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katedrakeohd · 4 years

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Wacky Drabbles #52

this week’s prompt: Sure, alcohol solves most problems, but in this particular case, I don’t think it will help.

Wacky Drabblers: @ao719 @axwalker @bbrandy2002 @bebepac @bitchloveskcbaseball @blackcatkita @bobasheebaby @burnsoslow @dcbbw @debramcg1106 @doriansapprentice @drethanramslay @emceesynonymroll @everythingchoices @flutistbyday2020 @jessiembruno @katedrakeohd @kingliam-rys @losingbraincellseveryday @loveellamae @lucy-268 @oofchoices @openheart12 @pedudley @ravenpuff02 @romanticatheart-posts @sirbeepsalot @speedyoperarascalparty @storyofmychoices @texaskitten30 @utterlyinevitable @wackydrabbles @walkerswhiskeygirl

What happens in Paris....(stays with us forever) (part 1)

TRR book 2:

Drake × MC (Kate Darling)

The lights of Paris twinkle in the warm summer air as Drake and I walk arm in arm back to the train. Between the bachelor party and the drinking game at the dive bar I've had way too much whiskey. Drake is definitely more relaxed, and every now and then I catch him wearing a little smile when he glances my way.

It's been an emotional few days for both of us. In my mind I'm worried about who may still be plotting against me. Bastien and Penelope are the last people I'd have suspected. Bastien is supposed to play a protective role at court. Who could be so threatened by me that they'd hire Bastien to smear my name in the press? Meanwhile Bertrand had been trying to discredit me and cause more scandal by selling Maxwell's scrapbook photos to a tabloid. How can he have so little faith in me? If those photos had gone public it would have been worse for Liam, and tainted the whole social season before it had even begun.

And then we found out that Maxwell has been hiding Savannah's whereabouts this whole time from Drake. And he's been secretly stealing Beaumont money to support her. Sure he felt his intentions were honorable because he was helping his nephew and respecting Savannah's privacy, but to see Drake every day and hide his own sister from him still hurts. Plus finding out that Bertrand had callously brushed Savannah aside as not being worthy, stung me too and she's not even my sister. No wonder Drake hates nobles and all their pretentiousness and lies.

Drake and I don't know who we can trust anymore. But at least we have eachother. I know he wants to be with me, and I want to be with him too. Although at this point we don't know what kind of relationship we can safely have together.

Even though Drake had been invited to Liam's bachelor party at the fancy speakeasy as his best friend, he knew he didn't really fit in. I'm glad I was able to be there with him so he wouldn't be the only non-noble at the party. He looked so handsome in his blue jacket and green dress shirt. In the smoky, uber masculine atmosphere of the club with a whiskey in his hand he had looked so sexy too. And being there with him in that black cocktail dress and knowing that he appreciated how good I looked, was a thrill all by itself. If only he and I could have been there on a date instead of a spy mission.

Although he had tried so hard not to look at all of my exposed skin during the drive in the limo, with every move I made or every time he had to interact with me, I knew he was having a hard time trying to hold himself together. If Maxwell hadn't been there, he would have been all over me for sure. Just like yesterday after we had returned from Savannah's apartment. Granted it had been me who had initiated the brief makeout session, but I couldn't help myself after spending the afternoon with him. We had been riding the emotional high of finding Savannah safe, and discovering that Drake was an uncle.

Ever since I returned to court after the coronation, Drake has been by my side to protect me. And little by little he's been opening up and letting me into his life. I feel safer around him than among all the nobles who have been scheming against me. Even Liam is being openly duplicitous by smiling next to Madeleine for the press, and then seeking out my company in private. Though he and Madeleine have an arrangement as far as I'm concerned, he's still lying to his subjects about their engagement. I'm definitely not comfortable being thought of as his mistress.

In the few moments that Liam and I have had together in private, he's made it plain how much he loves me. And trust me he's quite easy to love back, with his charm, good looks and romantic ways. I'm not going to lie and say I don't care for him, because I do, but loving him comes with a price. No matter what, as a King, his duty to his country comes first. Marrying him comes with a crown and country attached. Sure I can be polite and diplomatic when I have to be, but the idea of being queen scares me. Madeleine can have the crown all she wants, she knows how to be Queen, but I worry about Liam's happiness.

The more time I spend with Drake though, the more I really don't want to be a noblewoman at all. Despite my love for Cordonia with its unique customs and Mediterranean climate, it's such a breath of fresh air compared to New York, until this scandal is resolved and the media stops blaming me for making Liam's Coronation so controversial; I feel like everyone is staring at me and talking about me.

I wish Drake and I could just run away from all of this and never look back, but we can't.

When we arrive back at the train, Drake walks me back to my compartment. Suddenly being so close to him in the narrow passage is overwhelming and my palms are sweating. I fumble to work the latch on my door, and can't get it to open.

I can feel his eyes on me as he leans his shoulder against the wall beside me. "Having trouble there, Darling?" he says, in a low tone, his words slightly slurred.

Wiping my hand on the curve of my hip, I can hear a change in his breathing as he steps in behind me.

"Let me help. These doors can be tricky sometimes, with all the jostling of the train cars." His breath is hot on the back of my neck, and smells of whiskey. I find myself teetering on my heels and leaning back against the broad wall of his chest. He reaches around me to put his hand on the door latch, and his other hand braces on my hip to hold me upright.

"Woah there, Darling. You really are a lightweight when it comes to your whiskey aren't you?"

I giggle self consciously as I hear his soft grunt in my ear, his strong hand easily turning the latch and forcing the door open. He nudges me forward and follows me into my room. Stepping back he leans against the doorframe, watching me kick off my heels and sit down on the edge of the bed.

"So, uh. I guess this is goodnight then." He mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck and trying to avoid looking at me.

It's now or never. I either invite him to stay, or let him shuffle off on his own.

I know he shares a compartment with Maxwell, who's not exactly his favorite person right now, and I feel sorry for him. "Thanks for sticking up for me back at the party." I say quietly, not wanting him to leave yet.

He steps back into the hall, his hand going to the door latch to pull the door closed. "Yeah, uh you're welcome." He grins sheepishly, "Thanks for stopping me from making a bigger ass of myself. Oh fuck, If I'd hit Bertrand…" He heaves a sigh, puffing out his cheeks as he breathes out and rubs at the frown on his forehead.

Getting up from the bed I walk over to him, "Hey, I understand. I would have been pissed too. But yeah, hitting him in front of everyone would have been really bad."

He punches the doorframe and then leans his forehead against his fist, squeezing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth. "It..all..just..makes..me..so..mad." he grounds out, his chest heaving.

Placing my hand on his arm, I can feel how wound up he is, his muscles feel like stone under the fabric of his jacket. Now I know I can't let him be alone.

"Drake, look at me." I say quietly.

"I can't," he whispers, turning his head to face out into the hall.

Tugging at his arm with both hands, I pull him off balance and he stumbles into my room and I slide the door shut and lock it. Regaining his footing, he stands there, fists clenched and stares me down as I bar the door with my body. "Okay, not funny. Let me out." he grumbles.

I shake my head, crossing my arms across my middle, deliberately making them a shelf for my breasts. The motion isn't lost on Drake, and I catch him looking down at the way my cleavage is on full display behind the black mesh insert of my dress. He quickly looks away, blushing, and starts to pace back and forth like a caged animal. His long legs eat up the tiny space in only a couple of strides per trip. I can practically see the smoke coming out of his ears, as he continuously rakes his hair back from his forehead.

"You can work yourself up all you want, Drake. But I'm not letting you out of here to take out your frustrations on destroying the interior of the royal train, or to drown your anger at the bottom of a bottle. Sure, alcohol solves most problems, but in this particular case, I don’t think it will help."

He stops and looks at me, with a devilish smirk on his face, "And if I try to force my way out of here?"

I raise my chin in defiance as he steps over to me, placing his hands on either side of the doorframe and looking down at me in an attempt to intimidate me. "I'll scream." I say, not scared in the least.

His eyebrows shoot up, and now it's him that looks worried. "You wouldn't dare!"

I undo the button on his jacket, and slide my hands up the front of his shirt stopping them to rest on either side of his neck, his skin feels so hot to my touch. "You need an emotional outlet Drake. Let me help you with that."

/ the second part here

#wacky drabbles

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freddieslater · 4 years

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Rowing the Rarepair Rowboat: Hope Mikaelson (Legacies) x Liam Dunbar (Teen Wolf)

Requested by @matthewmurdock06

"You know it's four in the morning, right?"

Liam glances at Hope over his shoulder as he takes the carton of juice out of the fridge, raising his eyebrows at her.

She shrugs, almost avoiding his eyes, focused instead of the hand she's dragging along the countertop.

"Typically, people don't stop by other people's houses at four in the morning," Liam continues on, pointed, closing the fridge. "They wait. Or, if they do happen to stop by at four in the morning, there's a reason. Like..."

He trails off, staring at her expectantly. But Hope barely glances up at him. Doesn't help much that her expression is unreadable. She's really good at that.

Nodding to himself, Liam grabs two mugs, trying to think. The full moon isn't tonight. In fact, they still have two weeks before the next one. Nothing's happened recently supernaturally, so it's not as if there's any real reason for Hope to have come all the way through the woods from Mystic Falls to Beacon Hills this late. Or early, he supposes.

"Do you wanna..." he starts, then falters, eyebrows stitching together uncertainly, "... maybe talk? Is something wrong?"

Hope actually smiles at that. It's faint, but it's there, right at the corner of her mouth. She lifts her eyes to him now and gives a little shake of her head.

