ILLEGITIMATE
A/N:Hey Guys, you have SYurri to thank for this chapter too. I made some demands that I wanted and wouldn't post this chapter until I got them (Basically Ed on the moon). She did it. So here it is, only a day late, but 22 pages long. So it evens out. Illegitimate Chapter 13 Saltines and Family Trees His baby doesn't agree with her the way Charlotte did. His baby creates a rougher pregnancy from the start. Immediately calls forth tumultuous morning sickness which adheres to no known clock. Nausea which crashes and spurns like tidal waves. She can't eat much. Almost anything from the second month on. Only small snacks throughout the day and crackers to absorb the surplus of stomach acid. She gets rampant cravings. While leaning against him on the couch, hand on her bump and announces in a nonchalant voice that she could really go for a burger. By the time he returns with it, she's vomiting. Gains generally the same amount of weight as with Charlotte, maybe two or three pounds more. Is still easily liftable. But the weight congregates quicker. It's amazing how she forces herself to eat, throws up half the time, and ends up with protruding stomach by the third month. Her leg and back muscles cramp at four months, feet swell at five and she has eternal heartburn throughout. One of his hands usually rests on her stomach, the other over her heart to fell the lump-thump of it as the acid rises. Since his baby won't agree with her, he tries to at all times, but they just end up arguing more. He wants to get air conditioning for the house, but her retort is they can't afford it. It's her base reply to all his suggestions. One day he finally breaks. Out of curiosity and a sliver of spite asks her what they can afford. She answers a second child and he shuts the fuck up. Arguments are usually over baby related things. Like wanting to find out the gender. He's for, she's against. Or wanting to get the nursery in place before the baby is born. He's for, she's against. Or wanting to name the baby Josephine if it's a girl. He's for, she's against. Or that it's time to tell their two-year-old daughter her real father's name is Steve. She's for, he's against. Charlotte hears the disagreements which could very well be taped and broadcast with them behind podiums and someone moderating. Sometimes she hugs Jules' legs, or his. Sometimes she hides under the beds, or in the hamper, or inside the lower kitchen cupboards. Sometimes she sits on the spot and starts to cry. The yelling gets loud and it's disconcerting for her, because she didn't grow up around it. The Steve paternity debacle reaches its boiling point in a grocery store when Jules is thirty weeks in. It's the end of September and the heat finally peters down. Charlotte pokes Jules in the stomach a few times from where she sits in the shopping cart and asks in broken toddler speech if the baby is a watermelon. Jules tells him not to leave their daughter alone with Spike anymore. Eventually Jules leaves to go to the washroom, a common occurrence which happens anywhere from one to three times an hour depending on how his baby sits. Without knowing it, she takes the list hostage, leaving him and Charlotte stranded in the cereal aisle. Having a toddler in a cereal aisle, with rainbow colored boxes adorned with elated cartoon characters and sugar coated puffs is akin to having a drug addict in an evidence lockup. "Daddy?" And he knew it was coming. He can't tell her no. Jules can. Charlotte is a good kid. Doesn't throw temper tantrums or hold her breath and stomp her feet. But everyone once and a while she'll ask for things she doesn't need like sugar coated cereal or a motorcycle for her second birthday. "Yeah Sweetie?" "Who Steve?" She's holding his hand the same way. Her same hand around his same finger. He glances down to her tiny white sandals lifting off the ground as she balances on the balls of her feet. Wide, green eyes staring up at him. Her dark brown hair starting to adopt a slight wave. Her face is so beautiful, so pale and so innocent. Her lips purse and then pout as she is patient for his response. Only he can't give her one. Can't speak. Can't do anything but feel her tiny fingers in his hand. Jules appears at the opposite end of the aisle and he tells Charlotte to stay put for a second, while he quietly explains what happened to Jules. When they turn back, their daughter is gone. They both call her name and slowly, but with no response voices grow in cadence and volume. He bursts around the corner searching for her. Around