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counttotwenty · 4 years

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TWW Fantasy Season 8:17 Like Being Pecked to Death by a Duck (Act 3)

Act 3 Interior-Lou's office Wednesday evening 8:00 pm Lou sat at her desk looking through the new pages Otto had just finished laying out the President's vision of how to shore up the American education system. "This is good stuff. Really good stuff," she nodded approvingly. "It needs a little polish but the basics are good." "Thanks," Otto said. Then with a smirk "And I mean thanks." Lou rolled her eyes. "Don't start, Junior." "I'm just saying, I told you that with the correct motivation we could get this thing knocked out in no time flat." "I hope you don't think we're gonna keep this up," Lou scoffed. "Just till we're through the State of the Union." Lou looked at him skeptically. "Wait....let's just say all important speeches and leave it open." "Otto," Lou warned, but she couldn't stop the corners of her mouth from turning up a little. "Admit it," Otto wheedled, "you're having fun." Lou carefully schooled her features. "It's not altogether unpleasant." "And no one's getting hurt," Otto offered. "We're consenting adults." "Let's not forget I'm your boss." "Luckily I like being ordered around," Otto waggled his eyebrows. "Get out of my office. Get back to work." Otto laughed and headed for the door. "I'm finishing up the press release on the water standards bill but later on I wanted to map out the Social Security section of the State of the Union."

"OUT!" Cut to: Interior--Sam's Office Sam heard a soft tap on his door and looked up to see Ainsley standing in the doorway. "Your assistant isn't at her desk," she said, still not entering the office. "Come in, come in," Sam urged. "I could use a break." He pushed aside the papers he had been reading and stretched in his chair. "Tough day?" Ainsley asked as she slid into one of his visitor's chairs. "Not tough so much as incredibly frustrating." Sam rolled his head from side to side. "I don't seem to have done much today except hurry up and wait. You?" "About the same," the blonde sighed. "I was just down in the Mess having a snack." "Did you miss dinner?" "No." Sam laughed. "I should have known." "Yes, you should have," Ainsley smiled. "Any word on the Kazakhstan explosion?" "We're still waiting. The sun's up and they finally have the fire under control so hopefully it won't be more than few hours." "Still no chatter about an attack?" "None." "That's a good sign." "It is indeed," Sam agreed. Ainsley noticed him mindlessly fiddling with a velvet jewelry box on his desk. "What's that? Someone's Christmas present?" "What? Oh this," Sam stopped fiddling and placed his hand on top of the box. "No, it's actually a present that got returned to me." "Returned? Who would...oh" Suddenly the dime dropped. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have butted in." "No, it's ok. It was Lauren of course. I gave it to her the night of the Halloween party. And she didn't so much return it to me as she left it on the table when she went back to California." "She didn't like it?" "I have no idea. She never wore it. She said it reminded her of everything that was wrong with our relationship." "Everything that was wrong?" Ainsley had a feeling Sam needed to talk but she didn't want to push him too far. "I knew she was unhappy with me when I bought it. I knew I hadn't been focusing as much on our relationship as she wanted me to. So I did the thing stupid men have done through the ages. I bought her an expensive gift thinking that would take care of the problem." "Sam," Ainsley sighed softly. "Don't beat yourself up." "I'm not really. I've just been trying to understand where I keep going wrong." He flashed her a sad smile. "This is two failed engagements for me now." "It's not all your fault," she assured him. "You're right. It's not. But it's partly my fault." "Have you come to any conclusions?" "Lauren said I changed once we got to DC. That I wasn't the same guy I was in California. And looking back, I realize she was right." "We all go through changes, Sam." "I know. But I've finally figured out that there are two actually Sams. There's lawyer Sam, and there's politician Sam." "And they're different people?" "Very different. Don't get me wrong I loved my law firm work but it was very different from what I do here. I was able to turn it off at the end of the day." Sam laughed ruefully. "I used to be able to leave the office and an hour later be sitting in a restaurant having dinner and my latest case was the farthest thing from my mind." "But you can't do that here." It was a statement not a question. "No, I can't." "It's possible to have both personal and professional success. Look at Josh and Donna." "I know it's possible. I think the problem is that I always seem to find a woman to get serious about when I'm lawyer Sam and they don't like the changes that occur when I turn into politician Sam." "Are you thinking about turning back into lawyer Sam to facilitate your love life," Ainsley teased. "No. Sitting here--in this office--even on days like today when I feel like I'm being pecked to death by a duck--I know this is where my passion lies. This is exactly where I want to be. I went back to the law to lick my wounds after I lost the Congressional race but no matter how many times I tried to convince myself otherwise, it wasn't where my heart was. That's why it didn't take much arm twisting for Josh to get me back." "Ok then, I think I know what you need to do," Ainsley said determinedly. "What's that?" Sam smiled. "You need to find a woman who will fall in love with politician Sam." "Is there one hiding around here somewhere? She'd almost have to be. It's not like I have much spare time to go out and find her." "You're preaching to the choir, Mr. Seaborn." "Ah come on. A girl like you must have straight laced, daddy approved suitors lined up around the block. You're probably beating them off with a stick at the RNC meetings." Ainsley snorted. "But you see, this is where you and I have a similar problem, Samuel. Those men are enamored of Republican good girl Ainsley Hayes." "Not bad girl Democrat fraternizer Ainsley Hayes?" Sam smirked. She rolled her eyes. "Working at the White House the first time around changed me. For the better I think." "Me too," Sam said softly. "When I went back out into the private sector I realized that a) there is nothing as exciting as working in politics and b) those people are never going to allow me to change. They still expect me to be the old Ainsley and I'm just not her anymore." "We're a pair aren't we?" "We are indeed. Like two peas in a pod." "Hey," Sam said, brightening considerably, "why don't you take the necklace?" "Don't be silly, Sam. I can't accept that." "Because it has ex-fiancée cooties?" "No. Because it's far too extravagant." "I thought you just said we're like two peas in a pod?" "We are." "Then this is my Christmas gift to my podmate." Ainsley looked skeptical. "It's not like I can return it," Sam argued. "It's been too long. And it's not like I have anyone else to give it to." "What about your Mom," Ainsley suggested. "She hates my taste in jewelry." Sam opened the box and turned it towards her. "Well that's silly because this is one gorgeous necklace," Ainsley admitted. "It's yours." Sam closed the case and pushed it across the desk towards her. "Does this mean I have to go out and buy you an insanely extravagant Christmas gift," Ainsley asked as she picked up the box. "No, but it means you have to go to the Santos' New Year's Eve party with me so people don't cast those 'poor Sam' looks at me all night." Ainsley pretended to think about it. "If I must." Cut to: Interior-Josh's office "Ron Butterfield is here to see you," Margaret said. "Send him in." Margaret waved the lanky Secret Service Chief into Josh's office then left and closed the door behind her. "We got an all clear on the white powder," Ron said without preamble. "We're not sure yet exactly what it was but we know it wasn't any sort of toxic agent." "That's good," Josh said. "You already briefed the President?" "I gave him the all clear but no details. I'll have a full report on your desk before morning." "Sounds good, Ron. Thanks." "No problem." Josh noticed that Ron showed no intention of leaving. "Is there something else?" "I just wondered if you'd thought any more about what I said earlier." "What you said earlier?" "About women liking...." "Ron?" "Yes." "All due respect, and with full knowledge you could kill me before I could get to the phone, get out." "I'm just trying to help." "I'll add the suggestion to the pile." "I'll make sure everyone gets word of the all clear," Ron smirked as he turned to leave. "Thanks, Ron." Cut To: Interior-Lester's Office "One down," Lester sighed gratefully as he hung up the phone. "Josh says we got an all clear on the anthrax thing. We won't know exactly what the substance was for a few hours but we can announce that it was definitely not toxic." "Excellent," Annabeth said as she munched happily on a bear claw. "That's certainly a relief. Though I was eating all these calories at least partly on the theory that if it was something bad I wouldn't die with salad on my breath." Lester laughed. "What?" "You know...what if you have to go through eternity with the taste of the last thing you ever ate in your mouth. Would you really want that to be salad? "I guess not," Lester agreed. "Of course now that we know it's nothing I'll have to spend an extra hour in the gym every day for a month. Oh well. It was worth it. These bear claws are fabulous. Any word on Kazakhstan?" "Nothing yet." Lester nearly got whiplash from the conversational shift. "So you're not calling a lid?" "Nope. Though you know.... " he teased. "What?" "This whole Kazakhstan thing could be very dangerous. If it all falls apart we could be standing on the brink of World War 3. "Well then we have no choice," Annabeth said grimly. "I better run down to the mess and see if they have any more bear claws?" "Exactly. And I'll call the White House gym and ask if they can open an hour early for us for next month." Cut to: Interior-Josh's Office "Hey, Martin. What's the word," Josh asked as the Mansion Manager entered his office. He stood close to the door, worrying his fingers nervously. He was much less comfortable in front of Josh without Donna's beaming smile to give him courage. "We've got all the lights back on," he started. "I kinda noticed that," Josh said, pointing to his desk light. "All the wires have been rerouted and we don't expect to have any more problems." "Great." "Everything should be perfect for Matt Lauer's visit tomorrow morning." "Good, because that's the most important thing we have going on in this building tomorrow," Josh said sarcastically. "Stop torturing Martin, Joshua," Donna said as she entered the office from the hallway. "Everything back on track, Martin?" "Absolutely, Ms. Mo...err...I mean Donna," he blushed. Josh cocked an eyebrow. "I was just telling Mr. Lyman that all the wires have been re-routed and all the lights have been checked and everything is good to go." "Thanks, Martin. We appreciate all your hard work today. It's really gonna pay off when the First Lady gives Matt Lauer the tour tomorrow." Mark beamed. "It was my pleasure. If there's nothing else you need from me I'll be going." "Have a good night," Donna smiled. "I'll see you tomorrow." As Martin left the office Josh stared at Donna incredulously. "We appreciate all your hard work today," he said in a bad imitation of Donna's voice. "I was just being nice." Josh looked dubious but came out from behind his desk and wrapped his arms around her anyway. "Did you need something?" "I came to say goodbye and to see if you knew when you'd be home." "I have no idea. This Kazakhstan thing is still up in the air. Hopefully it's nothing but if it's something everything is gonna explode fast and I'll need to be here. It'll probably be a late one." "That's ok. I have a bunch of presents to wrap." "Oh damn. I wanted to help with that," Josh said with mock disappointment. "Very funny." Donna kissed on the cheek. "I'll see you when you get home." CUT TO: Interior-Josh's Office Continuous After Donna left Josh closed both the door to the hall and the door to Margaret's office. He took a few deep cleansing breaths. He could do this. He was used to dealing with some of the most powerful people in world and bending them to his will. This phone call shouldn't scare him at all. Then why were his palms so clammy? He wiped his hands on his pants and reached in his top drawer for a breath mint. He sat up straight, made sure his desk was tidy, then picked up the phone and dialed. "Hello? Mrs. Moss?" "Josh, I'm so glad you called back," she said happily. "Let me put you on speaker." "Hi, Josh, " Gary Moss's voice boomed across the line. "Hello, Mr. Moss. I'm glad to get a chance to talk to the two of you together." He decided to dive right in before anything went wrong. "As you both know I love Donna very much. I've never felt about anyone the way I feel about her and I want to ask her to marry me. It would mean the world to both of us if we could have your blessing." "Oh, Josh, of course you have our blessing," Marjorie sniffled.

"I've never seen my little girl as happy as she is when she's with you," Gary added. "I'd be honored to

have you as a son-in-law."

"Thank you," Josh said, fighting back the lump in his throat. "That means the world to me. I haven't asked

Donna yet so I'd appreciate it if you could keep my secret until I do."