"Nothing's wrong," she says, and he believes her. Then she's the one faltering, lips still parted. "I was just... worried."

Liam's confusion grows, but he tries to keep his attention on pouring, because that seems to be working out better for him.

"Worried?" he repeats. "About what?"

"You, obviously."

"Me? Why? I'm fine." Liam has to think. "Yeah, I'm totally fine. Why are you worried about me? Did Scott say something?"

It wouldn't surprise him if he had. Scott's sweet, and Liam loves him, but he's constantly worrying about him even when everything is perfectly normal for once in their lives.

Hope shakes her head again, breathing out a gentle chuckle, clearly thinking the same thing.

"No, no, he didn't say anything. But you got hurt today. Against Brett? And you just sorta looked like you spaced out for a second during the game, as if you saw a ghost, so I... just wanted to check that everything was okay."

The realization hits then. He had admittedly thought his little slip had gone unnoticed. It was just a moment; a trick of his imagination, that stupid berserker still haunting him. But he shook it off easily this time and he didn't feel as shaken up. Though, dislocating his leg up against Brett might have had something to do with that.

Smiling, Liam properly turns to her and hands her one of the cups. She takes it with a grateful smile.

"I'm okay. Really," he says, nodding. "Leg healed up before the game was even over. And..." His eyebrows furrow. "Wait, but you weren't there. Weren't you still in Mystic Falls?"

"Oh, no, the game finished up early," Hope says. "We were tragically defeated. Not for the first time."

Liam winces, sucking air in through his teeth. "Ouch. Sorry 'bout that."

Hope shakes her head, and says, "It's okay. I don't mind not winning. But," she straightens up, shoulders raising in another shrug, "I thought I might as well come by and see how you guys were doing. A lot better if that winning score is anything to go by. Congratulations."

Liam grins. "Ah, it was nothing."

Hope snorts. "Sure it wasn't. No werewolf strength at all. You're lucky; the rules in Mystic Falls are a lot different."

So he's heard. Truth be told, Liam was nearly living in the town over; his mom was having a hard time deciding between the two, but in the end, she decided Beacon Hills sounded more hospitable. Safer. Clearly not the case.

"Glad you were there," he says sincerely as she leans back against the counter, taking a sip from her cup. "Even if it means you witnessed my epic, crushing defeat in that last minute."

"Hm--no. You were amazing," says Hope. "You and Scott scored more than anyone on the field. And you kept playing with a dislocated leg, I mean, that's impressive."

Liam laughs, ducking his head, and Hope's own laughter joining in makes his heart jump. Cool it, he reminds himself, she can hear heartbeats, too, you know.

But she doesn't seem to be trying to catch him out. He takes a drink.

"I also couldn't sleep," Hope says, making his eyes snap back up to her. She looks a little uncomfortable now. "I figured... hoped you'd be awake. Just for some company."

Liam can't help but be surprised. But he fights back a smile and finds himself nodding, eyes wide but trying to seem totally casual. He knows that making a big deal out of it will only make her more uncomfortable and probably regret coming to him.

"Yeah," he says, then, "I'm not really that tired either, to be honest. We could play a game? Or... go for a walk?"

He's a little bit unsure of what exactly it is Hope likes to do. Especially at four in the morning.

But she smiles, her gaze soft and interesting and something that Liam doesn't think he can ever get out of his mind now.

"A game sounds fun," she says, shrugging. "Though I'm admittedly not great at them."

"That's okay," Liam quickly says. "I can show you."

Hope nods, agreeing, and they leave the kitchen, quietly making their way up to his room. They play one of his favourite video games for a little while. An hour, maybe two, until Hope starts to nod off and Liam pauses the game, easily falling asleep as well.

#teen wolf #legacies #hope mikaelson #liam dunbar #hope x liam #liam x hope #lope #hiam #moodboard #aesthetic #ficlet #drabble #rowing the rarepair rowboat #myedit*#this very odd to write??#something about them feels odd #but I love both of them so!#matthewmurdock06

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xxkellsvixen19xx · 5 years

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I Am Not Living, I Am Surviving Hug Me Michael x Reader

Warnings: this theme deals with depression and thoughts of suicide which could be triggering for some.

A/N: as someone that deals with depression I felt compelled to post this. Michael helps Y/N during her depressive episode, the reader (much like me tends to shut people out especially when things get difficult so I feel this on a personal level). Hope you guys take the time to read this as it is kinda personal for me, thanks guys and please let me know what you think. Note the lyrics used are from Britta Phillips version of the song Drive

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//who's gonna tell you when

it's too late

who's gonna tell you things

aren't so great

you can't go on

thinking nothing's wrong

who's gonna drive you home tonight//

I was not alone, that there was someone somewhere who was able to articulate the seething, jumbled, brutal, pre-linguistic, thrashing, writhing, hazing, dulling pounding in my head. It wasn't just me. That single thought was the most important thing in the world to me, sometimes the one thing that kept me alive – a single false note of optimism would have shattered it all for me, left me thinking yes, it really is just me – the words people offer me really are just that, words, the hope they contain utterly irrelevant because they relate to an experience that is not mine.

‘I put on a brave front' it had been so easy to hide how I truly felt, laugh, joke act like I was completely fine. But truth was I knew deep down inside I wasn't masking it would only work for so long. I was rapidly sliding deeper and deeper into a very dark space. My symptoms got worse and soon I found it too difficult to even get up and out of bed in the morning.

‘You feel nothing. You shut down completely. There is no happiness, no sadness, nothing. You feel zero.’ Depression is not something that can be brushed away with a smile, or shooed away with a pat on the back. It’s something more deeper and profound. There’s no gadget to test which person is suffering from what type of depression, and there’s no instrument to measure the extent of depression.

Statistics say that as many as 1 in 4 of us will experience a mental health problem at some point in our lives. That means you know someone—probably several someones—with depression, anxiety, an eating disorder or something else. Isolation can have a crushing effect on a lot of people. Some people thrive on it, but humans on the whole are a social bunch and need to interact with others. When that isn’t possible, it’s easy to feel that the walls are closing in. But honestly all I was good at doing is pushing people away, I am afraid if they get to close if they see really see what I am going through that they might abandon me because it may end up being way too much for them.

I kept a diary somehow it felt safer to write down my thoughts, the one person I should be honest with is Michael but I honestly couldn't bring myself to do it. Would he be hurt? Would he hate me? So many thoughts in the back of my mind I pushed them away. I scribbled furiously in the journal and tossing it aside. Normally I hid it under a loose floorboard in our bedroom but on this night not giving it so much as a second thought I feel asleep journal wide open. Y/N didn't hear Michael when he walked in, he looked at you you were fast asleep. He noticed the leather bound book that laid open by your sleeping form. He didn't want to invade your privacy but something alerted him that something was on deed wrong. He looked at the small paragraph scrawled on the page, his face froze in fear at the words before him.

Dear Michael.

I've been thinking about ending my life. I don't know why I can't talk to you in person, so I bought this Diary in the case that I do end up killing myself you will know why I did what I did and that you cannot blame yourself. Michael you are the reason I am still here. for now. But the voices in my head are so strong and the pain that it is inflicting on me everyday, one more thing and I feel like I won't be able to hold on, but I will for you Michael I will try my best for you.

Yours Truly,

Y/F/N Y/L/N

Depression is a hole and I'm slowly falling in trying to claw out and everyone I love is just standing there watching. Honestly I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep 'acting’ like I was ok when deep down inside I wanted to end it, quiet the voices leave the pain behind that quite frankly I felt like I was drowning in.

I opened my eyes I don't know how long I had been asleep or even what time it was. I looked to see Michael's concerned expression his piercing blue eyes felt like they had penetrated my soul. There my journal sat in his lap, Michael let out a breath attempting to steady himself. “Why won't you talk to me Y/N, tell me that something was wrong?” I couldn't even open up my mouth to speak it was like I lost all nerve to even respond. My first instinct was to bolt, I sat up quickly turning my body away from him. I wasn't able to even make it to the edge of the bed, Michael grabbed my arm “Y/N please talk to me don't shut me out!”

Michael's breathing started to get heavier as his eyes started to well up. Y/N looked at Michael, saying nothing. He wondered what she was thinking. Finally, after a few moments, she started sobbing, and she leaned into him. Michael immediately pulled her into his arms, letting her cry on his shoulder, and struggling not to cry himself. ‘I was tired of feeling helpless. I had to do something, anything.’ ‘I remember that exact moment as the one where I started to feel good about myself again, I just wish it could've lasted longer…

There was another moment of silence, this one longer than the last, "I tried to tell myself that you'd get better, that you would get back to normal but the truth is I didn't know that. I didn't know if you'd get better, you can't keep doing this to yourself Y/N, what if I never see you again! And the thought of everyone else just going on with their lives made me sick! So yeah,I am angry, and I am scared… I didn't know what the fuck I am supposed to do!" Michael's voice finally broke as tears streamed down his face. Y/N, with tears in her own eyes, finally stood up. She pressed her forehead against Michael's and placed her hands on the sides of his head. ‘But most of all, I knew, come what may, I had at least one safe harbor.’ I looked up at Michael the look was unmistakable.

‘I'll never forget what I saw at that moment, looking into Michael's eyes.’

‘He loved me. This sweet, perfect man… loved me.’

After staring at him for another moment that seemed to last forever, she finally leaned in and kissed him. He quickly began kissing her back. The two of them continued this until it started to grow more heated, with the two of them running their hands over each other, and Michael kissing along the side of her neck.

He pulled back after a minute and looked at her.