the barrels of nuts, the huge carton of corn. Jules goes to the front of the store demanding no one be allowed to leave. He's known Jules a long time. Seen her through some pretty rough times. Through almost two pregnancies, through a bullet, through the death of two close friends. She's never acted like this before. A mixture of panic, fear, rage. Almost all of it directed at him. He finds Charlotte in the frozen foods. A security guard is trying to lead her to the front, but she's fighting him. Kicking him. Punching him. Biting him. He and Jules taught her about strangers. With two cops for parents, they might have made her a little paranoid around strangers. The guard lets go of her arm to nurse his freshly bitten wrist. "Charlotte." Calls her and watches feet pivot on the ground at his beckon. They meet halfway down the aisle. Scoops her up. Holds her and doesn't let her go. "You left," she cries into his chest. Full out, can't catch her breath, hyperventilating cries with tears and snot and spit. He doesn't care, he hugs her tighter. She strings together toddler speech he can't dissect because it's jumbled in halting breathes. But at the end she declares something he'll remember for the rest of his life. "I love you, Daddy." Jules is not so easily placated. Receives her blubbering daughter back and won't speak a word to him, because it's his fault. He drops both his girls, both exhausted though neither will admit it, at home and when the door slams in his face, he finishes the shopping himself. Returning a few hours later, because he had to go to a different grocery store for obvious reasons, he knocks on their closed bedroom door. Finds Jules rereading a pregnancy book she used with Charlotte. Their daughter sprawling out in sleep, one arm draped over the top of her mother's stomach. He and Jules have a calming, loving discussion. She doesn't blame him for Charlotte disappearing today, it just frightened her. Both of them. Rests his head against her stomach, feels her fingers on his neck. Wishes his baby would acknowledge him. He asks Jules the question he's wanted to ask for over two years now. If she's happy. With him, with Charlotte, with Baby Number Two. She smiles, soft like the faint bedside light illuminating the room. Midsection squashes as much as it can as she drops a kiss on his head. It's nice and relaxing and God it feels so perfect. "How can you even ask me that?" "Well being a Mom, and doing police paperwork instead of saving live—" "If I didn't want this life Sam, I wouldn't have chosen it." She continues in saying she's not saving lives any longer, but raising them. She gets to see their kids, meet them, find their personalities, and nurture them. It's something she was denied by both her parents, by almost everyone she knew. It's been one of the only things she's longed for in life. Cautiously, he raises the question of Josephine again. Her hand freezes in his hair. Her thighs stiffen. The baby is hollow within her. "What's wrong with Josephine?" "I just don't know why you want to name our baby after someone you had no attachment too." "I don't know why you wouldn't." "Because it's a reminder." "She loved you, Jules." "Then why would she do that?" He doesn't let the team know how stressful it's been on them. How afraid he is every day when he leaves the house. How everything that's happened to her in the last thirty-six weeks is entirely his fault. He wanted a family, he wanted a baby, and he wanted the sex which was probably in some form presupposed by the idea of creating a Braddock, he wanted Charlotte, he wanted Jules. Somehow they're both suffering for his greed. "So any day now right?" Spike huffs from the treadmill. Wordy changes the rock music to some politically inclined talk show and they all moan. He lifts a barbell up to his chest with a grunt. "She still has a few more weeks." "Number two." Wordy shakes his head with a knowing grin. "I still say this one is a boy." Sarge laughs. "Eddy, you just want a boy." "Maybe I'm tired of Wordy's girls running around this place like a pink hurricane." "Hey." "The only reason there are no baby boys is because the Scarlatti seed hasn't been sown yet." "And thank God for that." "Hey." "Gentlemen, there is a purpose to this room you know," Sarge reminds. "This all happened when Wordy switched the radio station." "Sorry you had to think for a minute." Replacing his barbell, he runs a hand over the slickness on his forehead. The bickering of the room fades to the background as he steps into the lobby. Shrugs at