ILLEGITIMATE

Chapter 4

The Adopted Rain Check

He rings the doorbell and waits. Summer barren porch, terracotta planters filled with dirt and bark chunks but no signs of life. There are already too many signs of life. He still hasn't made a conscious decision. Said he would. Said he wouldn't approach her, couldn't approach her until he did. But he hasn't. Still feels bitter, somehow betrayed by the whole situation. Like she prematurely started the life they were supposed to have together. The family they were supposed to have together.

But this wouldn't be his family. He's just a tag, a seat filler for someone who couldn't make it to the party. He still cares for her. Still loves her. Started loving her and just couldn't turn it off. Couldn't stop. But the baby, who would grow into a child, it wouldn't be his. It might treat him like it, but deep down inside he'd know it's Steve the fucking paramedic's kid. Steve who's still fucking things up from beyond the grave. Even if he grew to love the kid, he'd still be jealous.

The door opens with a crack, the wood stretching in the new humidity. Her hair is half up in a ponytail, bangs hanging in her eyes. She's wearing a navy blue long-sleeved shirt. The sleeves rolled up to the middle of her biceps. The buttons leading down from the collar splay open because there's no way of closing them. She has one hand casually dipping into the front pocket on her jeans, snaking around the distinct bump. Like half a basketball is shoved underneath her shirt. It's compact and adorable. She's gorgeous and glowing. Within the matter of two seconds he's decided.

"Sam." Her lips press into a reserved grin and she relaxes against the door. He immediately thinks it's too heavy. A few weeks ago when he came into work she was gone. After his inner panic ran its course, Sarge delivered the news to him. She was feeling anxious after what happened with the truck, so she transferred to the fourth floor. To a mountain of paperwork and a stationary desk for the rest of her pregnancy.

He was pissed. Pissed because she doesn't share things with him that the rest of the team already know. Pissed because he somehow thinks he's still entitled to know these things. Pissed because she was gone now and it was likely the next time they met she would have Steve the fucking paramedic's baby. Upon seeing her he's immediately relieved. It was the right choice. He's glad she's safe.

"What are you doing here?"

"I missed you yesterday."

She ascended on a brief sojourn from the remedial duties of the fourth floor to visit. Probably heard the day was pretty slow and figured the team would be working out or running drills. Spike greeted her with a loud exclamation which gave him enough time to duck into the locker room and stock everything in sight. He couldn't do it. Couldn't face her. Couldn't have the candy dangled in front of his nose. He only tiptoed out when he was sure she was gone. Found a double double for him in the dim spotlight on Winnie's desk. Even after the way he left things in the neutral negative. "I was doing restock."

Her grin widens, gains more geniality, and she steps back from the door to let him into her house. He hasn't been in her house since he was with her. Since he brought her back from the hospital and lied next to her. Awake all night long because he was terrified something would happen to her if he closed his eyes. The last time he closed his eyes, when he opened them she was on the rooftop gasping for air.

The house is in disarray, it's as messy as he's ever seen it. Stacks of baby books litter the coffee table, huddle around the edge of her couch. A coffee mug balances precariously on one teetering stack. Clothes are thrown over the back of the couch, over the arm, reach out from beneath the throw pillows. There are plastic bags filled with hidden objects in congregation near the bottom of her stairs. He wonders if she already had the baby.

"Sorry for the mess. I've been working overtime and double shifts." Shoulders shrug a little with defense, a little with shame. "When I get home all I can manage is to eat and pass out. I never find the time to clean."

"It's fine." It's shockingly different and his heart wilts a little. Her house was always in perfect condition. Always spotless, always welcoming. For it to be in a pre-hoarder state means that she's hating herself for letting it get this way. It means she's more tired than she's letting on. There were times when they worked twelve hour shifts and she would still come home, do a load of laundry and clean the bathrooms. "It's what weekends are for right?"

"Oh yeah." She laughs once full of scorn and finally shuts the door behind him since he hasn't dashed down the walkway and to the sanctuary of his car. "My grocery shopping just took me three times as long, cost me twice as much, and I had to have a nap when I got home."