"Are you… are you sure this is okay?" he asked, breathing heavily.

Y/N gave Michael a smile.

"I'm sure," I said.

‘That wasn't entirely true. I wasn't sure, or rather I wasn't sure if I was sure.but I didn't know if that made a difference. I knew I wanted it to be okay this time.’

The two of them resumed, even more passionately this time. They began removing clothes and letting their hands roam over more of more of each other…

‘More than anything, I wanted it to be okay this time. I remember thinking, please, please, let it be okay this time.’

Michael continued kissing Y/N, who leaned her head back as the feelings came over her…

‘But it wasn't okay’

I inhaled sharply…

‘It was perfect.’

2 weeks later…

"How is Y/N?" Gallant ask, suddenly looking at Michael with concern on his face.

Michael hesitated. He came here to help Gallant with an issue with his salon , not unload his own worries onto him. Still, lying to him didn't feel right either.

"I don't know, really," Michael finally said. "She just doesn't seem to want to open up. I know she's been having a really hard time." Michael gave Gallant a slight smile. “I think it's just going to take time.” Gallant responded softly.

‘The day were getting... bearable.’

‘So were the days after that, and the next after that.’

‘Michael found me a new doctor. A bit further away, but worth the trip. I was able to open up to her a little.’

‘Still, I couldn't shake this feeling that there was something I was supposed to do, but at first, I couldn't figure out what it was.’

‘But gradually I started to notice something…’

‘...something I couldn't shake once I noticed them.,

‘The signs.’

‘The ones most people didn't see. The ones no one saw in me until it was almost too late.’

Michael wiped one last tear rolling down his face and closed his eyes.

“Please live for me Y/N," he said, softly. “Stay with me, I love you."

Y/N sighed in relief.

‘All I could do after that was live.’

Michael pulled me close to him tightly I could hear his heartbeat, a steady reminder to live

//Live as if you were to die tomorrow. Learn as if you were to live forever.//

Mahatma Gandhi

#ahs #ahs apocalypse #michael langdon #cody fern #fan fiction

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rainforestgeek · 5 years

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If you lose your strength to stand (I'm gonna reach for your hand) pt. 8 “Shelter”

Here’s chapter 8 of my long-ass Plance/Katt fic. Enjoy!

Read it on AO3

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 9

Keith spotted Matt a couple dozen meters down the hall and felt his heartbeat immediately pick up speed. He called out his name without thinking.

Matt looked up, then practically ran towards him. “Keith! I was looking for you. Are you doing okay after – ”

He couldn’t have this conversation out here. He grasped Matt’s elbow and pulled him into his old room. He shut the door but didn’t bother with the lights. The darkness felt comforting.

Keith’s eyes adjusted quickly. Antok had told him that was a galra thing – he’d always been able to see better in the dark than other humans.

Long minutes of silence, while Matt waited patiently, passed. Keith searched for words. “This is the third time I’ve lost him.”

“You’re really close, right?”

“He’s the only family I have. My dad died years ago.” Then there was his mom. Matt shifted his feet, which Keith learned meant he was debating whether he should say something. Keith sighed. “I guess my mom too, now.”

Matt stepped closer. “She can be your family now, too. If you’re ready to talk to her.”

Every one of Keith’s muscles seized up at the thought. He hoped he wasn’t shaking.

“Are you? Ready?”

Keith’s head thumped against the wall. He said hoarsely, “I don’t know.”

“Would it help if I hugged you right now?”

In lieu of answering Keith launched himself into Matt’s arms. For several moments they just held each other. Keith felt safer here, standing in his dark bedroom, wrapped up in Matt’s arms, than he had in months.

Matt’s warm skin felt so wonderful on his cheek that Keith impulsively grabbed his face and crashed their mouths together.

The rebel in his arms rolled with it, didn’t miss a beat, and kissed him back. Hot, forceful, their bodies pressed together, Keith thanked God he’d apparently read the signs right. Their armor clashed and scraped so they got to work removing each piece of armor and then clothing, stubbornly refusing to break the kiss whenever possible.

Keith impatiently dragged Matt to his bed.

Lance hated insomnia with a burning passion. He hated being dead tired but wide awake because of all the thoughts spinning around his head. He hated that he couldn’t control those thoughts, could make them shut up long enough to get to sleep.

So he paced the castle hallways, trying to let music drown out his thoughts. All that did was make his brain even louder. He put the headphones around his neck and listened to the little building noises that even magic alien castles seemed to make.

Yesterday (earlier today?) Allura and the other Coalition leaders agreed that no one outside that room could know about what happened to Shiro.

Lance was shocked but relieved that the man who’d been cold and harsh wasn’t Shiro, on the one hand. He knew something wasn’t right. On the other hand, there were so many problems now. Was Shiro alive? Could they ever find him? Who would fly the Black Lion? Was Keith ready to lead Voltron again? Being the Black Paladin had nearly drained Keith dry. Lance had been hurt but not shocked when he ran away to do some Assassin’s Creed soul-searching. Keith became a good leader, honest – but it cost him big time, hurtling towards a burnout, and he’d leaned heavily on Lance to stay upright. So not only was he worried about Voltron and Keith, but he suddenly missed Shiro all over again like a baseball to the stomach.

The best part? This was all dumped on Lance while he was already having a crisis. Could the war just not throw another curveball at him until he fixed his personal problems, please?

Of all things, the source of his internal world-spinning was Pidge. And the sudden, confusing crash of feelings he had surrounding her.

It’s not like anything changed in the last…what the heck, only the last two days? It felt like a week. All he knew was that he couldn’t breathe seeing Pidge beat up and pale and unconscious, and this morning the weight of the entire universe had fallen off his chest when she’d stumbled out of the healing pod and into his arms. He knew his heart freaked out when she’d hugged him back, and he knew that it freaked out even worse when she’d pushed him away.

In the storm of worrying and anxiety about Shiro and Keith and the whole damn universe, Pidge kept entering his thoughts: the warmth that filled his chest whenever she laughed, her face lighting up when she dissected a new piece of tech, and the bone deep fear of losing her. For the few minutes when he didn’t know if she were alive or dead, Lance had felt everything around him crumble because a universe without Pidge…was unthinkable.

The universe followed certain rules, Lance knew. Objects fell towards bigger objects, light bounced off of mirrors, sisters were annoying, and Pidge stayed alive.

Lance had taken that for granted. He’d known but never noticed how beautiful, clever, and impressive Pidge was until she’d almost –

Lance knew that he was incredibly stupid to only just now be realizing all this. He also knew that yesterday was the first time he’d been able to talk to Allura again, but she still made his gut tie itself up in knots.

Was it too much to ask to only have one girl problem at a time? Especially when said girls were BOTH unattainable? Now was not the time to get another crush!

Rubbing his eyes with a groan, Lance passed his room to make another circuit, maybe get something to drink. Or visit the cow.

He vaguely registered the swish of a door opening, but his name in Matt’s voice startled him. Just for the record, Lance did NOT scream, or jump, or flail, or press a hand to his heart. He could deal with surprise like a man.

Okay, he flailed a little.

Matt regarded him with a raised eyebrow. “Are you okay?”

No! “I’m fine. Just can’t sleep.” Lance scratched the back of his head and looked away, like if he made eye contact Matt would know exactly who he was thinking about and why. He realized exactly which door he’d just walked out of. “Were you in Keith’s room?”

“Maybe,” Matt said, sounding entirely too cocky. Lance looked back at him to see his cheeks were pink, but behind his coy and friendly smile his expression was completely shuttered. If there was anything Lance knew it was hiding behind a smile.

But what was with that smug…?

“Oh, oh! Oh gross, I’m never getting that image out of my head, thanks,” Lance grumbled. He made a point to rub at his eyes like he could erase it that way.

Matt said suddenly, “Are those my sister’s headphones?”

“Uh, yeah? She’s the only one who brought anything from Earth, so.” Lance shrugged.

“Pidge lets you borrow her stuff?”

“Maybe.”

Instant regret.

If his siblings were here they’d be smacking him upside the head and demanding to know if he had a death wish.

Matt’s expression morphed from disbelief to something completely unreadable. Lance scrambled back to his room as fast as his slippers allowed with a hasty “goodnight” over his shoulder.

Pidge recognized her brother’s footsteps. Even two years in space didn’t change his gait. She didn’t look away from the data on Shiro – the clone’s nervous system littering the screen in front of her.

“You should be sleeping.”

Huh? Pidge checked the time. The night cycle had started vargas ago. “I would’ve been awake thinking about this anyway. At least now I’m sleep-deprived and productive.”

She felt Matt look over her shoulder at large data pad in her lap. “How is he?”

“Not Shiro.”

Matt slumped down onto the floor next to her. “I guess this means I really haven’t seen him since the gladiator ring.”

Pidge didn’t know what to say. She’d rarely been in a position to comfort her brother before, not when he was the better part of a decade older. He wrapped his arms around his legs and rested his chin on his knees while he stared at the clone in cryogenic stasis. His hair was rumpled and he wore ragged sleep clothes with his boots.

“He saved my life.” Matt saved her from having to speak. “I guess I owe him for that. Before, when he was really here, was he okay?”

Pidge shut off the pad. “Not exactly? He’d been an enslaved cage fighter for a year and lost his arm and his hair was turning gray…” Matt gave her a look. Half exasperated, half amused. Pidge tapped her fingers. “He was good. Strong. He was like a… surrogate big brother. I think we all would’ve lost our minds without Shiro.”

Matt laughed to himself softly. “He was great for morale on the Kerberos mission.”