Winnie who shakes her head, then slowly his fills his water bottle from the fountain. Can still audibly perceive the guys arguing just under his foreboding thoughts of Jules, Charlotte, his baby. Wordy defending his girls. How Lilly is taking karate and how Allie is in soccer. How Spike says his son will be the spitting image of a Roman God. Vaguely notices Winnie signing someone in at the desk. A tall someone, taller than himself. With broad shoulders in a decorated black suit. Winnie points towards him and as the man turns he realizes it's The General. "Dad?" He knows his face must create a confused and unsightly expression because The General's nostrils flare in disappointment. "Samuel." They just stand for a few minutes. His navy blue t-shirt soaked through with sweat. His forehead perspiring though he's not sure it's completely from the workout anymore. Hand barely holding a half-filled aluminum water bottle. The General with his hands clasped appropriately at his waist, cap in them. Face etched in stone, free of emotions, of care. He caves first, whether it's from the silence, from the pressure, or from knowing he still hasn't amounted to anything in The General's eyes. "Is there something you needed?" "Well Samuel." Clears his throat, strained and hoarse with years of yelling. At subordinates, in defeat, in victory, at his mom, at his sisters, at him. "I believe you contacted us first." "I didn't call you," scoffs from the side of his mouth. Eyes drift over to the workout room where the rest of the Team has caught a glimpse of the partial family reunion. "I haven't in over two years." The General's gray eyes flash. Dart in violence. Then just as sudden, settle. His voice is strict, but calm. "I believe you emailed your mother a few months ago and expressed you were expecting your first child?" "Second," he corrects again. This time has the nerve to cross his arms over his damp shirt. Holds his water bottle lightly by the neck by only a few fingers. "Samuel." Clenching his teeth into two perfect, showy rows, he leans in a bit. "You and I both know you're not that child's father." He grins, lopsided, arrogant, defiant. Copies the power move, the move meant to oppress, so there's less than half a foot between them. "Yes I am." With a hint of skepticism, The General poses, "So you've legally adopted the child?" "Yep. When she was six months old." Would've been sooner, but that's how long it took the paperwork to go through. "And that 'child' is your granddaughter. Her name is Charlotte." A noise dissipates from deep within his throat. He's only heard it during times of extreme displeasure. Losing a battlefront, his mom inviting his aunts for the holiday, Natalie crashing the car through the garage door. "So do you finally want to meet her?" Another clear cutting of his throat. Hands aren't so stable, his posture not so dominating. "We're here to see the baby. Your mother is back at the hotel." "The baby hasn't been born yet." He should be furious, should be ready to swing a closed fist at The General, but for some odd reason he finds the whole situation entirely entertaining. Maybe even humorous. His parents think they can scorn Charlotte and then waltz back into his life to enjoy what they consider their first grandchild? "And I'm not letting you have a relationship with one of my kids and not the other." "I'm willing to make concessions in order to see my grandson." "We don't know the baby's gender yet." "All Braddock men have a son first. I did, your grandfather did, your great-grandfather did." Then adds with the most indifferent tone and face, "if you didn't have a son first I'd assume this one wasn't yours either." Then he feels the tick plucking his eyelids. It's not because Jules would ever cheat on him. He knows she wouldn't, it's that someone, his own father, would insinuate it to his face. "I think it's time you left." "I am already making concessions for you, Samuel." Teeth grate off of each other, and The General's eyes set ablaze. Turn the cool blue of the hottest flame. "In all honesty, your track record with this woman and her lifestyle—" "We're done." Without creating any further contact, any further link, he walks right by. If his father isn't willing to recognize his children, his daughter, the woman he loves, than the feeling is mutual. "Samuel." He's called once, but doesn't stop. Not until he adds, "Do it for your mother." His feet stop on the gleaming floor and he's torn between continuing back to the workout room, answering the barrage of questions from