"Of course we will dear," Marjorie said. "Do you have any idea exactly how you're going to propose yet?"

"No," Josh stifled a smile. "Do you have any suggestions?"

END ACT 3

#tww #josh/donna #fantasy season 8

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captivesrp · 5 years

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From her place seated on a pile of pelts, Anwen looks around the cluttered stone hut. Crocks and barrels line the walls, packed with fish and other winter preserves; piles of sail canvas lie waiting to be mended; bunches of fragrant herbs hang from the ceiling rafters. The smoky fire casts a flickering light over the rough woven tapestries that line the damp walls.

This space which once seemed so empty because of her father’s absence is now full to overflowing. Ffrewgí sits near Anwen; she has been showing him the different knots she uses for sail and rope repairs. Beside the fire, Anwen’s little sister Cadi is curled up on Heulwen’s lap, sleepily playing with the hound Bychan’s floppy ears. Outside, Anwen can hear the sound of Cydwag and Anwen’s old friend Siana, newly returned from a hunt. Murchadh sits at the table polishing an old sword. His arm is crippled no more; Ffrewgí had used his magic to heal him soon after their escape from the Gwaedwn. Anwen smiles as she thinks about the expression of awe and delight that Murchadh had for days afterward, and still shows whenever he finds another task that has to re-learn how to do.

Anwen’s mother bustles back and forth between the fire and the table, cleaning up after the evening meal. Her endless stream of chatter now seems pleasant, rather than grating, filling all the cracks and corners with the sounds of home.

It has been more than three moons since the children’s escape from slavery. Although many of her friends have homes they want to return to, Anwen had more hope of finding her home than the others did. Living on the coast, she knew she just had to make her way to the sea and travel south along the coast; so she invited everyone to come with her. It would be safer than wandering in the wilds with the risk of pursuit and it not being long until winter. Everyone had come—except Ainsley. He slipped away from the group the day after their escape, without an explanation or a goodbye. That grieved Anwen, but she found peace in the thought that wherever he had gone, that is where he wanted to be, and perhaps their paths would cross again someday. The rest of the group had continued on to Anwen’s village. Without a boat, the journey took nearly a whole cycle of the moon, but finally they climbed the rocky crags that Anwen knew so well, and looked down at the small cluster of stone houses that is the village of Chwythu.

The surprise at their arrival was unbounded. Anwen’s kidnapping had thrown the village into a state of chaos, but the search parties up and down the coast had not discovered anything. Finally, they had given her up as lost; so they could scarcely believe it when she walked into the village on that clear, late autumn day. Her mother screamed, and Siana looked like she had seen a ghost, but Cadi ran into Anwen’s arms.

The celebration lasted for days, as the children were asked to tell their story again and again. Homes were opened to them, and they were all given a place to stay. Anwen was not sure how the villagers would respond to the magical gifts wielded by Anwen and her peers, but that only increased the awe and respect that were shown to the children.

All of the attention and enthusiasm was a little overwhelming, though, and Anwen was glad when life began to settle into a regular routine again. Winter soon broke over the village, with its storms and bone-chilling cold. Now, everyone stays indoors, for the most part, working on repairs and small projects in preparation for the days when more favourable weather will return.

Murchadh has told Anwen that when the winter has passed he will leave to go travelling with his cousin Tyree. Murchadh was a travelling storyteller before he was captured, and longs to wander the roads of the world again—and he has told the others that as he travels he will search for their villages, so that one day they can each return home again. Knowing that one day she will have to say goodbye to her friends, Anwen enjoys every day she has while they are still with her.

Cadi runs across the room and gives Anwen a big hug. It is her bedtime, and she always says goodnight to Anwen first, then goes on to give a hug to every other person in the room. Anwen smiles as she watches Cadi run from friend to friend, leaving a trail of laughter behind her. Last of all, Cadi grabs Heulwen’s hand. “Come on!” she begs. “Tell me a story! Tell me a story!”

Heulwen lets herself be pulled along after her enthusiastic young friend, and together they disappear from view.

Soon afterward, Anwen’s mother retires for the evening, and silence settles over the small stone hut, disturbed only by the rustle of logs settling in the fire and Bychan’s snoring. Anwen feels the wind picking up outside. There must be another storm blowing in. Quietly, she sets down her work and glances around the room. Everyone seems busy and content with their tasks. Taking her cloak off its hook by the door, Anwen wraps it around her shoulders and slips outside.

A rush of cold sea air greets her and takes her breath away. Solitary raindrops sting her face, heralds of the oncoming storm. Pulling her cloak tighter, she follows the old, familiar path up to the crags.

Once again, Anwen stands on the heights, braced against the onslaught of the wind and rain. This place is just as much home to her as a stone hut could ever be. She stands with head uplifted, reveling in the moment, until the rain passes and clouds overhead tear into pieces and sail past the stars, revealing the light of a crescent moon.

Anwen turns toward a great stone, standing solitary upon the crag. Kneeling in front of it, she takes two small candles from her pocket. Carefully, she presses them down into the turf so they stand upright. With a little smile, she forms a bubble of still, calm air, just around the candles. She lights them, and their flames rise straight and tall, with only the slightest flicker, even though all around them the wind rushes by.

The warm light of the candles glistens on the stone, illuminating the ancient carvings on its face, worn almost invisible by constant exposure to the elements. Reverently, Anwen kneels before it. For two years she had refused to light a candle for her father. Now it is time.

Slowly, Anwen becomes aware of a disturbance in the flow of the wind behind her. Looking around, she sees Ffrewgí, standing unsteadily in the tumultuous wind. Anwen smiles and gestures an invitation for him to join her.

Hesitantly, Ffrewgí crouches beside her. He starts to speak, but the rushing wind carries his words away. Anwen reaches out to the pocket of calm air around the candles and enlarges it to encompass both herself and Ffrewgí. The exhilaration of the rushing wind fades into a feeling of deep calm. Anwen smiles at Ffrewgí. Now they can talk.

The candle light flickers in Ffrewgí’s eyes as he looks at her, then his gaze moves to the stone looming above them. “What is it?”

“The Great Stone,” Anwen explains quietly. “It watches over everyone who is lost at sea. When we grieve for those who are gone, we light a candle by the stone to remind it to watch over them for us.”

Ffrewgí looks down at the two small flames. “Who are the candles for?”

“My father and Alaric. I know they weren’t lost to the sea, but I like to think that the stone is watching over them anyway.”

Ffrewgí stares at the flickering candles in silence for a while before asking, “Do you think you’ll see your father again?”

Anwen lets out a long breath. “I don’t know. It’s strange to think of him being out there, somewhere. But, if I never see him again, I think I’m okay with that. I am where I want to be, and he is where he wants to be. But I still miss him.“

Ffrewgí nods thoughtfully. “Do you have any more candles?” he asks, then blushes under her glance. “I—I miss people too.”

Anwen squeezes his hand. “Next time we can come up together, and we’ll bring more candles.”

They wait in silence, watching the candles slowly burn down and sputter out in the damp turf. Shadow falls over the stone again. Anwen looks over at Ffrewgí. “Do you miss your home?”

Ffrewgí pauses. “I do. I … I want to go travelling for a season—or more—with Murchadh, if he will have me. I want to see my village, my family.”

Anwen nods. Of course Ffrewgí wants to go home. There is a catch in her voice as she admits, “I’ll miss you.”

Ffrewgí looks at Anwen for a moment. “I want to see them one more time. I want to say a proper goodbye.” Seeing Anwen’s questioning glance, he continues. “Too much has happened. I picture myself back in my home village and I can’t see a place for me there. I’m not a weaver anymore. I’m not a hunter, not a warrior.” There is a short silence, then Ffrewgí continues hesitantly, “If you will have me, I have found a place with you—with the others too—” he adds, his face reddening, “and after Murchadh and I have found my village, I would like to return here.” He looks out over the sea and smiles. “If I can get used to the wind.”

Anwen laughs in delight. When Ffrewgí glances back toward her, she adds quietly, “I’d like that.”

Anwen stands up into the wind. It has been gentling, and no longer takes her breath away. Ffrewgí stands beside her. A comfortable silence falls as Anwen lifts her eyes above the distant horizon. The wind has driven the last of the clouds from the sky and the stars shine brightly overhead.

Maybe in the spring she will learn how to sail. She does not have to worry whether the wind will blow her right off the boat, like her father always teased would happen if she was not careful. Maybe Ffrewgí could come sailing with her. That would be fun. If they become confident enough, maybe they could even try sailing at night. She looks over at Ffrewgí and grins.

Ffrewgí is staring intently into the distance. “What’s that?”

Anwen moves closer to Ffrewgí and follows his gaze as he points out across the water. In the distance, the shadowy sea glimmers with the moon’s reflection, the line of the horizon showing clearly against the starry sky. But one dark shape stands out against the stars. Anwen’s eyes trace its familiar shape. There, on the far horizon, is a sail.

#anwen #epilogue

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lastbluetardis · 6 years

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And Babies Make Five and Six (8/16)

Summary: Sometimes the things we want the most stay just out of reach. But after an extra helping of heartache as they try for a third baby, James and Rose are blessed with double the joy.

Trigger warning for infertility for select chapters–this is one of those chapters.

Ten x Rose AU

This chapter: NSFW (not very explicit), 10,300 words (another long one)

We’re finally at the climax of the story! This chapter was so hard to write, in more ways than one. I rewrote this approximately ten million times, and I’m really proud of it.

Betaed by the marvelous @chocolatequeennk. This is also for @doctorroseprompts and actually for a real prompt this time! It’s for the domestics prompt (yeah yeah, I know it’s not in the TARDIS, but it’s still life at home).

AO3 | TSP | FF | Perfectly Matched Series

Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 | Ch10 | Ch11 | Ch12 | Ch13 | Ch14 | Ch15 | Ch16

James took the lead on planning their trip to Paris, and by the time December first arrived, he’d booked a hotel suite and arranged a flight for them.

December passed in a blur. For Rose, she was busy scheduling holiday shoots and arranging her team’s holiday vacation schedules. For James, he was swamped with frantic students panicking about their final exams.

But finally it was time to drive to Scotland to celebrate the holidays. They only arrived on Christmas Eve this year; it was the soonest Rose could take off work, considering she was taking off the week after the New Year.

The combined giddiness of being in the Scotland manor and the impending arrival of Santa Claus made it difficult to get the girls to go to bed. They were wound up during the final Christmas film of the night—How the Grinch Stole Christmas!—and they asked to watch another movie all throughout their bedtime routine.

“You know the rules,” James reprimanded as he oversaw Sianin’s clumsy attempts at brushing her teeth. He stepped in to help with her molars when he saw she was content just to brush her front teeth.

“But Daddy!”

“But whatty?” he whined, grinning when she giggled through a foamy mouth of toothpaste. “Rinse and spit.”

He then guided her to the room across the hall from the master suite, where Rose was tucking Ainsley into the full-sized bed that the girls would be sharing. Sianin took a running leap and jumped on top of her sister.

“Santa’s comin’ Ainsley!” she shrieked, bouncing excitedly.

“I know, Sian,” she answered, her eyes lit up in excitement. She turned to face James. “D’you think he’ll like the biscuits we left out?”

“Definitely,” he said, eager to scarf down the biscuits that were on the coffee table as soon as the girls were asleep. “But it’s time to sleep. And remember, no presents ‘til seven.” He pointed to a clock on the wall, where Rose had put a sticker of a Christmas gift on the ‘7’. “Right, Sian? Seven o’clock.”

“Seven o’clock is present time,” she parroted, wriggling under the covers. “Coffee then presents.”

James and Rose shared a laugh, and they fussed with the blankets, making sure each child was comfy and warm enough.