Pidge waited for him to keep talking but was met only with several minutes of silence. She looked at him to see shiny tear tracks on his face. Alarmed, Pidge climbed into her big brother’s lap and hugged him. He cried quietly into her shoulder, his back shaking, letting out ragged little gasps. He clutched her like a lifeline and she let herself cry, too.

The bed was cold. The door hissed open. Keith rolled over and Matt climbed back under the covers with him. The coiled hardness in Keith’s chest loosened when, in the dim light, he saw Matt’s eyes were bloodshot. The latter dropped a kiss on his temple. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Keith touched Matt’s jawline gently and tried to say something. Before he could find the words or his voice, Matt pressed forward so Keith’s face was buried in his chest and he had strong arms around his waist. Their legs tangled together.

The warmth and pressure lulled Keith back to sleep.

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sapphicscholar · 6 years

Note

Can hou write something (even a few words) about Sanvers or Director Sanvers not wanting to be touched? Not in a sexual way, I'm talking about a hand on a knee or something like that. You can choose between Alex, Lucy or Maggie. It's just... I'm feeling this way right now. I flinch. I definitely hate this year's holidays.

Hey, of course! I’m sending the best thoughts your way!

I just posted it on AO3 - http://archiveofourown.org/works/11602002/chapters/30095982

TW for moments of internalized homophobia

Chapter Text:

“I still can’t believe you never saw the original Jumanji,” Maggie gasped, looking over at Alex as though she had been the alien child who crash landed on earth all those years ago.

Alex looked to Lucy for support, but she just shrugged. “I’m just as shocked. My baby bi heart pined after a young Kristen Dunst in that flannel shirt/overall combo for a very long time.”

“Loser,” Maggie teased.

“Please, you had it just as bad.”

“Maybe.” Fixed with the weight of Alex and Lucy’s combined looks of disbeliefs, Maggie finally gave in. “Alright, alright, yes! But she wasn’t particularly high on my list of formative childhood crushes, so…”

“And who might have landed on that list?” Alex asked, a teasing glint in her eye.

“Well obviously there’s Miss Honey. Duh.” Lucy and Alex both nodded in agreement. “Um…oh! Harriet the spy.”

“That why you became a detective, Sawyer?”

“Hush. You two are the ones that demanded answers. Um…I had some confusing crushes on one or two of the Sandlot boys, though looking back on it…I had a wonderful partner while I was in the academy who looked and dressed an awful lot like Yeah-Yeah in their childhood pictures.”

“Oh yes!” Lucy squealed. “Some of those boys were adorable. I think all of my friends and I crushed on the older one…”

Eventually they lapsed into a contented silence, passing around the nearly empty bowl of popcorn until Maggie began the process of cleaning up the pile of blankets and pillows they’d accumulated while watching the movie.

The next day, they piled out of Maggie’s car at the National City mall, willing to brave the crowds to go see the new Jumanji film, though Maggie maintained it would “never be as good as the original.” As they traipsed through the parking lot, Alex shivered and grabbed for Lucy’s hands for warmth, only to find them rebuffed.

“Too cold out,” Lucy muttered, stuffing her hands in her pockets and ducking her head in the wind. She saw the hurt expression in Alex’s eyes, but tried her best to ignore it, unable to deal with whatever conversation it would lead to at the moment.

Once they made it into the mall, they were immediately besieged by crowds—families with crying children, teenagers out of school and hanging out with their friends, young couples still in the thrall of new love and oblivious to the world around them—and jostled closer together. Lucy nearly jumped a foot in the air when Maggie’s arm snaked around her waist, giving her what she supposed was likely meant to be a comforting squeeze. But immediately it felt suffocating, felt ticklish, felt itchy, like her body was rejecting the touch itself.

“Stop,” Lucy hissed, arching her back to get further away from Maggie’s arm, the loose hug feeling like a vice grip around her.

“Okay…” Maggie trailed off. “Sorry.” Shaking her head, she tangled her other hand with Alex’s, figuring it probably had to do with the crowds more than anything else. After all, there were plenty of days Lucy’s heart still raced when they were out and couldn’t see a clear path to an exit, when people brushed up against her with no warning or reason, and Maggie had come to expect it. She and Alex had learned to stand on either side of her when they were out, helping to form a kind of buffer when crowds were bad and her anxiety was acting up. They’d learned that sometimes it helped to walk closer to the perimeter of buildings, rather than cutting straight through the heart of it where the crowds were denser.

Lucy walked a few feet ahead of her girlfriends, taking a moment to breathe deeply, trying to slow her heart rate a little before going into the theater. She was grateful to see that the cinema was crowded, but in an orderly way, the families and couples culled into neat-ish lines and cordoned off with stanchions.

Eying the length of the lines, Maggie volunteered to go get their snacks, while Alex got in line for their tickets and Lucy ran to the bathroom to let cool water run over her wrists—an old trick she had learned for cooling herself down. She wasn’t sure that it actually did anything physically, but the important part was that she believed it worked, so it helped.

By the time she got out of the bathroom, Alex had their tickets, and Maggie was at the counter, picking out an assortment of treats to complement the drinks they’d already shoved into their bags, figuring they would save on half the expenses.

“Hey!” Alex waved, making sure Lucy saw her. “I’m so excited,” Alex gushed. “We haven’t all been together at the movies since our date back around Halloween.” But when her hand settled on Lucy’s hip, Lucy shoved it away.

“Seriously, knock it off,” Lucy snapped. “We’re in public.”

“And?”

“Just—there are kids around,” Lucy huffed.

“It’s not like I’m trying to fuck.” Alex crossed her arms across her chest.

“I just—just stop it, okay?” Lucy felt like the eyes of everyone in the theater were trained on them, could feel her skin still prickling uncomfortably from the heat of Alex’s touch, felt like she needed to wash and scratch at her skin until the feeling disappeared.

“How are my girls doing?” Maggie asked, popping in with a huge tub of popcorn in her arms and a wide grin on her face.

“Not now,” Alex mouthed, sensing that Maggie was in one of her giddy moods, which often led to excessive touching—something she normally enjoyed but knew wouldn’t be welcomed today, at least not by Lucy. She might not get what exactly was happening, but she knew better than to force Lucy into anything.

“Let’s just go see the movie, okay?”

Maggie watched the way Lucy seemed to fold in on herself, glancing between Maggie and Alex’s tangled fingers and the families—heterosexual families, Maggie corrected herself—that surrounded them. She thought back to how she had felt visiting one of her first girlfriends’ families in a conservative town in upstate New York, remembered the way they’d let everyone call them sisters, knowing it was the safer bet, remembered how they hadn’t corrected family members who knew and still introduced them as friends, assuming the introductions were keeping them safe. And she remembered still being struck with that same feeling years later even in liberal towns—places as generally open-minded as National City. And it didn’t matter that she was out and older and far removed from the homophobia of Blue Springs, that she went to Pride and nearly bathed in glitter and painted rainbows on her face, that she proudly asked women out on dates and held them and knew deep in her heart that their love was just as good as anyone else’s. None of it seemed to matter when her heart raced with remembered panic that was no less real for its being past. With a little nod at Alex, she dropped their hands, knowing that their relationship was still secure and sound, even if they weren’t public about it for an afternoon.

“So, Luce, Alex and I were thinking, maybe it’d be nice to do dinner at home today, instead of going out to eat.”

“Yeah, I’m a little tired,” Alex offered. “Plus, it’s so crowded, I don’t know if we’d be able to get a table.”

“Or we’d get stuck surrounded by crying kids,” Maggie added, wrinkling her nose, remembering the last time she’d ended up with a bawling toddler’s fistful of spaghetti on her leather jacket.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Alex and Maggie quickly agreed.

And even though they had offered perfectly legitimate reasons for their choice, Lucy suspected it had a lot more to do with her than they were letting on, and she was beyond grateful, even if she wished it wasn’t the case, wished she knew exactly why there were stretches of time when something as simple as a brush of a hand against her would send her reeling.

And in the dark of the theater, seated in the aisle seat with Alex to her left, Lucy dropped her hand to Alex’s, finding that she was okay when she controlled it, grateful when Alex dropped her hand back when Lucy froze as fingers tried to actively tangle back into her own. But she still smiled at Lucy just the same, still grinned when Lucy’s hand dropped back on top of hers, when Lucy’s fingers traced distracted patterns across her palm.

And on the way back through the mall, her girls flanked her, keeping the crowds at bay without once trying to force their way into her space, their animated chatting helping to keep away the conviction that she had messed up somehow, that she was pushing them back into the closet and keeping them from being happy. Because they were still smiling and laughing, still including her in their conversation and making plans for dinner that night and dates later that week. They were still hers, and they were still happy.

#ask me #geofender #director sanvers #fanfic #supergirl #lucy lane #alex danvers #maggie sawyer #alex x maggie x lucy #prompt fill #tw internalized homophobia #holidays can be rough #and that's okay #self-care is important #ao3feed

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whimsically-ominously-auspice · 4 years

Text

This was one of my favorite...

I went in and asked "where do you keep your back stock? You know when you get extra shipping?"

I flashed my CIA Badge and provided a "search warrant" "just so you know that's a licence to sue if you compromise my investigation of NYC streets and suburbs"

"Oh here let me show you" dude was too enthusiastic. I was sure i was gonna die.

But nope. Same as you seen here. Just stock room.

"But i do have a secret to show you. What's behind door number two?"

"A heart attack, thank you."

"No! An employee lounge!!"

"Cool let's get outta here"

Upstairs in the street i notified agent sart "his employeee lounge is going to have you show exactly how and where he gets in. Its behind the microwave"

We went in the back alley past the parking garage the kids were in...

