, just enough to make this right. Just enough so that she understood why even if he didn't really understand it himself. "We couldn't have kids, me and the ex. Well, she couldn't," he began as he dropped his gaze downwards again, "She lost them, early on... she never got this far." Reaching out he let one hand rest on her stomach, emphasising his words.
"Oh, Gene," she murmured softly, the rawness in his voice scraping through her, and she moved her hand to rest on his. She'd had no idea and she felt somewhat ashamed that she'd never really asked him directly if he'd had children instead of just assuming he hadn't because he never talked about them. There'd been one time, back at the beginning when they had constantly butted heads, when he'd bristled at the mention of children and lack thereof but she'd never pursued it - not then and not even now they were together and expecting their own child.
"Doctors were bloody useless, couldn't tell us why, we eventually gave up," he finished, pulling himself back together and hoping it was enough. When he found her eyes again he was met with only with understanding and love, not the pity he so feared - a fear that had kept those terrible times a secret in him for so long. And it seemed it was enough for her: he wouldn't have to admit that, as his ex-wife had blamed herself, he had thrown himself into the job - and usually the pub thereafter - unable, and not knowing, how to cope other than with drink; he didn't have to tell her that a small, illogical but resentful, part of him did blame his ex-wife and probably always would; and he didn't have to tell her that their losses had torn them apart, that he'd let it eat away at the marriage until there was only a shell left, a marriage that he'd stuck with more out of a sense of duty than love. He didn't want her to know any of that.
She held onto his hand more tightly, her free hand reaching up to his cheek. She wanted to tell him that nothing was going to go wrong but it would be a lie - and he'd know it was. There were no guarantees in life, even in the one that she'd somehow conjured up in her head and that seemed as cruel as the real world was. She leant up and kissed him gently and quickly on the lips. "I'm not going to do anything that would risk losing our baby. You've got to trust me on that."
He nodded once but then thought better of it; he was supposed to be making this better not keeping more secrets that could backfire on him. It should have been easier now, now that she was just about half way there, to get used to the idea but that hadn't been the case. Now it just felt like he had more to lose. "I don't know if I can, Alex," he admitted sadly and he winced inwardly at her crestfallen features; whoever said that honesty was the best policy was a bloody liar. "But I promise you I'll try to," he said with conviction. If he didn't he was in danger of losing her and the baby anyway - and she was the best thing to have happened to him in a very long time, unplanned pregnancy included. She nodded softly at his words but her grip on his hand loosened and he knew that he had, and that they had, a long way to go. But he was more determined than ever to make sure they got there.