the Team and taking the psych test which Sarge will all but force upon him. Or turning around for his Mom. For the woman who taught him how to skate. Who made up lies when he broke The General's awards playing in the house. Who snuck him dinner when he was being punished. Who told him ten stitches was a lot and it was okay to cry and she was so glad he was safe. Faces The General again, who's on the verge of collapse. Like the sun falling over hills. "I was the one who wouldn't let her contact you over the other child. She wa—" "Charlotte." He fully interrupts now. Fingers pressing into the sweat dusted crevices on his brow. "Her name is Charlotte." "Yes, over Charlotte. Finally when you sent the ultrasound by email she wanted to reply and I deleted it." He pauses. Not for suspense or to catch his breath but to think of his next sentence very carefully. "A few weeks ago she threatened to divorce me if I didn't let her see you or your children. Both of them. Even drew up the goddamn papers." Then it becomes so clear why The General is here. He's here for the same reason he always does something, for himself. Even when he controls his or his sisters' lives, it's to better his own image. "So you're doing this to keep Mom. Not to see my kids." "You don't think it would be beneficial for them to know their grandparents?" The General never spent much time with him as a child. Didn't do fatherly things, didn't teach him to ride a bike, drive a car, or play hockey. Only cultivated fear which grew to hatred. He'd like nothing more than to fuck logic, tell The General he hates him and has a perfect life now with the absence of him in it. Instead he does the opposite, turns away from selfishness and thinks about the people he loves. How his Mom wants to see his kids. How Charlotte would benefit from the older woman playing with her and teaching her old Braddock family secrets. How the new baby's life would be broadened. How Jules would have a semblance of the extended family she always wanted. "You get one chance." For emphasis he lifts a single index finger. Watches his father under stern set eyebrows so the man knows he's completely serious. "If you do anything to upset them or hurt them. We're done." "Fine." Leaves his father standing solitary in the lobby. Thinks of Jules, of Charlotte and of his new baby. Gains confidence in their love and over his shoulder announces, "I'm doing this for Mom." "Me too." Wanting to be inclusive and fair, he and Jules have a long discussion on the matter. It's a serene exchange of words after Charlotte is put to sleep with her disheveled Pink Puppy and a retelling of The Lost Dog which all three of them recite together. He and Jules recline on the couch, the lights dimmed, the television fragmenting on low volume, a box of saltines strewn across the coffee table with a Big Gulp Slushie. With her back against his side, one of his hands rests on her idle stomach. The baby which hardly moves. She feels it, has felt it since the fourth month. Yet whenever she partners his hand beside hers it ceases. Like the baby is doing something illegal or immoral and he caught it. Pictures the baby nestled inside of Jules with suddenly shocked eyes. His other hand is over her heart. Her heart sitting in a vat of acid. The lump-thumps under his hand as she chews on an antacid tablet. "He's your dad, Sam." Her thumb caresses indolently over the back of his hand and it makes him close his eyes. "They're your kids." "They're our kids." His hand lightly jostles her stomach as if to remind the baby of this point. There's no response. "Don't try to pawn them off on me." "You want my opinion?" Head angles up from snuggling underneath his shoulder. "My honest-to-God-hormone-laden-I-can't-reach-my-feet-anymore full truths?" Kissing the tip of her nose, he grins at her. "I'd be honored to hear them." "Give him a chance." She shrugs and points to the Big Gulp cup on the table. He retrieves it for her and she sips from it while balancing it on the curve of her stomach. "If he's an asshole, than he's an asshole and there's nothing else we can do. But at least we gave him the opportunity right? We're not the ones at fault." Slurping another long sip, she wipes the back of her mouth with her hand, and returns the cup to him. "Plus there's your mom right?" Bowing his head, he kisses her, tastes the tropical flavor of her Slushie, her sticky lips, her cold tongue. "God, you're perfect. You know that right?" "Sam." She holds her stomach in both hands; the movement causes her biceps to brush and