To the right a downstairs attic... The factory bunker. "Let sabrina in. Show us how far it is" it wasn't even hidden a trash can stood in front same as for the employees lounge. A gray plastic barrel one.

The question remained was how many trash cans did that establishment have?

We did 3 weeks of investigation and research after the CIA did 9 months of surveillance.

Turns out it was human trafficking after all

But the store front owners didn't have a clue.

I kept going to that enthusiastic poor man and did all sort of shit to him to trick him out.

Finally he kicked me out and wouldn't let me return because he had a soulmate wife

So he was arrested and we searched and searched. There was no evidence at all he was committed into the crime life.

We gave him $15m in 1989 to further his career in enthusiasm and love.

But first I called his wife and had her meet me. I told her "your husband beat me up that is why he was arrested. Im sorry for keeping you away for the last three weeks. We arrested you as a decoy. And I want you to see this video of how and why your husband beat this investigation to death and why he was arrested"

He literally broke my nose for kissing his lips and using my finger to pull his jaw down to a Frenchie.

"YOU BITCH!!!" she jumped up.

"No!! TV!!"

"What?"

"He broke my eye socket, too!!"

"I hate her i want her dead"

"Quick throw money at her!" I ran to our secret stash of bolted cash. Opened the tool box and ripped the cash bands and started hauling thousands of dollars at her head.

"This is candid camera isn't it? I bet that isn't my husband"

"Oh!! But that is!!!!"

"SHES STILL HERE?!?!"

Between me and that woman i kept social distancing!!! Not just space mind you but racks of her merchandise or my huge body guards I had then at that time. Both if i could.

Turns out she didn't care about her merchandise with all that cash. "Big mistake!!"

"Oh you! He told me you had a small wedding and you couldn't afford the luxury! Ill pay you MORE if you please stop attacking me and you're forgetting the important issue! Your husband is out of jail and so are you!! Im with the CIA and I'm very sorry we let us do this to you"

So she greeted her man and said "i want them all out"

We went into the street. And she invited the biggest and "meanest" guard in Shaquille O'Neal, because she saw i hid behund him most and he couldn't help but smile and wasn't a complete threat to anyone.

"Okay but hold my hand"

"She knows the rules no further threat to her than a woman scorned."

I was literally shaking from head to toe. If they had a bad trick up their sleeves i was dead meat.

"I just want to thank you for showing me what a great man i own. Someone who would defend me against a girl by nearly beating her to death and then not saying anything so i don't worry he will be arrested. And further more. Me as a wife and not just me as a store owner am very proud how much money he was offered to become a complete criminal and he turned it down for the good of mankind. Thank you for showing me that. That I. I lowly ole me has a real life and true super hero"

She walked over to me and gently squeezed my nose "you are a clown. Now give me a hug"

**we tried to get him to be bought because he was the only store that wasn't into the scheme. So we really bent at him.

So we closed his shopping center down. The stores all around him. Asked them what they wanted nearby. Restaurants where they could eat. Clothes store. Grocery.

So the CIA opened all those store fronts he requested. And gave him a 75% open air discount if he ate in his store. 32% on clothes and luxury. 99% on his food from the bodega.

Plus $15M as an apology for arresting him.

$12,999.99 for a real NYC wedding. "You throw in the penny so you know your love will keep your marriage from ever being cursed"

They did.

I'm glad to see them opening eyes on how dangerous and easy it is to be abducted while shopping.

Alive and well I hope they are. They seem to be doing fine.

He was and is the Captain America you see in,this short film above.

He's less skinny than he used to be. But happy and enthusiasm I see hasn't left the lead.

So when you watch the Captain America he starred in. Remember and know. He is a true life hero.

I guarantee he can beat the shit outta anyone. Trust me so can his wife.

I wasn't scared cause I was playing. I knew i could die and so could Shaq. Alone that would been on me. But my son-in-law? That is why i was scared.

No money in the world was enough money for an apology to Queen Elizabeth the 2nd for accidentally getting her soulmate killed.

Every day hero. Captain America is.

They, too, had a miscarriage. Years and years before. Before i got enlisted on that band wagon.

2 almost 3 years later after they were ghosted into oblivion i went to visit and saw these beautiful twins playing hide and go seek... Or so i thought. But they were just reinacting the scene from her mother and I.

"My favorite movie" she's always said. "And you know. I didn't even have to give birth, also my favorite part"

"Shit I thought you were kidding me!!"

"Yeah you got called out to war and missed the special ending of our wedding"

"Oh my God how beautiful"

"Here let me show you. We got the video just in. Finally after all these years. And we have you to thank for it"

"Yeah I've been suicidal"

"And now you aren't but wait there's more!"

"Oh but how could there be?! Im so happy!"

"Sarina and Sarenity that are their names and our third child" she handed me an ultrasound "that is Gabraella. Oh and I thought I should match you with your soulmate. Gaberel. He will be going with yoh to South Texas. We need to get you out of this city where you'll be much safer. We thought we should be the ones to break the news to you. Now you're father. Your uncle, hasn't agreed yet and we have waited a week to inform you That you must go. He keeps asking you if you want to and you keep saying no but here's what he doesn't know and what you should be informed about before you make your actual decision. You're not going to die in South Texas but your chances of not surviving NYC are the highest they have ever been..."

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vanchlo · 3 years

Text

The Partner / Chapter Thirteen, "The Healing"

Word Count: 7.7k / Story Masterlist / Read The Assistant / Read on Wattpad / Song: I Will Follow You Into The Dark by Death Cab for Cutie / Warning: Sensitive and upsetting topics, such as death, grief, and miscarriage

"Since I've met you everything I've done has been in part because of you. I've cant untie myself from you, not my heart or my mind or any other part of me and I don't want to. I always thought love made you stupid make you weak, to love is to destroy. Love didn't make you weak, it made you stronger than anybody I'd met and I realized I was the one who was weak."

- City of Glass

Everything inside of me shouts to flee, to run away from him, but I know that I can't do that anymore. A new old awkwardness steals the space between us as I look into his eyes, feeling mine pour over with the feelings that his stir in me.

"Come on, let's get comfy for this," Harry murmurs. Next, I'm squealing when he stands up, carrying me in his arms. It's easier than I thought it would be when my arms circle his neck, and my head finds his shoulder. "You're lighter, Becks."

I hum an acknowledgement of sorts, not knowing what I could say to that, but part of me thinks that he knows that. I know that he does. That's not what I say next, but something else instead, "Claire's food might help with that. If you stop eating my brookies."

"Your brookies, you say? I don't remember her putting your name on them," he responds. Something sparks inside of me at the sound coming from his chest, the beginning of a laugh. It continues with its song as his feet find the whines and creaks of the hardwood floor. It had been a good while since I'd felt lucky to get to hear his sound, and even more so, to see it at work when he gently lays me down on the bed.

"I guess I can share."

"You're going to have to," Harry says, a duality in his words. I hear it bounce around in my head as I watch him join me underneath the covers. A sliver of lingering afternoon sun peeks in from the window, highlighting the freckles decorating his face.

At that thought, a sour guilt knits together in my gut, because how had I ever stopped feeling lucky to have him? I had wanted him for so long and couldn't believe it when I finally got to call him mine. Even more so when I got to call him my fiance, and the father of my child. He still was, nothing had changed that, and I was so grateful for it.

"There's no pressure, bug. No judgement and no wrong answers . . Alright?"

"Alright," I whisper, still shocked at how weird his touch feels. That was something I never thought I'd think two years into loving him now. My fiance and best friend. His lips hold sunshine when I finally meet his eyes, a color that makes my heart squeeze, because of what I wonder. "I can't tell you how many times I've wondered if she'd have your eyes. Your dimples. Your . . curls."

His nod is silent and yet it's not. It speaks volumes as my favorite shade of green hides behind the sadness filling his eyes. "I've wondered that too, but I've always wished our kids had your eyes. I know she would've been beautiful, just like her Mom."

"Harry," it's a sigh, one damaged by pain that doesn't even skim the surface of how that makes me feel.

"I know, bug. I know," his voice is light like a feather, but as his hand comes to cradle my cheek, I know it's the least bit that. Leaning into his hand, my lips quiver under the weight of his words and those I know I need to say. "I miss her too . . all of the time, Becks."

"What did I do wrong? I still don't understand w-why, Harry," looking up at him through watery eyes, I watch his reaction and how this one stings.

"You didn't do anything wrong, honey. You did it all by the book. Neither of us did and we can't continue to blame ourselves for something that we had no control over . . I wish I could tell you why, but I can't. I don't know. I don't think we ever will know why, Becks."

"I wish I knew why she had to die," I crumple in his hands until I'm hiccuping sobs against his neck, my favorite hiding place that I'd been hiding from. It had been so hard sometimes to just breathe, and now as I fought for it, it felt a little bit easier. I had been slowly drowning this entire time in my own tears and grief, but finally I found hold of him, and he was saving me. I'd at last let him.

"I do too."

"I don't want to forget her, but it's so fucking hard to think about. I know I need to do s-something so that I can . . can think about other things, but then I feel guilty just thinking about not missing her all of the time," I confess against the chain of his necklace, feeling the way his chest heaves against mine.