“Goodnight,” he whispered, leaning over Sianin to give Ainsley a kiss. He then kissed Sianin’s forehead. “I love you both.”

“Night, Daddy.”

He stood from the bed and watched Rose kiss their daughters, then flicked off the light and shut the door.

They retired to the living room to place the gifts beneath the tree and munch on the plate of biscuits. Just as they were about to call it a night and head to bed, knowing tomorrow morning would come way too soon, they saw headlights through the front window.

A few minutes later, the front door of the manor opened.

“It’s started snowing!”

James and Rose walked to greet Donna and her family. Flecks of snow were in her hair and she was positively glowing. Married life was suiting her well.

“Maybe Ainsley and Sianin will wake up to a white Christmas,” Rose mused. She stepped forward and offered hugs to Donna, Lee, and Wilf, and a tight smile to Sylvia. Even after all these years, the woman still put her on edge. But she seemed to be in a good mood that night. “Merry Christmas, everyone.”

“We’ve g-g-got a bit of n-n-news,” Lee said excitedly, wrapping his arm around Donna’s waist.

“We’re pregnant!” she cried, giggling.

Rose’s heart dropped and she heard a dull ringing in her ears. James stiffened beside her and she hoped he had the good sense of smiling.

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Rose said. Her cheeks hurt as she forced a grin across her face. Her mouth felt dry.

“It’s funny, we weren’t trying or anything,” Donna said. She passed her hand over her flat belly, and Rose felt slightly nauseous to watch Lee rest his hand atop hers. “It just sort of happened, y’know?”

Rose felt a hand fumble for hers, and she reached out to twine her fingers through James’s. She squeezed, and her nose burned with welling tears. It wasn’t fair that Donna got pregnant without even trying.

“Congratulations.” James’s voice sounded slightly hollow, but in their elation, Rose doubted Donna and Lee even noticed.

“You still have all of your old baby things, don’t you?”

Rose turned her attention from the happy, expecting couple to Sylvia. For the first time in Rose’s memory, Sylvia looked proud of her daughter.

Her words finally sank in, and Rose’s stomach knotted, knowing exactly where Sylvia was headed.

“Why don’t you donate it to Donna and Lee?” Sylvia continued. “Money’s a bit tight for them, what with the new mortgage and all…”

“Mum!” Donna hissed.

But Sylvia kept speaking. “…And you obviously don’t need it anymore.”

Tears welled up in Rose’s throat, making it hard to breathe. James’s hand was clenched so hard around hers that it hurt, and she knew her grip was just as tight. She wanted to snap at Sylvia that that was none of her damn business, but she knew if she opened her mouth she was going to burst into tears.

James, however, seemed slightly more composed. His voice was hard when he asked, “And what makes you think Rose and I are done having more children?”

Sylvia blinked. “Aren’t you?”

“No,” Rose whispered, and she squeezed James’s hand one last time before she slipped hers out of his grasp. She turned and walked passed Robert, who was looking at her so sadly that it made her first tear fall, and she moved down the hall to the master bedroom.

She paced around the room as she pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, willing her tears away. She only had a few seconds before James would come find her. She could currently hear raised voices from the front room, and she had half a mind to go back out and tell them there were children trying to sleep just the next room over.

Thirty seconds later, a knock sounded on the closed door.

“Rose?”

“Yeah, come in,” she called, wiping at her eyes.

James slipped into the room and shut the door behind him. He stepped up to her and wrapped her into a hug. Neither of them spoke, and a few minutes later, another knock sounded on their bedroom room. Donna’s voice came from the other side. “Can I come in?”

James looked down at Rose, and when she nodded, he called her in.

Donna slipped through the door then latched it behind her.

“I am so sorry,” she said, her face tight with worry. “I didn’t realize Mum would say that. We didn’t know you’ve been trying for another baby… Even still, she shouldn’t have said that.”

“Thanks,” James said.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel badly about…” She gestured vaguely at her stomach, and Rose gave her a small but genuine smile.

“Don’t. This really is wonderful news,” she said sincerely. “A baby will change everything, but it’s such a good change.”

She stepped up to enfold Donna in a hug, then started asking when she was due and how she was feeling.

The snow had continued overnight, and though not much accumulated, there was a fine dusting of white coating everything the next morning. Ainsley was entranced at the sight, and they watched the sun rise through the tree line and sparkle across the fresh snow.

But the excitement of snow dimmed when they saw the pile of presents beneath the tree, and by the time all of the gifts were opened, the snow had melted in the morning sun.

Christmas passed in the same manner as previous years, though it seemed like tension had settled over the house. Whenever somebody congratulated Donna and Lee or asked them about the baby, Rose could feel everybody’s gaze flicker to her and James. She wanted to shout at everybody to mind their own bloody business, but instead, she actively engaged in the conversation about Donna’s pregnancy with gusto, forcing down her bitterness as she did so.

Luckily Ainsley and Sianin didn’t realize anything was amiss, and their presence was one of the only things keeping Rose from going mad.

It was finally time for her and James to head to the airport for their flight to Paris.

James felt on edge for the first day of their trip. After he and Rose checked into the honeymoon suite he’d booked for them, they decided to sightsee. Donning jackets, hats, and scarves, they stepped out into the chilly Paris street and started to walk, with no real destination in mind.

His hand brushed against hers, and he felt something unclench in his stomach when she fumbled to twine their gloved fingers together. She gave his hand a squeeze as she stepped closer to him and rested her head against his arm.

“It’s amazing here,” she marveled, her breath puffing out in front of her face. She looked up at him and flashed him a genuine smile that went all the way to her eyes. His lungs hitched at how beautiful she looked. “Thanks for suggesting we come here. We needed this.”

He nodded mutely and leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead.

It was impossible to not feel the romance of the city. The beauty of the old architecture was everywhere, and all of the restaurants seemed to be designed for couples.

The day of their anniversary, they went shopping for nice dinner clothes to wear that night. James found a smart-looking suit rather quickly, and he shivered when he saw Rose’s eyes darken when he stepped out of the dressing room to model it for her. She hadn’t looked at him that way in so long. While they hadn’t made love yet on their trip, James was hopeful that tonight would be the night.

After purchasing the suit and giving their room address for delivery, he walked with Rose to find a dress for her. They spent the next two hours in the shops, and James felt a little bad that he had no opinions, but he thought she looked fantastic in everything.

When she eventually decided on a little black dress that would complement his suit, James excused himself for a few minutes.

“Loo break,” he lied smoothly, and he pecked a kiss to her cheek and slipped out of the store. He wandered across the street to a jewelry store to pick up the order he had placed a couple weeks ago. He pocketed his gift to Rose, then joined her in the shop, where she was finishing paying for her dress.

Their evening was perfect, and James couldn’t have been happier. Rose was delighted when he showed her the earrings he’d bought for her. Platinum metal had been worked into the shape of a rose, with a diamond set into the center.

“Oh, these are beautiful,” she gasped when she opened the box.

“They’re a new design,” James said. “When I saw them, I couldn’t resist.”

“They’re absolutely wonderful.” She carefully took them out of the box and put them in her ears. When they were secure, she rocked onto her toes and pecked a kiss to his lips before turning away from him. She moved to her purse and reached into a side pocket, where she withdrew an envelope.

He took it from her and pulled out two pieces of paper. Admission tickets for Palais de la Découverte, a science museum right there in Paris.

“I know we said we wouldn’t have a formal itinerary,” Rose said as he scanned the back of the tickets for the various exhibits, “but this looked like something you would love.”

“Thank you,” he said earnestly. “But what about you?”

She furrowed her brows. “What about me?”

“It’s our anniversary,” he said. “Surely a stuffy old science museum won’t interest you.”

“And you’re saying the stuffy old art museum we toured yesterday interested you?” she shot back.

He felt his neck grow warm.

“Well… the art was pretty,” he said sheepishly. “But you loved it so much and listening to you explain everything to me made it much more fun and interesting.”

She smiled softly at him. “You do know I feel the same way when you talk science to me, yeah? I love seeing you get all excited. I know we have vastly different interests and different definitions of what we call fun, but as long as I’m with you, anything is fun.”

James’s heart fluttered in his chest, and he fell in love with his wife all over again. He stepped up to her and wrapped his arms loosely around her waist as he ducked down to press his lips to hers. She smiled into the kiss, and he couldn’t help but smile back.

“Thank you very much,” he whispered, pulling back from the kiss to look down at her. “I’m really excited. They’ve got a planetarium! I haven’t been to one of those in years!”

“I’ve never been,” Rose said, seeming to catch onto his enthusiasm.

“What?” James squawked. “How have I been your husband for eleven years and not taken you to a planetarium before?”

“Dunno, but we ought to get going. The taxi’ll be here soon.”

He nodded and pressed a parting kiss to her forehead before he stepped away from her. He grabbed her coat from the rack and held it open for her. When she fastened all of the buttons, he offered her his arm and affected a posh accent to say, “Dinner awaits, milady.”

She giggled and looped her arm through his. “Lead the way, good sir.”

He guided her to the taxi he’d called for and helped her into the back seat before he walked around to the other side. They were driven fifteen minutes across town to an elegant and expensive-looking restaurant. The floors were a dark, glossy tile with a long, narrow rug that spanned from the front door to the host’s desk.

“Reservation for Tyler-McCrimmon,” James said as they approached.

They were taken back immediately, and James admired the restaurant’s interior. Chandeliers hung across the ceiling, bathing the restaurant in a soft, yellow glow. The tables were spaced far enough apart to give illusions of privacy.

James pulled out Rose’s chair for her before he sat across from her.

The ambience of the restaurant created a quiet intimacy for them, and when they weren’t holding hands, their legs were intertwined beneath the tablecloth. The wine they drank made them warm and bubbly, and when they swayed together on the dance floor, they stole kisses until they couldn’t stand the need for propriety anymore. They paid for their meal and waited in the lobby for their taxi.

As the driver took them back to their hotel, they snogged in the backseat until they were broken apart by an awkwardly-cleared throat. James paid the man then wrapped his hand around Rose’s and guided her back to their room. As soon as the door closed, Rose pulled him down for a kiss. They snogged lazily against the door for many long minutes, teasing each other with kisses and touches until they were both aroused beyond coherence.

When he suspected Rose was going to suggest they go to bed, James began kissing his way down her chest, then he dropped to his knees. He heard her inhale sharply, guessing his intent, and he smirked to himself as he hiked up the skirt of her dress and slipped her knickers down her legs.

“You’re beautiful,” he mumbled against her hip as he kissed and nipped his way to her inner thigh. She parted her legs for him, and he pressed one last kiss to the seam where her thigh met her hip before he moved his mouth to where she was wet and throbbing for him.

It barely took any time at all, much to James’s delight. As he licked and sucked and caressed her in all the ways he knew she loved, she cried her appreciation and her pleasure, until she finally lost herself to her orgasm, panting his name as he worked her though it.

Her thighs trembled and her chest heaved, and James felt relieved. He guessed he hadn’t lost his touch after all. And when they eventually stumbled to bed, kissing and pawing at each other’s clothes, he settled between her thighs to give her another orgasm. When they finally joined together, he coaxed a third orgasm from her before he followed her in bliss and pleasure.

As she lay beside him, boneless and out of breath, James felt more at peace than he had in a long time.

The rest of their trip passed with them both in good spirits. They didn’t make love every night, but James wasn’t too bothered, not when Rose was looking at him like he hung the stars for her as they played tourist around Paris.

The made love on their last night in Paris, and similarly to their anniversary night, James worshipped Rose and her body until she tipped over in pleasure three times.

Upon coming home, James was relieved that the tenderness between him and Rose remained. They had regular movie date nights after the kids went to bed, and even if they didn’t make love after every date, they often snogged like teens on the sofa during most of the film.