press her breasts together. "I look like I ate the wrong piece of gum in a chocolate factory." "You're gorgeous, and I love you." He places a gentle kiss on the side of her neck, than one behind her ear. "Yeah okay," she laughs and swats the side of his face. "I get it, but believe me we did that and we won't be doing that for awhile." He grins, and innocently kisses her cheek, while rubbing her stomach. "At least until we try for whatever gender this one isn't, right?" "What?" Shifts away from him as much as she can, which only happens to be a few inches. "No way. We're done." "You don't want any more kids?" "In case you haven't noticed we're running out of rooms." She sighs and places a cool hand on the side of his cheek. "Can't you just enjoy the ones we have?" "Or." He captures her hand and places a kiss on her fingertips. "Or. And this is just an idea remember. We buy a bigger house with more rooms and fill those with kids too." "I'm going to bed, Sam." She claws at the back of the couch until he plants his hands around her waist where her hips are hibernating again and helps her to stand. "I vote for my idea." When she doesn't answer him, he doesn't worry. They use condoms and if they've failed them once, they're bound to fail them again. Two days later his parents are scheduled to meet Charlotte and Jules for the first time. He wakes to light slipping between the blinds from the looming December sky. They're a few weeks away from Christmas as Charlotte reminds in every other sentence. The tree's set up downstairs; it's a level above Charlie Brown's. Poorly decorated because Charlotte wanted everything, tinsel, beads, lights, popcorn, everything on it and it's not exactly stable. Jules constantly complains about the pine needles sticking to the bottom of her swollen feet which no longer fit into slippers and rise like baking bread against the confines of socks. From their ensuite, he hears her coughing. In the lulling dream fog he thinks she's brushing her teeth, but then he quickly realizes she's throwing up. Slides out of bed and dashes to the bathroom door, only to find it locked. "Jules?" There's a click as she opens the door while still sitting on the floor, legs folding sideways around the toilet, stomach pressing into the basin, hugging the rim. "Sorry." It reverberates empty into the bowl. Her skin is pallid, soaked in sweat, around her eyes is gray and sunken. She looks horrible. "I didn't want to wake you." At the end of her sentence she vomits again. Blue Slushie, crackers and stomach acid slosh into the water. "I don't care about that. Are you okay?" Kneels next to her, tiles imprinting on his knees. When he collects her hair it clumps, heavy and pasting together with sweat. She collapses against the toilet breathing heavily. "Just feeling a little," she groans and rubs her stomach. "A little rough." "I could see if I can call—" "It's a pregnancy Sam, I didn't lose a limb." She tries to stand up, but crumbles back down. He catches her, hand on her arm, another on her back which is a mixture of tight muscles and misplaced bones. They stand together and he helps her back into bed, sits on the edge as she speaks generic sentences about how she'll be fine. Rolls onto her side, and he kisses her clammy forehead and rubs her stomach. A single thump finally answers him. Work is hectic because of the holiday season. Plenty of attempted and successful suicides to counterbalance all the Rudolph family specials. The Team deals with two suicides, one takes a dive off the roof of an apartment building, the other they safely corral. Then, in the last hour of the shift, there's a hostage situation. A guy dressed as Santa trying to rob a store in the Eaton's Center. He doesn't like the Eaton's Center. Didn't before now. He can't exactly call Jules or his parents and tell them he'll be late. It takes three hours for everything to be successfully resolved. When he gets home it's dark and well after suppertime. Closer to Charlotte's bedtime. The Christmas lights are on outside and a few fat flakes of snow waft down as he walks up the front path. To his surprise his mom opens the front door, instantly embracing him. "Hello Honey." It's been four years, and the hug feels the same as it did when he was two. Her blonde hair is paler. Turning white with age and there's a few more wrinkles embedded around her pale blue eyes. She kisses his cheek. "I've missed you so much, Sammy." "I missed too, Mom." Gesturing to the living room she gives him a grin. A grin he knows from growing up. A grin