The moist summer wind from outside carries through the house in a circuit from all the open windows. It's refreshing. She starts cleaning because now that someone is actually inside her house, someone who knows how it usually looks, the shame is real. "At least it's for a good cause."

Half-bending, or bending as much as she can now, she smiles again. This one is genuine. Full of serenity. Hand ghosts over her stomach, but doesn't quite land. Maybe she doesn't want to make him uncomfortable. "I think so."

He grabs a handful of plastic bags and treks them to the kitchen. "Does everything still go in the same place or did you get a heads up on baby proofing?" He mentions it first just to show her he's not uncomfortable with it. He's not. He's resentful and goddamn it, he'll probably be insanely jealous until the day he dies, but he's not uncomfortable.

"Oh Sam, you don't have to help." She drops clothes on the ground. Clothes too big for her. Too big for just her.

"What kind of—" Friend? Ex-lover? Ex-lover with only the cleanest of intentions? Human being? "Teammate" Teammate? Really? "Would I be if I left you to do this by yourself." Doesn't say anything about her condition because he knows Jules, and to her it's not a condition. She's pregnant; it's not a medical emergency although when she bends at her waist to collect the clothing she dropped his breath hitches in his throat. It's still surreal. For the last two months he's watched her grow, not really pop, just semi-inflate. Now she's at pre-popping point. Getting big enough that she might have a pillow shoved up there. God he wishes it was a pillow.

Old Jules, even gunshot wound Jules, would argue with him for attempting to help. Bitch him out. Insert something about sexual double standards and how she can do everything she needs to do by herself. New Jules, pre-popping Jules, doesn't. She tucks a longer bang behind her ear and sets the mug on a plate she discovered beneath a baby book as thick as War and Peace.

"Thank you Sam." Voice soft, sincere and in her shared moment with him he can see the exhaustion break through the mask she's created. Peek around the corners of her eyes to droop her eyelids. Dampen the pregnancy glow. "I really appreciate it."

He nods in return. After two more parallel trips, all of her groceries are in the kitchen. He unpacks the bags and marvels at the amount of food. The vastness of it. He wonders how often she eats now, because she didn't eat that much before. It worried him. Maybe two solid meals a day. Sometimes had a beer with him while they watched a game. That tradition is definitely dead.

She disappears for a few moments and he realizes she's in the basement. Sure she can do her own laundry. Sure she's done it up to this point. But she probably had a big hamper full of clothes and she's already wobbly on her feet, though not quite waddling. He could have done the heavy lifting. Finally she reappears, a little winded, at the top of the basement steps. He relaxes his grip on a vegetable, a green leafy vegetable he's never seen before in his life. "What the hell is this?"

Leaning forward a little on her toes she examines the food. "Oh, that's dandelion."

"Why are you eating dandelion?" He doesn't even know how to clean it. Doesn't even know the proper way it's supposed to be served. With what? He twists off the bulbous stems because the anxiety of imagining Jules passed out on the floor in her unfinished basement already started the process.

She laughs from the open living room. Sliding books back onto the stairwell shelves. Two tall stacks gathered at her feet. "I'm craving a lot of leafy greens. A lot of salads. Just salads every day. For every meal."

"At least it's a healthy craving."

"Oh yeah, you don't get to see me walk around the fourth floor with a mixing bowl full of salad."

He wishes he could. Maybe on a slow day he'll duck down to the fourth floor and catch her. Admire her from afar. Watch her hug the bowl to her chest as she shovels in fork after fork of dandelion. Instead he laughs.

Her arm extends to the highest shelf, just barely connecting with it as she slides yet another pregnancy book into place. She must have at least fifteen and he wonders if this is a rare instance of her panicking. He's only ever seen her do it on the job when someone was injured. Wonders if it manifests a different way for the baby. "You have a lot of books."

"I know."

"Have you read them all?"

"Getting close to it." The final book slides in place and she returns to the kitchen to help him with the remainder of the groceries, which are just clear plastic bags of leafy greens.

"Why so many?"