Rose seemed happier than he’d seen her in months, and her attitude was infectious. The new year seemed to bring with it a new start for him and Rose. They rekindled the spark that had been missing, and it felt like the weight of the world was no longer on his shoulders.

When Rose’s period arrived a week and a half later, they weren’t surprised. She’d reached peak ovulation the day after Boxing Day, and what with the busyness of the holidays, they’d only managed to squeeze in one round of lovemaking before traveling to Scotland.

However, it seemed to shatter the illusion they were under, and once again, their intimacy cooled. James wanted to cry when he saw himself and Rose falling back into their regular routine. Wake up, get the kids ready, a kiss goodbye—if they remembered—go to work, collect the kids, come home, have dinner, have family time, put the kids to bed, go to bed. Repeat. They rarely had a date night until Rose entered her fertile cycle. They didn’t make love any other time, either.

James stopped initiating sex outside of her ovulation cycle, knowing he would be shot down nine times out of ten. His confidence in himself and in their relationship was all but gone. As the end of February approached, bringing them back to Rose’s fertile cycle, James found it difficult to engage in sex.

Despite himself, he couldn’t help but think that Rose didn’t want him anymore. Their anniversary had convinced him otherwise, for a brief period of time, but obviously the magic spell was broken, and Rose was back to being indifferent to him. He hated it, and he hated himself, and some nights, he hated Rose too. He wished they’d never started trying for a third baby. Maybe then his wife would still be in love with him.

oOoOo

Rose didn’t bother putting on pajamas, as she knew they would only be coming off later that night when James came to bed. She was two days in to her ovulation cycle, meaning they were due for another shag.

But when James came to bed nearly an hour later, he went through his usual nightly routine then turned off the light. It wasn’t unusual for them to shag in the dark, but it seemed like darkness was becoming the new normal for their lovemaking sessions.

James crawled into bed and leaned over to press a kiss to her lips. It was chaste and static, with just lips and no tongue or movement of their mouths at all. Rose reached up and twined her fingers into his hair to deepen the kiss as she tried to tug him closer, urging him on top of her.

“Wait, Rose, no,” he said, pulling away. “No, Rose. Not tonight. I’m really not in the mood.”

Rose dropped her hands and had to bite back the protest. She was ovulating. They only had a small window of opportunity before she became infertile again, and they had to make the most of this time. But he’d said no. She would not force him to have sex with her when he didn’t want it.

“Okay,” she said softly. All of a sudden, she felt exposed by being so naked. She wished she could get up and put on at least a t-shirt, but getting out of bed to put clothes on felt too awkward. James had seen her naked hundreds, if not thousands, of times, and she hated that she felt so uncomfortable around him right now.

She swallowed down the acidic taste in the back of her mouth and rolled over to try to go to sleep. But sleep didn’t come as swiftly as she wanted. She couldn’t help but feel so defeated. It was almost three years since they decided to try for another baby. But it was only recently, within the last year and a half or so, that she’d really felt the heartbreak of their failure. Of her failure. Of her body’s failure. James never said anything to indicate it, but he must be getting frustrated with her. He wanted another child so badly, but she was keeping it from happening and he was just too nice and polite to tell her.

But if he wanted a baby so badly, he should know that they needed to have sex when she was ovulating for that to happen. Then a thought struck her that made her insides go cold. What if he just wasn’t attracted to her anymore? Wouldn’t that explain why he didn’t seem interested in sex anymore? Why they made love—no, shagged—in the dark? Why he got it over with as quickly as he could? Why he’d just rejected her?

Rose squeezed her eyes shut against a swell of tears as she worked on convincing herself that her soulmate still wanted her.

The following day, Rose worked out how she could try to woo James. She made arrangements with Robert for him to pick the girls up and keep them for the night. After work, she went to the grocery store to gather the ingredients for the dinner she’d planned for them.

When she got home, she cleaned the house and put the girls’ toys in the box in the corner of the living room. With a half hour to go until James was off work, she quartered potatoes on a baking sheet and seasoned them before slipping them into the oven and setting the timer for an hour. She then went to get a quick shower so she could shave her legs and feel clean and fresh when her husband got home.

She wrapped her hair in a towel then moved to her dresser to find the matching bra and knickers set that James particularly enjoyed. It was a lovely dark plum set that he had given to her on last year’s birthday. The bra did wonders for her breasts by accentuating her cleavage, and the knickers were so comfy, despite the skimpiness of it.

With her underwear on, Rose moved to blow dry her hair until it fell in soft waves around her shoulders, then she reapplied her makeup with a light hand. After that was done, she moved to her closet and picked out a soft cotton dress that clung to her curves nicely.

Feeling rather pretty, Rose skipped to the kitchen to get the rest of dinner started. She seasoned the salmon and green beans. When the timer reached fifteen minutes left, she took it out and put the salmon and green beans onto the sheet. She slid the food back into the oven.

James was due home any minute, but she wanted to give him a minute to freshen up if he wanted to before they sat down to dinner. As the food cooked, she worked on lighting candles around their home as she picked up her iPad and made a romantic playlist.

But the oven timer went off fifteen minutes later, and James still wasn’t home. She kept their food in the oven to stay warm as she went to see how much longer James would be.

“Dinner’s getting cold,” she texted, sending a winking kiss emoji.

It took a few minutes, but finally he replied with, You and the girls start without me.

Her heart fell. “The girls are at your dad’s. I thought you and I could have dinner alone tonight.”

I’m not done here. Sorry. Save me a plate.

Rose set her phone down on the table with more force than necessary as she scraped her fingers through her hair. She felt hurt and annoyed, but more than that, she felt humiliated and rejected. She’d tried so hard to make a perfect night for her and James, but he didn’t want anything to do with it or her.

Feeling stupid, she blew out the candles and turned off the music before walking down the hall to get out of her nice clothes. She washed her face of makeup and changed into her comfiest pajama set, which incidentally included one of James’s shirts. It had stopped smelling like him a long time ago, but she still loved wearing it.

Deciding to not waste the food she’d made, she plated her dinner and put a second serving on a different plate, which she set in the microwave for James for whenever he decided to come home.

After she finished her dinner, she packed up the leftovers and stuck them in the fridge for tomorrow, then grabbed a carton of ice cream and settled onto the couch to let one of her favorite movies soothe her aching heart.

But not even The Runaway Bride could help, especially when she remembered why it was a favorite of hers. It was one of their go-to date night films, when she and James decided they wanted a quiet night in together. They both knew the movie by heart, and James would often act out the scenes—quite terribly and with outrageous accents—just to make her laugh.

Tears filled her eyes at the memories of James quoting the more romantic moments of the movie, to which she would usually catch his lips in a kiss and they’d spend the rest of the film making out on the sofa. She ached to get back to that. It was what she wanted for her date with James tonight. A nice supper together, maybe dancing together if a song they both liked dancing to came on, then a movie together on the sofa.

Even if they didn’t get around to making love, that would’ve been fine. She just wanted to have a romantic night with James. But it seemed he didn’t want to have a romantic night with her.

The ice cream sat as a hard lump in her stomach and left her feeling half-nauseated. She set the carton to the side and swiped at her stinging nose as her first tear fell. James had to have known this was a date, and still he didn’t want to come home.

Her chest hurt at the realization that her husband wasn’t attracted to her anymore. He couldn’t even bring himself to have sex with her anymore, outside of ovulation. But judging from the night before, he was even putting that off as much as he could.

Tears streamed down her cheeks and it felt like she couldn’t breathe. Sobs ripped up her throat as she tried to figure out why James didn’t want her anymore. He’d said time and time again that she was all he would ever want, but he obviously was wrong.

She just wanted her husband back. She wanted it to be like it was before when they were so in love with each other and they could make each other happy. Before she was beaten down every month as she failed to get pregnant. She didn’t want to feel this broken anymore, and more than anything, she wanted James to want her again.

Meanwhile, across town, James finally shut down his computer and gathered up his bag and keys. It was dark when he stepped outside, and his gurgling stomach reminded him of how late it really was. At least there would be a plate of food waiting for him when he got home, even if his daughters weren’t. His dad must’ve asked to take them for the night. Thinking back, James remembered his dad telling him he’d wanted to take the girls to a play. He thought it wasn’t until next month, but he shrugged to himself. He must’ve gotten the dates wrong.

The house was relatively dark when he got home, minus the light from a lamp in the living room and the glow from the TV. He heard the familiar dialogue of one of his favorite movies, and an ache of longing lodged in his chest. He and Rose hadn’t watched that movie in longer than he could remember, and he wondered why Rose would choose to watch that particular movie, especially when he wasn’t there to watch it with her. Unless the movie wasn’t as special to Rose as it was to him. That thought sent a stab of pain through his chest.

He sighed and set his keys in the dish and moved to heat up something for supper. His stomach rumbled when he saw the plate of salmon in the microwave. While he loved dinners with his daughters, he enjoyed when he and Rose ate alone and could cook adult food that the girls wouldn’t touch. There were times when he or Rose would make two different meals, but that was often too time-consuming and thus they were left eating foods compatible with a child’s palate.

As the meal heated up, James turned to leave the kitchen, but he stopped when he noticed the candles on the table. They were half-burnt down. He glanced around the kitchen and saw Rose’s iPad hooked to their stereo.

A heavy weight settled into his stomach. That weight hardened when he walked to their bedroom and he saw a dress and his favorite lingerie set on the floor.

“Oh, shit,” he whispered, realizing that Rose had intended for them to have a date night. And he’d mucked it up. “Shit!”

He shed his work clothes and pulled on casual clothes before going to apologize to his wife.

“Rose, I…”

The sight that greeted him nearly stopped his heart. Rose was bent double and wracked with sobs on the sofa. The sound of her gasping breaths restarted his heart and made it pound throughout his body as he rushed up to her. He felt numb as his brain frantically came to conclusions as to why she was crying so hard, and he prayed that his daughters were okay.

“Rose, what is it?” he asked, rushing up to her. He moved the carton of melted ice cream from the sofa cushion so he could sit down beside her. “What happened? What’s the matter?”

Impossible though it seemed, she began crying harder when he wrapped his arms around her. His body was shaking as he tried to get her calm enough to tell him what had her so upset.

“Please, you’re scaring me,” he whispered.

Rose gasped in a breath and manage to choke out something that sounded like “you don’t want me”.

“What?” he asked, sure he misheard her.

Rose drew in several shuddering breaths and sniffed hard before she whimpered, “I don’t know why you don’t want me anymore! It hurts so much.”

James’s eyes burned and his stomach roiled. What did she mean he didn’t want her? He would always want her.

“Rose, love, calm down,” he said. “Breathe for me. Deep breaths. And tell me again. Why on Earth do you think I don’t want you?”

“You didn’t want to come home for our date!” she wailed, her face crumpling again. Before he could tell her that he didn’t realize she’d planned for them to have a date, she continued. “Because you don’t want to have sex with me because you’re not attracted to me anymore.”

James clenched his jaw. “Excuse me? I don’t want to have sex with you?”

Rose sniffled and rubbed her hands across her face.

“You’re the one who doesn’t want to have sex with me,” he snapped, his voice cracking as his eyes stung with tears. “Unless you’re fertile, that is.” The insecurities James had been harboring for months reared up. “The only time you ever initiate sex anymore is when you’re ovulating. I’ve just become a bloody sperm donor, Rose! D’you know how that makes me feel? It makes me feel like my wife doesn’t love me. It makes me feel dirty and used!”

His voice had risen in volume as his hurt and loneliness from the last six months surfaced. But when he saw Rose’s face crumple again, he knew shouting wouldn’t help anything. She was hurting, too.

He inhaled deeply until he didn’t feel like shouting anymore, then he rested his hand at her knee.