that immediately spreads nostalgia throughout his body. Secretive, proud. One he remembers from over The General's shoulder while he was screaming at him for beating up kids who picked on Natalie. "She's beautiful. She loves you so much." "Who Jules or—" "Your wife." "She's not my wife." It hurts him to correct. It's almost embarrassing. Just shy of two kids later and she's not his wife. Society would blame him and it is him. They've never even talked about marriage. Never even sat down and had a concrete conversation concerning what they both wanted because their relationship is perfect as it is. Only he wants them to be married and wants it to be perfect and not rushed because she's pregnant. "It won't be long now, because you're my son." She rubs at his cheek with a thumb. Still wears the pride. Unashamed of his modern lifestyle. "And I didn't raise a stupid child." "What about Natalie?" "Sam." It's a warning as her wrinkled lips hook into a scorn. She juts a thumb to the doorway and they walk into the warm glow of his house. "Charlotte is absolutely gorgeous. And so smart. But I might be biased because I'm a grandma. I told the girls on the base about it. I brag, Sam. About you. About Natalie. Now about them." When the door shuts. Charlotte bursts around the corner. She's wearing plaid pajamas and socks with little bells sewn into the cuff. So a jingle accompanies her heavy bounding footsteps. Her wavy hair is pulled into a ponytail and it bobs like her mother's as she runs to him. "Daddy." Her arms wring around his legs until he flips her up, ensconcing her in his arms. Her legs kick in the air from excitement like a motor fan and the front room fills with bouncing jingles. She kisses his cheek and points to his mom, "Gran." Kisses her back. Relaxes with her head tucked by his chin. Her ponytail wagging as she waves at his mom. "I know, she's my mom." Charlotte blows a raspberry and shakes her head at him. Like he's telling her a lie. He has developed quite the story telling ability since she memorized The Lost Dog. Tells her made up tales. "No." Sighs because someday he'll have to explain it all to her. Not just grandparents. Or how and why The General just sits on the couch with the same old glower even though he's a grandfather for the first time in his life. Or even where babies come from. Might just clear his throat, stand up from the couch, and pat Jules on the back wishing her good luck with that one. But knows the Steve subject is going to come back. Knows it will always come back because she's Steve's biological daughter. Somewhere in a place he can't see, she's half Steve. It's something that doesn't bother him that much anymore because she calls him Daddy and she loves him. She's gorgeous, she's always looked exactly like Jules. But he knows someday the explanation is going to cause a rift like it did in the grocery store. "Honey, I think maybe you should go upstairs and check on Jules." His mom holds out her arms to Charlotte. His daughter settles in her arms with a few jingles, rolls her tiny fingers around his mother's pearl necklace. "I don't think she was feeling well earlier. She went upstairs for sweater just before you came home." "Yeah." Worried now about Jules and his baby, the harbinger of perpetual sickness. Would inform his mother that it's normal for Jules to throw up like a kid during their first trip at an amusement park, that he doesn't think she's had a solid meal in the last nine months, but he actually doesn't feel comfortable divulging the information in front of The General who sits, back straight, on the couch. Watching with a scowl. Charlotte notices, brings up chipping red-painted nails to his mother's shoulder and ducks her head. "Come on, Darling." His mom rubs her back. "Come read Grandma and Grandpa a story." Listens to his mother's calm voice and the General's stern silence get interrupted by Charlotte's discharges of sharp toddler speech as he climbs the stairs. The door to their bedroom is closed and he raps his knuckles against it lightly. "Jules, it's me. Are you okay?" Doesn't ask if he can enter, just opens the door. They're too far along in their relationship for him to need permission into rooms of the house. She's too far along in the pregnancy to be sick and by herself for him not to feel anxious. Needs to talk to Sarge about starting his paternity leave a week early. She's balancing on the edge of the bed. Dressed in black slacks and one of his white dress shirts. It's stretched tight around her stomach which creates a relaxing