"I've been thinking the same exact thing . . I never want her to be forgotten, she's our daughter, but her death doesn't need to consume us anymore, Becks. I know it's silly to say, but I don't think she'd want us to do that . . Even if she was only a baby, she'd want us to be happy. I know that grief doesn't let you pick and choose, but I want to be happy again. Happy that we got to be her parents for those almost four months- you know what, we're still her parents and we always will be. Nobody can take that away from us. I want to remember the good. The first time hearing her heartbeat and seeing her on the ultrasound, telling our families about her, and picking her name . . I never want to forget her, Becks, she's our daughter, but we're going to be okay. Maybe not today or in a week, but soon. I want to feel okay again, even though she's gone."

"So do I, Harry," I tearfully agree, busying myself by playing with the curls on the back of his neck. "I don't want . . want her to think that means I've forgotten her or that I love her less. I can't . . can't even imagine having another baby anytime soon."

"I'm not ready either, Becks, and that's okay. I don't know when I'll be. It's alright that we're not okay and may not be for a while, but she knows. I like to think she knows how loved she is, and she's being taken care of by so many loved ones who are telling her that. Our grandpas and grandmas."

"Yeah, she's pretty lucky."

"So are they," he murmurs. It's a while before my lungs calm down and my eyes find him again. A corner of his mouth twitches but a dimple doesn't appear. Instead, a tear and its trail does, glistening on his cheek. "Hi, pretty girl."

A smile is all that I can suffice. I find it too hard to look in his wet eyes for long, and resort to playing with his rings. It had felt awkward to me when I'd put mine back on, not being able to remember why I'd ever taken them off in the first place. But then I remember, and my chest heaves painfully at the memory. It was because of the blood. They had become caked with it and he'd noticed at the hospital and taken them off of me to wash. It hadn't been until earlier today that I'd had the courage to look at them again.

"I never got to feel her kick, and I'm not sure if I wish that I had because then it would've been harder . . Your turn," it's a whisper from my lips as his wait for me.

"I can't find it in myself to get rid of those flowers on the table . . I almost wish that they'd stop coming. Every note says the same thing in some variation, and they're just a blatant reminder every time I see them . . that our baby died."

"It's not just you," I confess and when his thumb settles on the strip of gauze still taped around the edge of my palm, I know that my secret is on its way out.

"Can I see it, please?"

"Sure . . it's really not that bad. It just bled a lot at first, and . . and I didn't know how to tell you," I answer, letting him peel the medical tape back to expose the scabbed over cut. It came as a bit of a shock to me too, somehow making the wound hurt again when I saw the look in his eyes.

"That looks like it hurt, buggie. What happened? I wish you had told me . . had let me help."

"I didn't do it to myself, Harry," I murmur, grabbing onto the courage to look into his eyes. He vocalizes an understanding and I nod, relieved. "Another fucking vase of flowers came a few days ago, I don't remember when. It fell out of my hands when I got it from the delivery guy at the door. A sound scared me when I was picking up the glass . . I don't even know who they were from, because I'm so sick of the flowers too, and so I threw them away . . I can't believe I did that, I still feel guilty about it."

"You shouldn't, love. It's okay. Accidents happen," he assures me. I hear a duality in his words again and find it hard to ignore. "My Mom wanted to come over one of these days to help out. Maybe I can give her the task of doing something with them. They're sore on the eyes for both of us, and I'm rather sure they're bothering my allergies."

"Good excuse," I wink and a dimple almost appears in his cheek. If one did, I don't get the chance to see, because he's pulling me against his chest. "You should tell your Mom that one. It's the safer one out of the two," I continue, feeling my body relax against his. My eyes fall closed at the feeling of his lips against the crown of my head. His favorite spot.

"I think I will . . It's your turn, buggie."

With a labored sigh, I comb my thoughts for one that's tame enough to admit. How could I ever sum up the sour emptiness that's consumed me ever since I woke up that morning without him and . . without her? the thought comes but within moments it's pushed away by another. I don't need to because he knows. Because the emptiness lives inside of him too.

"I feel like I need to find a pretty way to explain all of this- what I'm feeling, but I finally realized that I don't have to. You're feeling it all too," I hardly hear the words myself, and even so, I know that he hears what they really say. "The emptiness, or lack of feeling."

"Yeah, I am . . I'm sorry for exploding on you the other day about it . . About us going through the same thing. It wasn't the right way to do it."

"It's okay. I'm kind of glad for it. It woke me up and made me realize it's not just me m-mourning our daughter."

Harry hums a reply, one I'm not sure how to handle, but he does that for me, "I didn't want to tell you and upset you more, and frankly, I've tried to ignore it myself too." his lips pause. Only when I prompt him with a concerned question does he continue. "She's been trying to hide it, but Gemma told me my Mom is taking it hard. She hasn't told me herself but since she's staying with my sister, Gemma's noticed it and told me."

"Oh God. I had no idea. I've hardly spoken to her . . s-since," I huff, my thoughts spiraling when my scope opens beyond the two of us. "It's not just us hurting."

"Yeah, neither did I. She's done a good job of hiding it, that's for sure. I think what's worst for her is that she wants to do something to help, but doesn't know what. I haven't really let her come around, only to stop by a few times. I know your dad struggles with how to help and Skye too, they've told me so- and I don't intend to upset you by telling you this, so please don't be. I just don't want it to be a surprise to you."

"I know. Thank you," I mumble, hearing his classic hum in return. It had been so long since I'd felt his facial hair rub against my face, and somehow, it sends a tranquility across my body. "I can only imagine how upset my dad is. He was supposed to be a grandfather for the first time. I've spoken to him but, of course, he didn't mention it. That's Chuck for you."

"He told me that he didn't want to upset you, Becks, and he's a quiet one from what I know. To no surprise, he said that he'll be okay, but it's you that he's worried won't be," Harry shares aloud. The volume of his revelation grows inside of my head, but my well of responses shrink away. "Your turn."

Diving into the web of thoughts that have scattered my brain lately, I'm not sure where to go next, and so that's what I say, "I don't know what to say. So much of it is scary . . to think . . . to share."

"You don't have to be scared to tell me, Becks. Nothing bad is going to happen if you say it out loud. I promise. No judgement, bug." Shaking my head doesn't rid my head of them, despite knowing from experience that it wouldn't. Seconds pass and they only grow more stubborn, wanting to be there, and I realize the only way to get them to leave is to say them.

"Harry, wh-what if we try to have another baby and th-they die too?" a shiver runs down my spine before I even say it. When I do, my mouth trembles against his collarbone. Despite squeezing my eyes shut, I feel the hot tears escape them, painting his skin.

If I hadn't known him for as long as I had, his silence would have scared me. Still, I'd be lying if it didn't phase me, because I wait impatiently until he speaks again.

"It scares the shit out of me too, Becks. I can't even . . think about trying for another, because I'm afraid too . . that we'd lose them. The doctor said how many times that it's usually a one time thing, but that doesn't make me stop worrying or being scared. I wish I could tell you that we'd be okay, but . . I don't even know that. I hope so badly we will be, but I don't know."

"We can't know, and that's what hurts the most."

The rumbling of an agreement tickles at my ears and against my cheek where it hugs his chest. Thoughts bloom left and right inside of my brain and aren't even slowed by his fingers combing through my hair. It was something that had never failed to bring me comfort and to lull me into a sleep. That is until now.

"What do we do then . . Harry?" I whisper, fear laced throughout my words. Again, he hesitates. I can almost make out the sound of the wheels turning in his head as he thinks. Lying next to him and wrapped inside of his arms, the tension in his muscles reflects his thoughts.

"I wish I knew, Becks. We just . . have to give it time, I suppose. They say time heals wounds, but a month later and I still miss our baby that we never met. I don't get it . . . I guess we'll give it some time and wait until we're ready, that's all that we can do. And to take care of ourselves."

"And each other," I break in, feeling the movement of his head nodding at my words.

"Yes, that too. It's more important now than ever," Harry says, announcing his words by pulling away to look me in the eyes through his wet pair.

"I can't say how sorry I am that I forgot to take care of you too."

There's just a tert shake of his head I see before my eyes are falling closed, and he's kissing me. I'd done this how many times by now, but it still feels weird. It had been a long time since I'd thought that, probably since my accident, and yet as I kissed him back it felt strange before it felt familiar. Like seeing an old friend. He couldn't know that's why the next tear fell down my cheek when we were looking at each other again, because of the way I'd forgotten him and us through all of this.

"You don't need to keep apologizing. Promise," he tells me with a warm tilt to his lips, just as he taps my nose with his finger. "Boops."

"I love you, Harry," it had been born in my mind shortly after meeting him, this very sentence. At first, they weren't the same words, but they always had held the same meaning. It stirs up emotion inside of me, as if I needed any more, as the Guilt Train speeds on, reminding me of how that thought had been absent from my head lately. It hadn't been the first missing phrase, but it had been the most important one, hadn't it?

Nonetheless, a few dapples of sunshine spread out on his lips as they return it, "I love you more, Becks." His smile waits, hesitating as my own lips do the same. Smiling and thinking.

"I love you the most."

The softest of chuckles pours from his lips as something glints in his eyes staring down at me. "Hey, there's my girl. She's back."

Nodding at him, I realize it's been too long since my lips have reached this high, but he always seems to bring them back. He never fails, afterall.

"I'm getting there. I'm trying."

Inching his face towards mine, my eyes follow his as he brushes his nose against mine, "Thank you, thank you, thank you," his words tickle at my cheeks like a feather, but they don't make me sneeze. They don't make me laugh, and most important of all, they don't make me cry. They make me smile and finally soak in the sunshine he pours onto me. "That's all we can do, Becks - is to try and get better. Eventually we will . . We'll be okay, I know it, maybe not right away but we will."