“It hurts to feel used, Rose. You haven’t wanted to make love with me unless it was at a time you could’ve gotten pregnant. I know we’re trying for a baby, but it’s so hard to want to have sex, or to enjoy it, when it feels like I can’t pleasure you anymore.”

“What?” Rose asked, frowning. “You pleasure me all the time.”

“I don’t, actually,” James retorted. “You hardly ever orgasm when we make love. For the past few months, you’ve rejected my advances, and so I got nervous to even ask, which is why I stopped initiating sex. I thought you just weren’t into it anymore. But then when we did have sex, you wanted to focus on me, and that made me feel even worse because it was so obvious you didn’t want to be having sex.”

“That’s not true,” Rose said quietly.

“Well how was I supposed to know that?”

She shrugged and sniffled, and rubbed the back of her hand across her nose. James leaned forward for the box of tissues and he grabbed a handful. As Rose blew her nose, he stood and told her he was going to get them a glass of water.

When he entered the kitchen, the reminder of their blown date night made his stomach twist. The smell of his reheated dinner made him feel sick, even though he’d been famished when he got home. He ignored the microwave and instead grabbed two glasses from the cupboard and filled them with water from the pitcher in the fridge.

When he returned, Rose had turned off the TV and was mangling her tissue between her fingers.

“I’m sorry, James,” Rose murmured as he sat down beside her. She took the glass he offered to her and brought it to her lips for a small sip. “I’m sorry I’ve been blind to your feelings. I’d been so caught up in conceiving another baby that I didn’t think of you, and that’s awful of me to say, and I hate that it’s true.”

James sighed and Rose turned her head to meet his gaze. Dark shadows were under his eyes, and he looked so much older than she had ever seen.

“I feel like it’s my fault that we’ve struggled to conceive,” he whispered.

“No, James, it’s not—”

“But that’s how I feel,” he interrupted. “I felt like it was all down to me. I’m the one with the sperm, so obviously it’s my fault that we’re not getting pregnant because your body is fertile and ready to go. My sperm are the ones failing.”

Rose sucked in a sharp breath as anger swelled up inside of her. But my body isn’t ready to go, she thought bitterly. Not always. Not like yours is.

“How dare you,” she hissed, feeling hot tears prickle behind her eyes again. “How dare you!”

James blinked over at her in confusion, which made her anger spike, bringing with it all of the feelings of inadequacy she’d been harboring.

“Your body doesn’t live on a fertile cycle,” she said. Her hands were shaking so badly that she thought she might spill her water. She reached over and set it on the end table. “Your body is always fertile! But me? I have a five-day window to get pregnant. Five days, James! So how dare you say that my body is ready to go. It is not ready to go, and that kills me. I’m the limiting factor here. It’s my bloody fault that we only have a few days a month to try and make a baby, and if it didn’t happen, we had to wait another month to try again. And that was all my fault!”

Her tears spilled over, and she turned away from him as she tried to brush them away. But when James touched her shoulder and whispered, “Oh, Rose,” there was no stopping them. She hugged her middle as she tried to breathe, and when his grip on her shoulder tightened as he tugged her to him, she willingly went into his waiting embrace.

“Oh, Rose,” he whispered again, and she heard the anguish in his voice. “Rose, I am so sorry. I didn’t even think of it like that.” He wrapped his arms around her more tightly, tucking his head so his face was nestled in her shoulder. She clung to him, shaking as she tried to control her tears, and for a few silent minutes, he held her and rocked her gently as she cried for all of the hurt she’d been pushing down for too many months.

“For over a year now, I’ve felt so guilty,” she rasped. “Since the fertility tests. I only have a brief window of time to conceive a baby. And I kept failing you.”

His arms tightened around her. “No, Rose. No. You did not fail me. You could never fail me. Never ever. God, Rose. I had no idea you’d been pressuring yourself like that for so long. It wasn’t all down to you, love.”

James continued speaking softly to her as her tears fell, and Rose melted closer to him. Finally opening up to James and having him so vehemently dispel all of the fears she’d harbored of him resenting her lifted an enormous weight off of her chest.

Once her tears stopped, Rose pulled back and wiped her eyes dry. She sniffed against her running nose, and she turned away from him to find a tissue. She blew her nose noisily and tried to slow her breathing.

“Let’s finish our water then go to bed,” James suggested after they’d been sitting quietly for a few minutes.

While Rose was tempted to take him up on this offer—she was so bloody tired—she couldn’t. Not until they’d finished talking.

She shook her head. “No, we’re not done with this conversation yet. You said you felt guilty for a lack of conception.”

James dropped his head and muttered, “It doesn’t matter now. I was being insensitive and selfish.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Rose said. “You’re still hurt.”

James sniffed hard. She kept her head on his shoulder and rubbed her hand soothingly up and down his thigh as she waited for him to speak. But when he still wasn’t saying anything, she prompted, “You said you felt like it was your fault we weren’t conceiving. Which is ridiculous, just so you know. None of this is your fault. Okay? None of it.”

“How is it not?” he murmured miserably. “You and your eggs are perfectly healthy—”

“And you and your sperm are perfectly healthy,” she said, reaching out to take his hand. “We’ve been tested. We’re both healthy.”

“But—”

“No, James,” Rose said firmly. “I won’t let you do this to yourself. I won’t let you take the blame for something that isn’t your fault. Okay? If I’m not to blame for not getting pregnant, you aren’t to blame either.”

He sniffled and pressed his fingertips into his eyes, and she let him compose himself.

“James?” she asked tentatively. “Earlier, you said… you said you felt like just a sperm donor. That I made you feel like that.”

Rose watched his body tense up as he stayed silent.

“James, love, I never ever thought of you as just a sperm donor,” she said fiercely. “Hey. Look at me.”

Rose waited for a few seconds, and James finally exhaled shakily and lifted his head. His face looked shut-off and cautious, and Rose hated it.

“James,” she whispered. “Please believe me. I’ve never thought of you as a sperm donor. How could I? You’re my husband, and my soulmate. You’re the father of our children. I could never demean you like that.”

James’s muscles all loosened at once as he sighed.

“Yeah, I know,” he murmured quietly. “But Rose… it killed me to watch you being so passive when we had sex. You just… lay there. And when you started faking… I thought I’d… I thought I didn’t satisfy you anymore. And that you hated our sex life… hated sex with me. And that that’s why we only began shagging when you were ovulating, because you couldn’t bear to be intimate with me anymore.”

“No,” she said immediately, her heart breaking. “No, James. That’s not it at all. Oh, God.”

She scooted closer to him until she could wrap her arms around his shoulders. He let out a whimper and hauled her closer to him. His fingers clenched into her shirt and his stubble scraped across her cheek then ear as he buried his face into her neck. Her back twinged as it was awkwardly stretched, and so she leveraged herself into his lap and then cradled his head to her shoulder as his tears fell. They were hot and wet against her neck, and her eyes prickled in response to his pain.

“Oh, James.” She stroked her hand down the back of his head, hoping her fingers in his hair would calm it as it usually did. She turned her head and pressed her lips to the side of his head and kept them there as she murmured, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

She didn’t think it was possible, but he managed to cling to her more tightly. The sounds of his stifled sobs broke her heart, and she let her own tears fall as she finally realized the agony he had been in for months.

“James, I didn’t hate—I don’t hate our sex life. Never.” She begged for him to believe her. “I had just gotten to the point where it felt like a chore. Like a means to an end. And I should have told you how I felt, but I didn’t know how. I’m so, so sorry I’ve made you feel inadequate, or like I was using you. Please believe me when I say that you are more than adequate.”

“I got so scared you didn’t want sex with me because I couldn’t pleasure you anymore,” he whispered raggedly. “And that you went through the motions when you were ovulating because it was necessary in order to make a baby. Then I thought maybe you were angry with me for not being fertile enough to get you pregnant. It’s all just been so hard lately, and I’ve been so, so scared, Rose, and I didn’t know what to do.”

She thought back to the times they’d been intimate over the last six months when it had seemed as though James had lost his attraction to her. She remembered all of the times he’d made love to her quickly, achieving orgasm in just a few minutes. While she hadn’t been in the right state of mind to take pleasure from their coupling, she loved watching him enjoy himself. There was nothing quite like holding him in her arms, feeling him moving inside of her, hearing him gasp her name as he reached the pinnacle of pleasure and spilled himself inside of her. She loved that moment, sharing that ultimate moment of intimacy and love with James.

So when he’d seemed to rush to get there, it had broken her heart. She’d thought he didn’t cherish their intimacy the way she did anymore.

But apparently she’d gotten it all wrong. She’d made James feel used and unloved. And in turn, that was how he made her feel.

“James, I never once thought you were unsatisfactory in bed. I love making love with you.”

“But I can’t make you come anymore,” he mumbled.

“That isn’t you, love,” she said softly. “I swear. You’re so wonderful and attentive to me. I’ve just had trouble enjoying sex because I felt the overwhelming pressure to conceive a baby. But believe me, I still loved watching you enjoy sex.”

“It was so hard to want to make love when I knew you didn’t want to,” James said. “Making love with you is something we do together. It something that’s just ours. And then you didn’t want it anymore, and that hurt. But of course I would never force you to make love when you didn’t want to. But then you didn’t even want to cuddle or kiss on the sofa or anything.”

“I thought I was being rude,” she whispered through numb lips. How had she misread this whole situation so completely? “I thought it was rude of me to want to make out with you but not make love afterwards.”

James sighed. “Your distance made me feel like you were upset with me. Upset that I wasn’t getting you pregnant, or that I was just being a rubbish husband and lover.”

“No. I was never angry with you for not getting me pregnant. It was kind of the opposite, actually,” she admitted. “I was angry at myself for being so infertile all the time, and then for failing even when I was fertile.” She took a deep breath, then continued, “And then I thought you just… I thought you weren’t attracted to me anymore.”

James lifted his head so fast that it cracked against Rose’s jaw. She rubbed the smarting area as she met James’s bloodshot gaze.

“How the hell did you come to that conclusion?” he demanded, wiping his eyes.

Rose shrugged. “I told you. I felt like I was failing you. And, well, I managed to convince myself that you thought I was a failure, too. I thought you’d been angry with me because I couldn’t conceive a baby, and I also thought you’d maybe just… I dunno… gotten bored with me. Between all of that and my feelings of failure, it was hard to enjoy our intimacy, or to feel like you were enjoying it.”

“Rose.” The hurt and betrayal was tangible in his voice. “You are the love of my life. You’re my soulmate. My wife! I promised to love you and cherish you and be your best friend for the rest of my life!”

“Even so, I could feel the apathy, James,” she rebutted. “It felt like you were indifferent to me and to our relationship, and it broke my heart.”

“I never meant to make you feel…”

“But I felt it anyway,” she interrupted.

James looked like he could argue, but instead, he worked his jaw for a few seconds. His shoulders slumped as he exhaled deeply.

“You’re right,” he said quietly. He reached up and cradled the side of her head in his hand as he leaned up to press his lips to her temple. “I am so sorry I’ve hurt you, Rose. I’m so sorry I made you doubt my love and devotion to you and our relationship. I promised to support you no matter what. Yes, I’ve been upset at our lack of conception, but never once was any of it directed at you. How could I possibly ever get upset with you over something like this?”

Rose shrugged and leaned into his chest again. She felt a little daft now, hearing him dispute her fears with such conviction.

She breathed in the smell of him and listened to the faint sound of his heartbeat. He wrapped his arms around her and they sat in silence for a few minutes, just holding each other. It was nice, Rose thought. It had been ages since they’d had a cuddle together.

She rubbed her fingertips through his arm hair as she steeled herself for her next thought. All of this hurting and heartache came about mostly from a lapse in communication, but also at their mutual stress and frustration of trying and failing to make a baby. She wanted another child so badly, but not at the cost of her relationship with James.