grin on his face until he notices her stomach. Her stomach gestating his baby. Her stomach which is lower than when he left this morning. Her one hand rests on the summit of it, which is no longer crushing her ribcage. The other has a fist full of scrunched comforter. "Hey. Hey." He shuts the door behind him. Zips into the room, passes the hamper of laundry she didn't get to today, a tower of baby books, design ideas for the nursery, and a box of Charlotte's old clothes in case the baby is a girl. Kneels on the floor beside her knees, doesn't want to dip the bed and upset her with more pain. "What's wrong? Are you—" places a hand to her stomach and feels barrages of movements. The last nine month's worth of motion all concentrated in one instance. It doesn't stop at his hand. It concentrates on his hand. "Something's wrong, Sam." Keeps his hand stapled to her stomach as he stands from the floor. Slips his other hand around her back and feels muscles twitch erratically with pain. "Are you having contractions?" She nods viciously. Bangs bounce around her eyes. Face pale, but stoic, concentrating on the wall while her body pushes through. "It hurts more than with Charlotte. It doesn't feel right. It hurts to move." "Okay." Vaguely hears loud conversation erupt from downstairs. It doesn't sound like Charlotte's toddler speech interruptions. More like what he grew up with in the desert. Rubs her stomach, trying to ignore the heavy metal drummer within. Cups his hand to her cheek to keep her composed. Thumb caresses over her cheekbone and in slow, calm words ensures, "We just need to get you to the hospital." "Sam, it hur—" "I'll help you okay." Nods his head at her for reassurance. Slow gentle bobs like a piece of dead wood floating on a lake. "We actually just have to get you to the car. Just down the stairs and outside, okay?" "Okay." Mimics his mesmerizing nod and rests her forehead against his for a brief moment. They allow one breath in before he helps her stand. Tries not to listen to the painful exhales. The actual yelps of pain. She places one hand underneath her stomach and one around his neck. He holds that hand and wraps one around her back. As soon as they open the door, a verbal battle beats them. His parents executing a perfect rendition of his entire childhood down in the living room and he's worried for Charlotte who can't get at them because of the safety gate blocking the entrance to the stairs. "This isn't normal, Pearl." "You just can't understand because you weren't around for your children and when you were, you scared them. You scared them shitless." "What's going on?" They're at the landing and Jules has just caught on to the melee happening in the living room. Her head tilts at the noise, eyes narrowed in a pain induced confusion. "Are your parents—ah." She lurches forward in pain. Arms swoop, looping around her, catches her before she tips and tumbles down the seven remaining stairs. Heartbeat crashes in his ears. "Don't worry about them. Just concentrate on walking, okay?" "Charlotte. Charlotte is going to be terrified." It's true. His parents' argument is putting their trivial baby instigated disagreements to pure shame. He's surprised the neighbors haven't called the police yet. "I served my country. I sacrificed my life to serve my country and my kids were insolent from—" "From never seeing you. We never saw you." He unlocks the safety gate. Kicks it open and helps Jules through. He can't let her sit again, because she might not get back up. Doesn't want to deliver a baby in the kitchen. Can't deal with complications if there are any. God, there can't be any complications. "Can you lean against the stool while I find her?" Nods a thousand times again. Back arches so her stomach touches her thighs. Her hair cascades like a waterfall in front of her face and her hands support her whole body. "This actually doesn't feel too bad." Smiles despite the situation and twirls around the open room searching for his daughter. Gathers the coats while doing so. Knows Charlotte isn't in the laundry hamper because the stairs were detoured. Knows she's not between the couches because that's where the fight is happening. Slides to his knees before the cupboard across from the sink. They keep it empty because she plays in there, knows not to go into the other ones. Finds the trembling form of his daughter. Her body shrunk in hiding, arms under knees, legs to chest. She flinches at the door suddenly being ripped open, but stutters a breath when she sees it's him. "Come