With the taste of his chapstick on my lips once again, I nuzzle my head into his neck and fall asleep there, for the first time in a very long time. One that had felt longer than all of the other times that I had been without him, even if it wasn't, but it surely was the worst of them all. Because he was there by my side but I couldn't find it in me to reach out and grab onto him. As he sings our song and lulls me into a cryless sleep, I promise silently to never let go again.

I woke with a start. It was a surprise, but after it took me a moment to make sense of my surroundings, it wasn't. I had been waking up this way for weeks now, but it didn't make it any easier to breathe this time. Especially not when I found the bed empty beside me. That was something I wouldn't have minded if it were even just two days ago, but no, not now.

Throwing back the covers, my eyes searched the dark room, unbeknownst to what time it was. That didn't let me fall back into the covers and search for sleep again. I hadn't been rational for a while now, and I wasn't when I raced to the door. Somebody beat me to it and upon looking up, a half asleep Harry looked down at me. Confusion twisted his eyebrows into a question but I knocked that off when I circled him in a hug. The sound of a breath leaving him came and then did his arms around me, and my crying.

"Hey, what's the matter?" he murmurs, sleep adding layers to his voice.

"I woke up and you weren't there, I was so scared."

A sound that couldn't be described, other than a huff of acknowledgement comes now from him, "Oh, I'm so sorry, bug. I was just getting a glass of water from the kitchen . . It's still the middle of the night, let's go back to bed."

I let him guide me back to our mess of covers that we call a bed. He pulls them over us and at the feeling of his head hooked over my chin, I try to calm down. It's never been something that I was good at doing on my own.

"Was it a bad one this time?"

A nod.

"What was yours about?"

"You didn't just get up for water, did you?" I ask into the empty air, surely the rest of the city asleep without us. We weren't up early for work or up late from other things. No, I was certain that very few others across the world were awake for the same reason that we were.

"No," he answers, his chest heaving with a sound of sadness escaping him. If only it were that easy. "I'll tell you what mine was about, if you'll tell me about yours."

"You should've been a therapist instead of a lawyer, always getting me to talk," I joke, trying to ease the tension. That wasn't what I was doing, but instead, I was deflecting. Like always. "I was watching everybody around us having kids and . . and we didn't have any . . Your turn."

"We . . We were in the new house and we had a baby. Phoebe," Harry confesses, a hollowness to his voice that hadn't been there since that day. I could tell by the sound of his voice that the waterworks weren't very far. Soon, it was my turn to hold him as his body shook with cries as I tried to keep my own in check.

"That sounds like a good dream," I almost said, knowing there was no point to it. It's the very reason his body shook with each loud sob, because it only made the nightmare scarier.

It was only after a few horribly sung songs to him that his soft snores began, mine soon following.

Upon waking up the next morning, it still didn't feel real that I was allowed to be hopeful. To try and be happy and to not feel guilty about it. A small smile hugged the corners of my lips when I remembered the way she sang me to sleep last night despite the upsetting reason for the occasion. I tried to push the memory of that nightmare away and how hauntingly real it had felt. I let my smile linger at recalling the way she took care of me. I had craved it for too long now, the way that I had needed her and at last she had let me.

Those are the thoughts that stayed with me when I pulled on my layers and did my morning walk, leaving her sound asleep with a kiss to her head. Despite the unwavering winter, it was something that had meant more to me than I'd initially planned. Even on the mornings where it took me half an hour or more to talk myself into getting out of bed, I still went on for a walk. It had started small, seeing as how I'd lost any workout regimen when everything had come crashing down. I started small and just walked around the block, but now, I had worked my way up to half an hour walks around the neighborhood.

By the time I'd made my way back to the house, I could hardly feel my nose and could think of nothing better than to slip back into bed with her. The letdown was more severe than I'd expected when I didn't find her in between the sheets. I couldn't be sure if I was surprised, but that was forgotten entirely when I also couldn't find her in the bathroom, in the kitchen, or in the living room. I didn't even waver at the bottom of the staircase before climbing it, ripping open doors frantically in search of her. No longer did I fret about the coldness of my limbs as an anxious warmth had spread over me. The thrashing of my heart and the irrational thoughts filling my head all came to a halt when I opened the door to the nursery, and there she was, sitting on the bed where everything was too.

Something swelled and shattered deep inside of me, leaving me breathless as I stood there, watching her. I looked on as she half faced me, clutching a gray onesie to her chest as guttural sobs consumed her. Recognizing it wasn't what made my hand fly to my mouth, and I wasn't sure what did that. It must have been a combination of the first thing we bought for our child that had passed away, and the fact that she was holding it. What had done it for me was opening this door to see her in here. The room of all rooms. It was where our baby was supposed to sleep, and slowly we had filled it with things meant for them. Now, it had become a mausoleum of sorts, and not once had I stepped foot in here since that fateful day at the hospital.

Pressing my hand against my quivering lips didn't silence the sounds they made as the rivers coursed down my face. Something resonated inside of me, telling me that she knew I was there. My vocal chords had taken a vacation the second I entered the room and laid eyes on her. Unlike them, my legs still worked and they carried me over to her. Sitting down beside her felt regretful when her cries became louder to my ears, and so did their trails on her cheeks. Her body shook harder when my arms came around her, holding her against me from behind. Mumbling her name had never felt so laborious or excruciating, but when she said our daughter's name, I knew it didn't compare.

"Can we . . . ," she started to say, a rockiness to her voice that was becoming far too normal as of late. "Can we look at it all together and then . . can we pack it away?"

Nodding against her cheek, I hummed an agreement. Looking down at her hands rolled into taut fists around the fabric, a memory swam into view, one I'd been trying to forget. She'd finally come around to the idea of being pregnant and during our first shopping trip after my accident, we'd perused the baby aisles happily. The FRIENDS 'Could I Be Any Cuter?' baby onesie had caught our attention right away, and we couldn't wait to put our little baby in it.

Pressing my lips to her shoulder now, I look on as she folds it nicely, smoothing her hand over the letters and the dark spots from her tears. With my mouth against the slope of her neck, my eyes followed when she took out the stuffed giraffe, a sob catching in her throat. There I remained, slowly finding my voice and smoothing my thumb over the plushie, knowing our baby would never play with the gift from her grandmother.

I took the next thing out of the bags we had been gifted from friends and family over the last few months. More stuffed animals and clothes passed through our hands, as did knitted blankets, hats, and more. With each one, the shoulder of her shirt grew wetter with my sad realization that our daughter would never get to love these things, because she was well and truly gone. She was never going to be born and be brought home to live in this house with us, or any other.

It shook my body for long after we placed each folded and caressed item into the plastic bin. She took longer to calm down inside of my arms, and even singing our song couldn't make it all better. For a good while now I had come to accept that nothing would except for time. Maybe not even that either.

In some way and somehow, it had been one of the worst days, despite the feeling I had that things were getting better. Slow it may be, but they were. It had almost been a month now since we'd lost our baby and it still hurt as much as the first day. I know he could hear the words bouncing around inside of my head, even if I didn't say them.

"Today was hard, huh?" Harry's murmured words smell of minty toothpaste when they hit my face. The words in my head can't find a way to my lips, and nor can my eyes find his. "How about this, bug. Can you rate how your day was? 10 being the worst ever pain and 0 being none?"

I find it in me to nod my head at his words, encouraged by his hand lacing with mine. The amethyst rings he'd surprised me with not long ago roots me to the moment as I brush my thumb along its stones.

"Eight . . and a half," I whisper, seeing from the corner of my eye how his head moves in acknowledgement. Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, it's hard to not see how he bites at his lip. His one tell that could reveal everything. "Your turn."

"It was rather close to a nine for me, as well, but . . . ," his words run away from him, and for some reason, it pulls my eyes over to him. Before seeing them, I know that the wet trails down his cheeks are what made my heart find him with my eyes. "I feel guilty even thinking about it, let alone saying it, but . . it felt good somehow to go through her things together and pack them away. I don't know how I'll ever not miss her, but it feels like some kind of closure."

His confession comes to me as a surprise, but not one that pulls my hand from his or otherwise. No, it keeps my eyes on his and turns my lips up in a comforting smile.

"Me too," I concur, looking on as a sad smile flashes on his face. It's gone as fast as his hand gets caught in his hair.

"God, I never knew something could be th-this fucking hard," he stammers, pressing his thumbs against his eyes. His overgrown curls move when his head shakes.

"Neither did I," it's a whispered reply, coming just before I'm mentally brought back to the day Myles told me that Harry had been shot. Laying my eyes on his naked torso now, I curse myself for getting used to the pink scars littering his body from that day.

Suddenly, I'm doing it all over again, wondering which day had been the worst of my life. Then or the day I'd been told our baby didn't have a heartbeat anymore. I'd done it how many times now and was never able to decide. I hadn't lost him but I'd lost her, and that's what made the two fateful days so different. Squeezing my eyes shut, I exhale and open them again, deciding that I don't need to rank them. They both were excruciatingly awful in their own ways, and will always be some of the worst days of my life.

"It kind of makes you want to drink, huh?" I say before I know what I'm doing. The guilt is instantaneous despite the honesty filling my words. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't-."

"No, you're alright, Becks. You're just speaking the truth and that's what I've wanted for us - to be honest with one another," letting his hand fall from his hair, so do his words from my favorite pair of lips. Turning to lay on his side from being on his back, the bedside lamp sheds light on the black ink covering his skin. "It's made me want to drink so badly, almost as much as when we broke up and all of those other times, so that I could forget. Has it made you want to?"

"Yeah. I was a little mad at you sometimes for it," the admission comes and on its tail end is the guilt, strong and present as ever. His eyes still shine but with that sentence they dull. I blink and it's gone, but the regret pooling from my words doesn't.