“I think we should stop trying for a baby,” she suggested quietly. “At least until we’re back in a good place. Because where we are right now, it’s not good. I’m so sorry, James.”

“It’s not all your fault,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head. “I should’ve spoken up sooner. But I kept holding onto the hope that each month would be the month when we’d get pregnant and everything would be all right again. I kept convincing myself over and over and over again.”

“I know. I told myself that, too.”

They sat quietly together for a few long minutes, just holding each other.

“I think you and I should go away together,” James murmured a few moments later. “Just you and me. So we can focus on being us again. Without the stress or pressure or expectation of pregnancy, and without the distraction of the girls.”

“Okay. Yeah, that sounds nice,” Rose said. “We can see if Mum or Dad can come stay with Ainsley and Sianin. Your term ends the week after next. We could plan to leave then. That Saturday, maybe?”

James shook his head. “Mother’s Day is that Sunday. I want you to be able to spend that day with Ainsley and Sianin. We could leave later that night, or the next day.”

“Let’s see if my mum or your dad can watch the girls that soon, first,” Rose said. “We may need to wait until after Sianin’s birthday.” She pecked a kiss to his jaw, then slid out of his lap. “But we can figure all of this out later. C’mon. Let’s go to bed.”

James nodded and pushed himself up. He grabbed her half-empty glass of water and downed the rest of it before putting the glasses into the sink. Together, they double-checked that the doors were locked, then they made their way down the hallway. Out of habit, Rose glanced into her daughters’ bedrooms, even though they were empty and the beds were made.

When they got to their bedroom, they moved around each other as they readied themselves for bed. Rose finished first and crawled under the blankets and listened to James brush his teeth. A few minutes later, he emerged and walked around to his side of the bed, where he slipped under the covers.

“Nighty night,” he whispered, his minty fresh breath puffing against her face as he leaned over and pecked a chaste kiss to her forehead.

He then rolled over and hugged the corner of the duvet to his chest.

Rose stared over at him, feeling a little lost and disappointed. After the conversation they’d just had, and how he’d held her in his lap for most of it, she anticipated a little more warmth from him. Though she supposed she shouldn’t have expected anything else. This was part of their routine. They each stayed on their own side of the bed and exchanged perfunctory kisses with each other before rolling away from each other. She hated it.

She wanted to go back to the days where there were no sides of the bed because they cuddled too close to distinguish where his half of the mattress ended and hers began. She wanted him to snuggle into her side if only for a few minutes before he would sleepily roll away, but have his leg kicked out so his foot was near hers. She yearned for those nights where they stayed up far too late just talking to each other.

But it had been months since they’d had that. She racked her brain, desperately trying to zero in on the moment it all fell apart, but she couldn’t.

Their eleventh anniversary was fine—perfect, really—but it was a fluke. They’d gone back to bad as soon as they returned home. Ainsley’s birthday… James’s birthday…

She grew more frantic as she skipped backwards in the months and her memories with James were still so cold.

Tears threatened, and she blinked them away impatiently.

“James?” she whispered, hoping they could cuddle for a bit before trying to sleep.

But he stayed on his side as he mumbled, “Hmm?”

The sight of his back remaining facing her broke her heart, and her tears fell.

“Never mind. Goodnight,” she whispered. She rolled over onto her side to have some semblance of privacy as she cried.

She curled into herself and tried to swallow her sobs, but it felt like she couldn’t breathe. She sniffled to clear her clogging nose and cringed at how loud it was in their quiet bedroom.

“Rose?” James shifted behind her, and then his body was pressed along her back. “Rose, love, what’s wrong?”

The endearment and the concern in his voice, coupled with the way his body was curled around hers, made her face crumple. Her lungs were screaming for air, so she gasped in a breath and exhaled out a sob.

“Oh, Rose. Shhh. C’mere. It’s okay. It’s okay. C’mere.”

He leaned away and tugged at her shoulder. Rose readily rolled over and she buried her face in his chest as her tears streamed down her cheeks.

“No, it’s not okay,” she whimpered. “What happened to us, James? Why are we so broken?”

“We’re not broken,” he whispered, rubbing her back slowly. “We’re just…”

He fell silent, and the fact that her husband, the person who seemingly knew every single English word known to man, couldn’t come up with a different word than ‘broken’ set her off again.

“Hey,” he murmured. “It’s okay. Breathe. Just breathe. We’re gonna be okay. I promise. We’re not broken. We’ve just lost our way a little. But lost things can always be found again, especially if two people are looking for it together. Because you and me, we’re still the best team there is. Eh?”

The confidence in his voice reassured her slightly. If James believed they could be fixed, and find what they’d lost in their relationship, she would trust him. More than that, she would work with him to get them back to good again.

She sniffled and draped an arm around his waist to hug him to her.

“I love you more than anything, Rose,” he whispered.

She squeezed her hand into a fist around his sleepshirt and held him tighter.

“I love you, too, James.”

He nuzzled his nose into her hair and pressed his lips to her forehead.

“What did you want to say earlier?” he asked.

“Just wanted a cuddle,” she answered.

He stiffened.

“And you didn’t think you could ask for one?”

The hurt in his voice was palpable, sending a dull ache through her chest and down into her stomach. She shrugged.

“I thought you were still angry with me.”

“Oh, Rose. No. I’m not angry with you. I never was. I just feel exhausted. And… and a little empty.”

Rose squeezed him and rubbed her hand across his back before she made to move away.

“Sorry. I’ll let you sleep now.”

But he tightened his grip around her. “No. Please. Can we keep cuddling for a little bit?”

Rose relaxed back into his embrace and nodded.

They were quiet for a few minutes, just holding each other and content to listen to each other breathe. The quiet intimacy was nice and relaxing; they hadn’t had that in far too long.

They both eventually drifted off to sleep, still twined together. Rose awoke sometime later to James shifting beside her. He pulled his arm out from under her neck, and he flexed his hand a few times.

“All right?” she mumbled, rolling onto her back. Her neck spasmed from the awkward position it had been in, and she slowly turned it from side to side.

“Pins and needles,” he answered. He let out a long, slow sigh and tugged the duvet up to his chin. He rolled over onto his side but angled his body so that his bum was close to her hip. “Nighty night.”

Rose patted his hip and closed her eyes to get more sleep.

She didn’t awake again until her alarm went off. Her mind was groggy and confused; she felt like she could sleep for a few more hours yet. She heard James shuffling around behind her and groaning softly as he woke up too.

She grabbed her phone and silenced the alarm, then sat up.

“How’d you sleep?” James mumbled.

She glanced down at him and saw his eyes were still closed, but he’d turned to face her and was hugging the duvet to his chest.

“Like a rock,” she said. He heaved out a sigh and his hair fell into his eyes as he arched his back. Rose stroked her fingers through his hair as she asked, “How’d you sleep?”

“All right,” he said. “Had some odd dreams. Dreams where it felt like I was awake, so it didn’t feel like I slept.”

“Well, you’ve still got some time before you have to be up. Go back to sleep.”

Rose leaned down and pressed a kiss to his cheek before she rolled out of bed and got ready for the day.

Things were better with James than they’d been in months; however, a stiffness had settled over them. It felt like they were tiptoeing around each other, making sure they were being careful and cautious to not upset the other. Rose was frustrated. She knew it would take time and effort to get back to the comfortable relationship she’d once had with James, but there had been a tiny piece of her that had hoped everything would have magically fixed itself. It was daft, she knew, but still she’d hoped.

“Dad said he could come stay with the girls starting Mother’s Day Sunday night,” James said after they put the girls to bed.

“Good,” Rose said. “Where are we going, by the way? We ought to figure out hotel arrangements if needed.”

“I was actually thinking we could go up to the manor in Scotland?” James suggested. “So we’re not too far away, and we won’t have to worry about hotels and eating out for all meals. It’s somewhere familiar, and it’s a place we won’t get distracted by sightseeing. We can just focus on us. What do you think?”

“Sounds great,” Rose said, making a mental note to ask her boss for time off.

Lindsey was more than willing to let Rose have the week off.

“You’ve been pulling overtime left and right,” she said. “Take a break.” After a short pause, her boss lowered her voice and asked, “Is everything all right, Rose? Did something happen?

Rose shrugged and said, “I don’t want to talk about it. James and I are okay, but we really need to take a break alone together.”

Rose worked hard to finish up all of her in-progress projects, and she assigned one of her teammates to act as the boss for the week. By the time she was due to take her week alone with James, she had all of her work wrapped up and would start with fresh assignments when she got back.

Mother’s Day finally came, bringing with it a colorful bouquet from James, and cards that the girls made.

“Happy Mother’s Day to the best mother on the planet,” James murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple as he ushered her to sit down at the kitchen table. “There’s no one else I would want to be raising my children with.”

Rose smiled at him and inhaled the perfume of the flowers he’d bought her. The girls then sprinted into the kitchen and vied for their mother’s attention.

“Come here you two,” Rose giggled, scooping them both up, glad that they were still small enough to fit in her lap at the same time. She hugged her girls tightly and pressed kisses to their hair, feeling so much love and joy for the two people who were responsible for making her a mother. “Oh, I love you both.”

“Love you, Mummy!”

“I love you too, Mummy!”

Rose rocked her daughters gently and rested her chin on Ainsley’s shoulder as she looked at the cards her girls made for her.

Robert and Jackie joined them in the afternoon for a late lunch barbecue, and once everyone was fed, James and Rose took their leave.

“We’ll be home next Sunday,” they promised, hugging their girls tightly. “Love you lots.”

Giving their daughters a final hug and kiss, James and Rose loaded their suitcases into their car and drove off into the setting sun and hopefully towards a regeneration of their marriage.

<-- Ch7 | Ch9 -->

#ficandchips #doctorroseprompts #dwfic #doctor who #ten x rose #au #ten x rose au #james x rose #soulmates #my fic #and babies make five and six #perfectly matched series #lemons #themes of infertility #here it is!!!#i really hope y'all like it #and i'd love to hear what you thought of this chapter

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frenchy-and-the-sea · 6 years

Text

POI - Trying

HEY @phoenix-failing yOU THOUGHT I FORGOT, DIDN’T YOU? Nah man, I just have horrible writer’s block and can’t finish things without running it to the wire. HAPPY BIRTHDAY! For starting this story of idiot adventures on its journey, and for sticking with us along the way. I hope you had a good birthday. <3

1740 words, hopefully without ruining your characters. ;)

The missive arrived without any sort of warning.

It just appeared a few feet away, with a pop of magical energy and a dull thud that echoed through the chamber like a gunshot. Cavvery picked her heavy head up from where it had been learned against the bedpost and blinked away the hazy images of the paper she was practically swimming in.

“Why?” she groaned, speaking to the empty room like she intended for it to answer. When no answer came, she just sighed and pushed herself painfully to her feet.

The scroll sat amid a cluttered spray of documents that Kate had been helping her decipher, already beginning to crumble to dust as she approached. A faint breeze from the window lifted most of it away, and underneath the scattering ashes she could see a fat, lumpy cloth bag slumped against a veritable tower of paperwork. She scattered the last bits of scroll with a flick of her hand and carefully bent down to inspect it.

A single fabric pin held a note onto the outside, and it's simple, three line message took up nearly half of the paper it was written on:

This is real fucking late. Sorry. Blame Ianry.

Underneath were six names scrawled in various states of legibility, tucked among little notes and doodles that depicted a few sketchy silhouettes assaulting an enormous turtle-beast with a dragon’s head. Cavvery snorted. Those idiots couldn’t go two weeks without finding something big to kill, apparently. She tried to pretend like the shake of her head was exasperation and not fondness, even as she unpinned the note and tucked it carefully into her pocket.