on, Sweetheart." He holds his arms open to embrace her. Reaches in and she flings herself at him. Face buried in his shoulder, arms tight around his neck. Her ponytail has faded to the bottom of her head, is loose and falling out of her hair. Her face is red with the remnants of tears. Her feet jingle. "It's okay, we're going." Remembers Natalie being the same way when she was younger. How she'd hide from the arguments. Wind up in the hall closet or the laundry room. No one could find her for hours. The General wouldn't even notice she was missing. "She's not even his daughter." "Yes, she is." Sets Charlotte on the counter and sticks small furry boots on the bottom of jingled feet. Wraps her up in a thick winter coat. Has no idea how dealing with a toddler and a birth at a hospital overnight is going to work but he'll deal with the details later. Everyone just needs to be healthy. "Sam." Rushes back over to Jules. Charlotte is just content on being in his arms. Is almost choking him, her grip is so tight. Can feel the quickness of her chest. The hot exhalations of her breath against his skin. But she's quiet. Not thrashing or protesting. "What's wrong?" She doesn't answer him. Remains static in the same position. He wants to inform her that though they are in this 'parenting' thing as equals, he's not exactly feeling the same things she is. So if she wants to clarify any vague perceptions he has, he's glad for the information. But then he notices it. The puddle spreading beneath her like a shadow threatening to consume. Now he's panicking. "Okay." Now he's really panicking. "Okay. Okay. Okay. Okay. Okay." Pries her away from the stool he told her to depend on. Replaces the sturdy wood with his arm, which he fastens around her back. Hobbles with her the few feet to the front room where the verbal spar is reaching its apex. Jules leans haggard into the wall. Her body pressing precariously into its side. Together they get her feet, swollen to the ankles, high enough to force into boots. While juggling a submissive Charlotte, he helps Jules into her coat. At least she'll be warm while he speeds like a maniac to the hospital. Or if the car breaks down. Oh God, what of the car—Lunges forward and snags both sets of keys from the side table by accident, then darts to the back of the couch. "You're just fine with it because of Natalie. I've said it from the beginning that she looks nothing like me. That bitch is—" And he witnesses something he's never seen in his life. Never expected to see. Always assumed if it happened it would be reversed and he would jump The General. But it's not. It's his mom stepping forward and slapping his dad right across the face. The whole thing stuns the room. Everyone except his mom. Even Jules' heavy breathing turns silent. "Do not talk about my daughter like that." Lets the silence gestate for a second. Partly because he needs to remember never to badmouth Natalie around his mom, and partly because he needs to remember the expression The General is wearing. A man who scorned his family and realized it only after it hit him in the face. "Look." Adjusts Charlotte who is going to need a serious talking down after this. Maybe they'll share a hot chocolate while the doctors figure out what's wrong with her little sibling and talk about life. "I realize you guys are in the middle of something here, and I don't want to get in the way." Gestures back to Jules who is still breathing steady, still hunched over. Her face going red from pain. "But we're having a baby." He tosses Jules' keys underhand across the room so they splat onto the couch nearest his parents. "So when you're done can one of you lock up and leave the keys in the mailbox?" Doesn't wait to hear an answer. Doesn't wait for apologies or recriminations. Doesn't wait for facial expressions to tell him the emotions he's deaf to. He's grown up around this. Knows the routine. Everyone knows their parts. So instead he reaches forward and snatches Pink Puppy from the arm of the couch and turns back to Jules. Has a baby who finally woke up. Who he wants to raise. Wants to see Charlotte interact with and love. Wants to get to the hospital. Wants to be healthy. Next and Final Chapter - Shit goes down. And perhaps there will be a baby. Maybe.
One and a half of the five oneshots which act as sequels to this story are now tentatively complete. So hopefully I keep up with them.
Again (spoiler alert) they're not gonna get married. Or I'd have to change the story title.
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