"You don't need to feel bad for saying that. I can tell by the look on your face that you are. You can be honest with me, I promise."

"Thanks, and you can with me too. Always, Harry," I respond and the momentous curling of his lips tells me that he heard. "Can I ask . . did you at all . . drink?"

"No," he sighs loudly, dipping his eyes, they fall on my left hand. He'd done it time and time again, and yet, the sensation felt stronger than ever, the way he played with my rings. This time is different though and so is the flash of a smile on his face. "I don't think the urge had ever been stronger, but I resisted. I admit I was close at times, but each time I was, I called my sponsor or Myles. We'd talk for hours in my study, either about you and the baby with My' or about the urge to drink. If I'd had a bottle around here . . God, I knew I'd probably have emptied it and even that thought scares me. I don't want to be like this, Becks." Sniffling, a shiny tear falls from the tip of his nose and onto my knot ring.

"How bad is it today, Harry? Rate it."

"A good seven," he confesses, tearing a hole in my heart when his wet eyes briefly meet mine. "But I had a meeting this morning on Zoom before you were awake, and those have helped a lot. I didn't want to do them at first . . after we'd lost her, but I kept with it, and it made a world of difference . . Myles has really been there for me too- No, don't even say it. Don't apologize again, you have nothing to be sorry for," his words grow murky with tears, ones that I feel against my forehead when his lips sponge a kiss there.

"I would if you'd let me," a weak joke passes my lips and a hint of his chuckle sounds. Holding his eye contact had felt so difficult for so long, but now, I want nothing more than to keep it. "I can't believe I'd forgotten about your meetings, but I'm really glad to hear you've been keeping up with it. Thank you . . But still, I'm so sorry for forgetting about you, and your . . "

"My alcoholism. You can say it, Becks, it's okay. It's not going to upset me . . It's true, I'm an alcoholic. I probably always will be, but hopefully it stays that way, in the past."

Nodding doesn't feel like enough but words escape me, like they so often have recently. I'm saved by the bell, quite literally, when a ding! interrupts our conversation. Rolling onto his stomach, Harry almost looks like a different person with the majority of his tattoos now hidden.

"Oh, yeah," he murmurs, making the bed move when he turns around. "I have yoga tomorrow in the morning."

When his eyes meet mine something in them prods at me, and my feeling sparks, almost knowing what he'll say.

"Would you like to come with? My favorite instructor is back again. I haven't been in ages but think it'd be good to go back, and to get out of the house," Harry proposes, his phone locking with the electronic click! Dropping it onto the covers, he moves around until he's comfortable again, waiting for an answer. "You don't have to if you don't want to, it's just an idea, bug. I don't-."

"Yeah, that'd be nice, actually. It's um, still done with the lights off mostly, right?" I craft my question carefully, waiting for his response that soon confirms my wonderings.

"Yep, as far as I know. So, if it hits us we can do our crying and nobody will know any different."

"Good," is all I say when I thread my arms around his middle, searching for the beating of his heart with my ear.

With the stroking of his fingers through my hair came a relaxation like no other. It was one that I hadn't been able to find in so long.

"Thank you," his words coast over the top of my head, stirring me from my almost sleep. "For coming back to me, Becks."

"Thanks for picking me back up."

"Always," was the last word he spoke before I drifted off to sleep with his lips pressed to my head, humming a song.

Before I opened my eyes, I knew it. I could tell by the sun shining on my face. I hadn't felt that in months, the London winter having descended on us months prior. Gray skies kissed with snow flurries had replaced the robin blue skies I knew that I'd see, the warblers and chickadees singing around me already. Flicking my toes skywards, soft stalks of wheat grass and flower petals tickled my legs. It smelled of sunshine and dirt when I breathed in my surroundings, just like the smells of summer back in Madley.

Already, I knew where I was and that upon opening my eyes what I'd see. Tears already sat underneath my eyelids when I opened them, spilling over my waterline when I knew she'd be there, waiting for me.

I was in heaven, wasn't I?

The trees around me kissed the sky with their golden branches and ripe fruits dangling from their limbs. Not one ivory cloud dotted the sky, the blue of robin's eggs filling it instead. No, that wasn't what my thoughts focused on or fought for. With my eyes, I forgot about them and the warbling brook off in the distance. I searched for her, left and right, and up and down.

But I couldn't find her anywhere. Not behind the towering maples over my shoulder, tucked into the cluster of black eyed susans to my left, or even next to the fawn asleep a few paces away, its mother beside it. They came faster down my cheeks as breaths halted in my lungs, searching for my own baby.

Only could my chest fill again with air when I turned back to face ahead, and by a miracle, there she was. The same olive dress hung down to her knees, and a smile bigger than the last time clung to her rose colored lips. His mouth. His nose too, and most beautiful of all, Harry's sage eyes sat in hers below shoulder length curls the same chestnut shade of his.

"Mummy!" she shouted in a voice dripping with honey, one that covered me all over when her arms came around me.

"Phoebe," I cried into her hair, the smell of Harry's vanilla and notes of citrus surrounding me. My hands shook as they raked through her hair soft as ribbons, and I held on. I never wanted to let go, because I knew that she was my baby. My Phoebe Anne.

Neither did she, even when she pulled away to look into my eyes with her glistening pair. His giggle escaped her lips as I made quick work of the tears painting her cheeks.

"I'm so sorry, Mummy."

My head couldn't shake faster and my heart couldn't keep up with how it grew at the sight of her. "You have nothing to be sorry about, Sweet Pea, it's nobody's fault."

"I didn't want to leave you and Daddy, Mummy," she confesses in a choked sob, bringing her dainty hand to hold my cheek. I smile back at her, unsure of how my lips could reach so high as I stare at the baby that I'd lost. "But I didn't have a choice."

"It's okay, Pea. I promise. Daddy and I know," my words are shaky, and so are my hands that card through her hair. Tan freckles dot her cheeks and nose, tickled by thick dark lashes donning her eyes. She's real. My Phoebs. "We love you so much, you'll always be our baby girl."

A nod replaces her words before she dives back into my arms again. Her cries sound like muffled squeaks against my front, and if I thought it were fake, her hands caught in the back of my dress confirm it. Her tepid tears soaking through the fabric. Her sunshine warmth against mine, just like his. Harry.

No sooner had I lifted my head and parted my lips, does a tree creaking in the distance catch my attention. Her head lifts too, the same color of her curls appearing from behind its trunk.

"Daddy!" she exclaims. I couldn't mistake it anywhere, the loud laugh that I hear from across the field. It's the one that has filled my dreams and made all of them come true. Peering down at her, her lips are pointed skywards again as she beams at me. "It's Daddy, Mummy! We're together again. A family."

I've blinked and he's only a step away, dimples set deep into his cheeks. Once more, his sunshine is dancing across my face as he looks at me.

"I always knew she'd be beautiful, just like her Mum," Harry remarks

fondly, eyes falling and I follow them. Instead of a young girl wrapped in my arms, a pink baby is cradled in them. The very one I'd found crying in that hospital crib, waiting for me. "Our Phoebe, baby Pea."

Something like a happy hum fills my lips as he takes the last step and wraps an arm around me, the both of us.

"My girls," Harry coos, sponging a kiss to my temple before bending down to press a whispery kiss to our daughter's forehead. It wrinkles at the touch, but she relaxes and continues to stare up at us. Again, his sage greens sit in her eyes as the dimple in her left cheek twinkles when her lips give a smile.

I lean into him, feeling his nose pressed against my temple as she coos, her beautiful face growing hazy in front of my teary eyes.

"It's okay, Becks, we don't have to be broken anymore. She's okay, she'll always be our baby, our daughter. We won't forget her, she knows that, and she won't forget us either. They'll take care of her for us until we come back," he murmurs, lifting my head with his words to find familiar figures walking out of a cluster of oak trees from our left.

"Grandpa Holte," I whisper in amazement, catching the smile on his wrinkled face.

"And mine too," Harry adds when we see his grandfather appear from behind a birch tree. The wind whipping through the trees and the singing of the birds quiets and so does my heart when I see who appears at my grandfather's side.

"Grandma Ann," I hardly hear it myself, the words that I speak caught between tears. The smile framing them grows at the sight of a black goldendoodle bounding towards us, Harry's dog Lola who passed away not long after we'd met.

"They'll take care of her for us," Harry repeats. I see it in his eyes when I reluctantly look away from our family walking towards us. He nods and a corner of his mouth lifts again. "She'll watch over us, Becks, just like they've all been doing. She's our guardian angel, our little Phoebs."

I nod to his words, closing my eyes when his forehead touches mine, resting there. Only do I open them again to look down at the curious baby who remains quiet, reaching a hand over to smooth back her ebony colored hair. His lips graze my forehead once more and I bury my head into his neck, cradling her tiny head.

"It's okay, Mummy," I hear, her honey sweet voice saying in my head. "I'm okay, and you and Daddy will be too. I want you both to be happy, because it's okay to be . . It's okay."

The twinkling of the alarm clock steals me away, and I'm suddenly staring at the ceiling. Soft light peeks in through the curtains, dancing across the walls and duvet cover. Turning my head, I feel the coolness of the pillow graze my cheek as I search for him. As if he knew what I was thinking, his messy head of curls turned towards me. A sleepy smile pulls at his lips, a tired twinkle in his eye.

"You wouldn't believe the dream I just had, Becks. I-It was about . . about the baby. Phoebs."

"Try me," I smile, already feeling the onset of tears as he smiles back at me, them not far off in his eyes either.

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