"I guess it's the same reason I work so many hours." She takes romaine lettuce out of a bag and runs it underneath the sink in the island. "I need the income of two people. I need the knowledge of two people."

And he's never hated Steve so fucking much in his life. The asshole waltzes in and steals Jules away with hokey Hat high school talk. Manages to get her pregnant, which he still is confident wasn't a complete accident on Steve's part, and then leaves. Sure the guy is dead and he didn't know she was pregnant, but he still left. Left her with the pieces of her life to pick up. Left her with the pieces of another life to put together. All by herself. And he hates Steve because if he was in that position he would have done things so differently. He hates Steve because he could have been in that position if there was any fairness in the universe.

Finally, after switching the laundry over and washing four more types of lettuce, the first floor of her house appears to have some semblance of its prior life.

Standing with her hands on her rapidly disappearing hips, she admires the new state of her living room with an approving nod. Turns back to the kitchen where he's finishing wiping the final smudges off the counter. He doesn't know what she eats when she's not eating salad, but it contains permanent marker. "Thank you so much Sam. This would've taken me forever."

"Don't worry about it." He waves her off, just satisfied with having spent a couple of hours with her. Feeling the euphoric familiarity creep back into his tattered life. Watch as she adjusted to her new body the way he did. They can barely fit behind each other when secured between the kitchen counter and the island. Appeased just to have brought some comfort back into her life.

"Really, I mean it. If there's anything I can ever do for you."

He stops swiping at the counter. It's the segue he's been praying for. After an instance of apprehension measured in a single blink, he pulls a lopsided grin. "Actually there is something you could do."

"Name it."

"You could have dinner with me tonight."

She freezes for half a minute. Not really the result he expected but considering how he left things with her it's preferential to most of the outcomes. He's still mildly surprised she let him into her house. Her wide eyes finally blink and lips unroll. "You. Want to have dinner. With me?"

"Yeah. Tonight."

Eyebrows crux and eyelids squint as she examines him with a slightly tilted head. Trying to figure out his motives. "You want me to have dinner with you tonight?"

"Yeah, that's another way to say it." Rests the soggy dishcloth on top of piled and dyed food to loosen it. "What's the problem?"

"Sam, you may not have noticed but—" She arches her back, shooting out her protruding stomach. Showcases it with a dainty swoop of her hand. "I come with some pretty significant baggage."

"So?"

"So why the hell would you want to go to dinner with me?"

His hand touches the top of the counter, still crusty with mixture of half masticated dried food and permanent marker. He leans forward, half resting in her personal space and in a hushed whisper elucidates, "Not to get technical Jules, but I'm pretty sure I took a rain check on this dinner."

"Hmm." Lips purse and she mimics his actions, one hand on the counter. Then with a pout she leans forward into his space and replies, "Well not to get logical, but you do realize I've just spent a small fortune on groceries which could've gone towards my baby's college fund."

"There's a new Italian place that opened up a few blocks from my apartment." He walks around her, leaving her still slightly stunned in the middle of an almost pristine kitchen. The sun is setting outside blasting her front room full of a bright orange light. The wind gusting through the open windows is no longer balmy and caressing, but growing harsh and cold. He shuts the middle front window for her because he remembers it sticks in humid weather. "I hear they make great salads."

Light footsteps pad into the living room behind him. She gnaws on her bottom lip while mulling the idea over. "It's really tempting."

"Go get ready and I'll finish closing the windows down here."

"I have really high standards Sam."

"Which is why you're going to dinner with me."

She rolls her eyes and in the twilight seeping through the split blinds she looks absolutely gorgeous. He wants this life. He always wanted this life. If Steve was too much of an idiot to leave it in shambles, he doesn't mind helping her rebuild it. Doesn't mind being the tag in. "No, I mean if they don't get my salad right I'm going to get upset."

"So send it back."

"So you're okay if I cry when the waiter doesn't bring the salad to me the way I asked."

"Only if you're okay with me punching him if he makes you cry."

"Just let me get my purse."


Next Chapter - Shit goes down. (But Shiggity you say that every chapter). Fine familial shit goes down and borderline M-rated shenanigans are had.

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