The sack itself fell open the minute she undid its considerable tie - Val’s work, no doubt - and out spilled an array of small trinket bags, each with a single letter stitched crudely into them. Letters for each of them, she realized as she stared, some in multiples and some in slightly larger bags, like they hadn’t been able to find enough in one size to make their point. Cavvery grabbed the nearest one, a little drawstring number with an ‘S’ stitched into it, and tugged it open.

The smell of coffee flooded her senses instantly, coating her nose and throat with the thick, dark scent as she peered inside. A fair two fistfulls of coffee beans had been ladled into the bag, partially obscuring the note tucked among them that read, “For the long nights,” in tight, delicate script. Beside it, a heart had also been scribbled in, and Cavvery didn’t quite make it to fighting off her smile this time.

The next bag was one of Amon’s, full of big pieces of polished black glass that looked like they had been carefully rendered into stiletto knives, and a significantly longer note detailing all of the ways he thought they might be useful. One of Ianry’s held a piece of fire opal bound in golden wire, and a small shark built entirely of cogs and jagged looking scrap; Tara’s was wrapped carefully around two small vials of a very dark brown liquid labeled “Dragon’s Fire” that made her eyes water when uncorked; a very large one about the size of her stacked fists was labeled with a V and an R, so close together that they might as well have been one letter, and contained a still-warm cloth sachet that smell suspiciously of fried dough. There, she stopped, gathering up the whole affair and hauling it carefully back towards Bren’s room.

He glanced up as she shouldered the door open, and the widening of his eyes reminded her suddenly how little she had seen the outside of Ainsley’s office walls.

“Mail,” she said to the question lingering there, shrugging in the approximation of a gesture to the bag in her arms. “From the disaster club.”

Bren snorted. “I didn’t think they’d bother.”

“They probably wouldn’t,” said Cavvery as she flopped down onto the bed beside him, “except I think Ianry told them about our birthdays. And I think they felt bad.”

“Why? They wrecked Kay’s mansion. They let us help.”

“I’m not saying it wasn’t a good gift,” she said. “I’m just saying that I’m not exactly going to try and send this stuff back to them either.”

She tossed him the bag with the ‘VR’ stitched into it, watching out of the corner of her eye as he slowly pawed it open, and then quickly tugged out the sachet inside.

“Should I ask how they’ve managed to keep these warm while sending them?” he asked after a moment, holding up the now undone cloth. Nestled in his hand were a small pile of small donuts, fried golden and coated with a thin layer of cinnamon and sugar.

“Telescription,” Cavvery replied, snatching one of them before Bren could pull back and popping it into her mouth. “They must’ve gotten them right before they sent it to us.”

“To me,” Bren corrected, and yanked the cloth back to guard the donuts jealously behind a turned shoulder. “You’ve already got all of that…. what did you get, anyway?”

They spent a solid ten minutes pouring over the little bundles, settling up gifts directed towards one or the other, teasing each other when they stumbled across the few that were clearly meant as jokes. Eventually, though, the bag lay empty, and they lay surrounded by a small treasure hoard of near-useless trinkets of varying shapes and sizes. Bren licked the last of the sugar and cinnamon from his fingers and set the sachet aside, looking unusually content.

“Well,” he said, “that’s the least boring thing that’s happened to us the last few weeks, at least.”

“Speak for yourself,” said Cavvery, stretching out her back with a wince. “This week Kate took me over a library of obscure Sendran property law and if that wasn’t the most engaging, stimulating, delightful - “

Bren reached over and shoved at her, and she let herself go sprawling onto the bed, snickering.

“I’m serious,” he said when she had smothered the last of her laughter, “I feel like we’ve done nothing but hole up in our rooms for days. I mean, we used to sit around doing fuck all before, but that’s because we were always just….just waiting.”

His tone made Cavvery sit up, just slightly, but whatever memories he was conjuring seemed notably absent of Ambrose’s shadow; he simply looked thoughtful, chewing on his lower lip as he fiddled with the slapdash shark statuette in his hands. She sank back down, pillowing her head on her folded arms.

“That’s not so terrible.”

“It’s not,” Bren agreed. “I definitely wouldn’t go back. I just...this was nice.”

Another moment of quiet rolled over them as they surveyed the array of knick knacks scattered around them on the bed. Eventually, Bren cleared his throat.

“I think we ought to send something back,” he said slowly. Cavvery snorted.

“Don’t bother. They certainly don’t need any more useless garbage weighing them down -”

“It doesn’t have to be this,” Bren said, gesturing with an arm towards the bed, “but I think we should. A note or something, just to say thanks. I think….I think they’re our friends, Cav.”

The silence this time was longer, and decidedly less kind. Some quiet, vile part of her wanted to scoff; what manner of idiot would accept being friends with a group of wannabe world-savers, who ran off into danger on a moment’s notice? Where was the gain in that? The sense?

And more importantly, what wannabe world-saver would want to be involved with them?

“I don’t think us trying to kill them twice really puts us on the road to being friends,” she said after a moment, keeping her eyes on the ceiling. She could let this much of her cynicism out, at least - the sensible part, the part still far enough removed from Kay that she didn’t hear her voice creeping through her brain.

“And I don’t think they’d have sent any of this if they weren’t at least trying,” Bren replied, his voice inching up into that particular quality it got when he desperately wanted to win a fight. “They killed Kay with us, Cav. They came back for me just because you asked. What else would that make them?”

Cavvery shrugged. “A group of idiots?”

Bren opened his mouth to argue. Paused. Closed it.

“Okay,” he said at last, sounding strangely put out, “fine. Fair enough. I’m still right, though. They wouldn’t have done this if they didn’t give at least a little bit of a shit.”

With a sudden surge of movement, Bren pushed himself haphazardly through the sea of gifts and off of the bed, towards the little wooden writing desk in the corner of the room. He pulled back the chair with a huff and flopped into it, grabbing a piece of parchment from the drawer. Then he turned in his seat, one arm dangled over the back of the chair.

“Just sign it?”

Cavvery pushed herself upright again, eyeing her brother for a long, silent moment. She hadn’t noticed it before, she realized, but he had changed over the last few weeks of boredom they had been wrestling with. There was a looseness to the lines in his shoulders, a slant to his smile that nearly looked easy now. They were neither of them done with the hellish backdrop of seventeen years under Kay and Ambrose, but it seemed rather like Bren had started tearing it down.

It seemed rather like he was the one trying.

Sighing, Cavvery pushed up off of the bed and threaded her way over, just as Bren was starting to scrawl a greeting. She shoved at his shoulder, nearly pushing him clear out of the chair as she slid in to take his place.

“Let me,” she said stiffly. “Your handwriting is terrible.”

Two days later, a scroll appears at the feet of a party of road-worn travelers as they trudge their way through a thin dusting of snow. It crumbles to ash in a matter of seconds, revealing a squat brown sack, decidedly less full than it had been when it had left their possession. On it is a small note, attached with a single fabric pin. It reads:

Thanks for the gifts. We thought we would return your bag, and a few pieces of home.

Stay safe if you know how.

Your friends,

C & B

#my writing #oc crap #pile of idiots #i have absolutely no idea if this is even good or if they're in character or what but HERE GOES #sibling banter is very fun to write though y'all #very fun indeed #other people's ocs #I really wanted to write you an evie or a kiva but I sadly don't know them well enough to write #NEXT TIME

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unstablemonstrosities · 4 years

Photo

Juliette Solo XI

Trigger Warnings: Death, child abandonment, hints at death of a child, birthing complications, gore.

Juliette was in a worse mood than usual. Christmas was coming up. And her mind was poisoned with the memories of a happier time, when she was surrounded by her family on Christmas day. When she would get to see their faces at the gifts she’d given them, or the excitement of opening her own. Then there was Church on Christmas Eve, even though now she’d resented the entire idea of it, she’d still be surrounded by people she had cared about there. She could remember working with the toy drive to give less fortunate kids presents on Christmas Day. There had been something rewarding about it. And now there was nothing.

There was no joy, no feeling of fulfillment, just emptiness. The same as last year, and the year before that. It seemed she was always empty these days. She’d forgiven herself, or tried to. But the pain wasn’t gone. The pain was always there, lingering and lurking, waiting to drown her. She was barely staying afloat. And nobody realized really. Nobody was willing to listen. It was better that way. It was better for her. And it was better for them. Nobody needed to feel the weight of her sorrow, and she didn’t need anyone.

It was rather late. That was the only time she really went out. She should have been a vampire, it was fitting. She was never out in the day. She didn’t like it. There were too many people out then. Too many people hustling and bustling about, open to run into. The last she needed was any unnecessary touching, any people’s deaths to feel. She had enough misery as it was without piling on even more.

The redhead was only stepping out for a bit of fresh air, she needed it. She’d been mostly taking advantage of the fact Noah had been occupied in another room with his wife to be and actually spending time in her own room instead of making herself scarce like she would every time that he was there. She didn’t like to admit it, but he still scared her, putting her on edge more so than she usually was.

Juliette made her way down the hall of her dorm. She was heading towards the middle of the building, there was an exit at the back she would usually take. Back when she’d been going to meet Chris. Naturally that had changed considering his avoiding her, and apparent interest in Nicole that the rumors seemed to be floating about. But she still knew the exit well, as a place not many people used.

The hallway was barren and empty, and she assumed the inhabitants were all sound asleep. It was in the early hours of the morning anyway. That was how she liked it. The less people she ran into the better. Reaching out, she pressed her hands against the metal bar on the door, pushing open the door and starting to step through it. Then it happened. A hand gripped her arm and the vision shook her.

She was so tired.

There was a dull aching agony between her legs. She wasn’t sure what it was. There was relief. It wasn’t as bad as it had been a few moments ago. It was like it was further away. Like she was further away. There was peace in that. She felt like she was drifting off. Maybe she was going to sleep. The pain faded further and further, drifting away.

She was so tired. It reminded her of the surgery she’d had when she was child, and the drugs they’d given her so she would sleep during it. Like she was underwater, like all of her limbs were being dragged down, and there was a rolling drowsiness in her mind that prevented her from thinking completely. Safety, there was worry there too. Had to protect her. Had to protect her.

Her dry lips parted. “Have to…keep safe,” a broken whisper came out. The sound was rough, and her throat was scratchy as she spoke, like she needed some water. The voice wasn’t hers. No, it had to be hers. The vision. It was the vision.

All of her energy was gone and she fought to separate herself from the vision. But she couldn’t. Under and under she was being pulled. So tired. She was so tired. She needed to sleep. She blinked a few times, trying to see. Her vision was too blurry. There was nothing but vague shapes. The sound of crying, screeching.

“No no no!” that was her voice. Her voice. But not. Vision. Vision. This wasn’t her. It felt like her though.

So tired. She was pulled into the vision once more. Pulled into her exhaustion. She thought she felt her eyes shut, it didn’t matter. The world faded to black, and she drifted off into a sleep she hadn’t known would be eternal.

Juliette came out of it with a shock, and for a moment dysphoria had her. She felt like herself again, and there was no arguing now that it had not been her dying. Just like the other times, it had felt so real. Vividly real. Just as real as her own deaths had. Something new to add to the list. There was confusion too, more than just trying to figure out who she was.

“You’ve got to help me,” she heard the words spoken, they’d been her words a moment ago. She shook her head, forcing herself back into reality by digging her nails into her skin. It helped, the pain reminded her of who she was, that she wasn’t all the visions she had gone through. Rather harshly, she yanked her arm back. There was a female in front of her. And at firs the dysphoria left over from the vision kept her from fully understanding the situation. All she knew was she wanted out of the touch.

