a/n: A short scene based on Episode 3.3 spoilers. Kind of sad. Sorry. All characters belong to Heidi Thomas McGann, of course.
It was late, she was exhausted and supposed to be resting, but she couldn't sleep. She'd drift off, then snap back awake, the dull ache in her abdomen reminding her why she was here.
The unfamiliar bed and the hospital's antiseptic smell didn't help, bringing back memories of those long weeks at St. Anne's. She'd thought she'd put all that behind her, but it seemed that wasn't to be. The disease was a part of her now, like her blond hair and need for glasses, unable to be changed or exorcised.
She wished she could be at home, with Patrick beside her and Timothy in the next room, the gentle sounds of her husband's breathing and the occasional hiss of the radiator lulling her to sleep. It was still strange, sometimes, to think that these were the things that gave her comfort now, especially during those moments when she dwelt on the rituals of her old life. The rush to make breakfast and get Timothy to school had replaced morning prayers. Instead of rounds, she had housework and clinics. Compline had giving way to family dinners, evenings by the fire with Patrick, and goodnight kisses that often lasted long after they'd said goodnight. She and Patrick only been married a few months, but the three of them had become a family so quickly.
She strangled a sob in the back of her throat. A family.
"I want the next baby I hold to be ours," she'd said. "I don't want to let go." She tried not to think of Carole now – it would only cause more pain – but the memory of the baby's warm weight in her arms and the soft scent of her hair floated unbidden to the forefront of her mind and she cried, silently. They'd only fostered the child for a day or so, but she'd relished every moment of it. Patrick had too – she'd never seen him so silly with happiness before – and Timothy had asked if Carole could stay. Those few short days had seemed like a good omen, a glimpse into their happy future.
But there was no happiness now, and the promise of the future she'd envisioned for herself, Patrick and Timothy was proving to be as fragile as a spirit lamp – or an unborn child.
She wiped her tears with a scratchy corner of the hospital blanket. As terrible as her own pain was, she hadn't really believed the loss until she'd told Patrick and seen the look of anguish on his face, his mouth agape in a silent sob. He'd cried, kissed her and tried to reassure her. He'd said he just glad she was all right, but she knew things were a long way from all right between them. He had wanted another child as much as she had. He had wanted something she could never give him.
They would discharge her in a few days. And then what? What now? The pain would vanish, eventually, but the sense of missing wouldn't. The nightdress would remain unworn, the baby blankets unused and the Moses basket, empty.