She could see now through her green optics that even the harsh yank of her arm free of the grip set the woman stumbling. And then she felt the urge to seek out why she was so weak. That was how she saw it. The woman’s stomach was bulging, rounded. And it wasn’t because she’d over eaten or had intentions of dressing like Santa Claus. It was because the woman was pregnant. Her friend Ainsley had been pregnant.

Juliette felt immediate discomfort and more confusion. Why would the woman want her? Why would anyone want help from her? She didn’t recognize her. Not her features at least. But she recognized her voice only from the vision. Her voice wasn’t quite so cracked, but it was weak. And she could tell by the way the woman had stumbled she was weak too.

“Why me? Can’t you just go to the infirmary?” Maybe it was mean. But Juliette was uncomfortable. Especially if the woman knew her. Even if she was confusing her for Millie, neither of the twin sisters were ones to approach for help.

“Won’t make it,” the voice was broken and the woman hunched over, releasing a cry of pain. Juliette was beginning to panic, her heartbeat picking up in her chest, adrenaline flooding her veins. Oddly enough, concern too, for the woman in front of her. Juliette stepped forward, gripping one of the woman’s arms, trying to tug her off in the direction of Juliette’s room. More cries of pain told Juliette they wouldn’t make it that far. This woman was too far. Whatever was happening, this baby was coming now, in the next few minutes.

Juliette switched pathways, trying to bring her off into the stairway. She managed to half pull and half lift the woman off into the stairway. At least there was a door between them and the rest of the dorm hallway. The last thing she needed was to try and fend off supernatural creatures who would likely be the type to kill the woman before she could even deliver.

As soon as they got there, the woman’s legs gave from underneath her. Juliette caught her as much as she could, feeling an instant protest from her own upper arms and back. She cried out briefly, but quickly got back into gear, trying to let the woman lay back down against the floor as slowly as possible. “Alright, alright,” she said, panic overcoming her. She’d done this once before, but it didn’t mean it had been easy for her. This woman was a complete stranger. She doubted she’d be happy with Jules if she messed up somehow. Taking a few deep breaths, Juliette tried to bring herself about to a clinical mindset, convince herself that everything was okay. “Just stay calm,” she wanted to slap herself. Stay calm. What a moronic suggestion. Maybe it was a better one for herself.

Another cry of pain from the woman filled her ears, and she didn’t waste much more time. This was no time for her to start freaking out. Though the panic rising in her seemed to disagree. Juliette put work to getting the pants off the woman. She seemed to be trying to help, but she quickly smacked her hands away knowing she was only hindering the situation. It’d been one thing doing this for a friend, but for a complete stranger, it was rather uncomfortable. It gave the panic another peg to rise up on. She forced herself to breathe deeply, reminding herself the woman needed the help. Once she discarded the lower layers of clothing, she tried to remember what she did for Ainsley, hoping her hands would fall into some sort of muscle memory. Blood stained flesh that should have been lighter in color, marking it with a wet crimson. Had there been that much blood before?

There was something already there, a part. Juliette thought it was the head at first. That was what it appeared to be. Then she quickly realize. It was the baby’s bum. The panic rose in her and she heard herself breathing out more heavily. It felt like there was no air in the room, like it’d all been gone. She was gasping. “Breech! Its breech what do I do?” She was shaking. She felt like resuming to the corner and curling up. She tried to force through the breaths, but her lungs weren’t agreeing with her attempts to breathe at all.

“Get her out!” The voice practically screamed at her. It didn’t help the panic much, tears form in her eyes. She knew she had to do this. But how. She never had before. She’d never done anything like this before. For a split second, she lost it. Her hands pressed on her ears as she tried to calm herself, tried to force calm into her body. Hot tears of panic, confusion and guilt spilled over her face, her usual insecurities slipping through to tell her what a mess up she was.

The scream broke through her body shutting down. It was one of pain, another one. More blood. There was so much blood. Juliette forced herself to maintain some sort of calm. Any kind of it. It wasn’t easy, not even a little bit easy. The redhead forced her lungs to work, forced air to calm out in something besides the tiny and rushed pants that had been escaping her.

She tried to remember anything she’d learned in school about breech births. There was nothing. Especially not a step by step guide for delivering the baby. But she tried to do what she did for Ainsley, forcing her shaking hands to wait, wait for the baby to come through, occasionally pushing and apply her own pressure to try and aid it.

“You have to push,” Juliette said, though her voice was shaky and distorted, like she didn’t know if she was entirely right about that. The baby had to come out, but would pushing damage the infant somehow. She didn’t know. She just knew she had to try and get through this, get herself and the baby and the mother through this alive. She grabbed the woman’s pants, knowing it was the best bet she had to a blanket of some sort to try and cover up the baby with when it was there.

The woman’s screams and pants filled the room, accompanied by the sound of Juliette’s heavy gasps for breath. She kept trying to whisper encouragements, but it didn’t work much. There was so much blood. More of the baby presented itself. The small body was curled up, with a pale unhealthy hue. She didn’t like that. Once more she had to force herself not to panic more than she already was. Finally the baby was out, and through her teary blurred vision she could see something, murky, vaguely blue shaded color of the baby’s umbilical cord was wrapped around the child’s neck. Her hands were moving as quickly as possible, and she quickly unwrapped the cord from the child’s neck.

She wrapped the pants legs somewhat awkwardly around the small infant, avoiding contact with its skin as much as possible. The last thing she needed was a vision. “Come on, come on,” she said to the infant, her voice not quite her own, filled to the depths with panic. All she needed to hear was the cry. The cry that would show the infant was alive, that it was okay.

A throaty screech echoed through the room, the tiny mouth of the infant opening to release it. She breathed out in relief, carefully setting the infant down. That was when she saw it, all over the ground. The crimson shaded the floor, in something of a pool beneath the woman. There shouldn’t be this much blood. There hadn’t been this much when Ainsley had given birth.

She quickly grabbed for her quarter sleeved cardigan, yanking it off her body and trying to press it against the woman’s body. “There’s too much!” She exclaimed, her voice shaking just about as her own hands were. The sound of the infant crying accompanied her own panicked breaths being drawn in all over again. “It won’t,” the warm crimson was easily seeping through the material, her words were cut off by a hiccupping sob. “It won’t stop, it has to stop!” Panic was completely grasping her now, and even as she tried to stop the bleeding with the material, it wasn’t working. It kept coming. The blood soaked through the white material of her cardigan.

“Have to…keep safe,” this was it. Juliette’s veins ran with ice as soon as she heard it. Her vision, it was her vision.

“No no no!” Juliette practically screamed it, desperately trying to press the cardigan there. Hot tears spilled over her face. The woman couldn’t die. She couldn’t. Yet she knew her vision couldn’t have been wrong. They never were.

“Come on, you have to stay alive! Your baby needs you!” She was screaming at the woman, as if it would shake her out of it. Through her blurry vision, she could see the woman’s head tipping to the side as her body stilled.

Juliette shifted, crawling to the woman’s side. She gripped her shoulders and started shaking her. “Wake up!” She said, not screaming this time. She kept shaking her, kept telling her to wake up. “Come on! Wake up, please wake up,” she begged and pleaded, as if she could reason with the woman who was now nothing more than a corpse. Her voice eventually rose to a scream, but there was no response. No response other than the silence from the woman and the squealing from the child.

Juliette half crawled back to the child. Her shaking hands shifted under the child as she lifted her a little. It was nothing more than a little brush of her skin on the baby’s, but she was rolled into a vision once more.

Nothing made sense.

It was all jumbled. There was so much pain. It hurt so much. It was agonizing, blinding. All she could feel was the pain. She felt smaller, as if she had shrunken somehow. It was a vision. That was what reminded her it was a vision, the fact she could feel how tiny her body was. Her throat hurt too. Screaming. She’d been screaming for hours with no answer.

It was so cold. Something was cold against her back. Only her back was small. All of her was small. There was an entire blur of dysphoria, confusion in her own body, uncertainty of who or what she was. All she knew was she needed something. Something she wasn’t getting.

The pain persisted. She cried harder. Not her. It was the baby. The vision. She seemed to be pulled back down, eclipsed in the pain. The pain rolled through her, accompanied by a weakness in her entire body. She wasn’t sure how long it took, but soon the darkness rolled over her, rushed her and flooded through her. It pulled her down, wrapping her in its embrace.

She flooded back into her reality. Suddenly realizing where she was. Once more confusion and dysphoria hit her. Too many visions. Too many versions of herself. Not herself. She had to keep reminding her it wasn’t her. It wasn’t her. Slowly, she started to realize where she was again. There was a weight in her arms. A baby. She glanced down, blinking through blurred eyes as she slowly remembered why her vision was so blurry. She’d been crying.

It took her another few moments to remember the entire situation. Slowly she curled the child to her chest as far as she could with the umbilical cord. She shifted closer to the body, rocking the child gently as she desperately tried to sooth the crying infant, as well as herself. “It’s alright, it’s alright,” she cooed, her voice thick with sadness. She knew it wasn’t. This baby was an orphan.

Her vision was beginning to make sense though. She started to understand. The child was going to die of something in its tiny helpless state. She wasn’t sure how, there would be cold. Someone would abandon it, likely the doctors or whoever found it if she left it here. She couldn’t let it happen. She’d already failed the mother, failed the baby in a way too by failing to bring her mother through the situation alive.

“We’ll be okay, I got you,” she whispered to the infant, rocking both her and the child back and forth as she spoke.

#solos

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actuallylorelaigilmore · 7 years

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Rain On Me Your Sweetness

TWW one-shot, Sam x Ainsley, just a smidge post-series. While @actuallylukedanes‘s birthday is technically over now, this fic is a belated gift by request.

Summary: A new administration...a new chance at something more. Pure fluff with sequel potential. “Why did he suddenly feel like he was pulled right back to being that kid in the Mess who couldn’t even carry food up stairs without dropping it, because he thought his coworker was pretty?”

Cross-posted on AO3; additional notes can be found there.

“Sam!”

The folders Ainsley had been carrying went flying out of her hands when she ran into him, both figuratively and literally, in the bustling White House hallway.

He didn’t drop anything he was carrying, but his gaping mouth made it obvious that he was just as surprised to see her.

Transition was such chaos, it was no wonder it hadn’t happened yet, Ainsley thought. It turned out that coming into an administration once it was established and running relatively smoothly was vastly different from being a part of it from the ground up.

He should have expected this, Sam thought ruefully. He’d heard that she was going to be White House Counsel, but hadn’t needed to think about that too much, with all the positions that still needed staffing and the minutia of the transition that Josh had kept piling on his desk.

Every time he looked at his growing phone sheet, he remembered the jokes they’d crack in the Bartlet Administration about Josh not really having a job to do. He kind of wanted to grab past-Sam by the shoulders and give him a good shake.

“Ainsley, hi,” he stammered after what felt like an eternity, trying not to look as uncomfortable as he felt. God, what had it been, four years? Why did he suddenly feel like he was pulled right back to being that kid in the Mess who couldn’t even carry food up stairs without dropping it, because he thought his coworker was pretty?

Shaking his head, Sam crouched down to help gather up her folders. “Sorry about this, I wasn’t even looking, I have a meeting with Carter and he--”

His hand bumped hers and he cut himself off, drawing back. “Doesn’t matter. Here you go.”

“It was my fault,” Ainsley argued, taking the files as they stood back up. “I know better than to read and walk. Or, well--I don’t, obviously.”

He was already angling himself for a retreat, and she wasn’t sure why.

“Well anyhow, I’m sorry for bumping into you.”

“It’s really alright,” she tries to tell him, but his phone buzzes and he makes an apologetic face.

“I have to go.”

“Nice to see you again,” she offers faintly, watching him walk away.

****

How was it that time had barely touched her, Sam wondered.

He was only half-listening as Lou argued with Carter, giving his mind more time to wander--it wasn’t as though Lou really needed his help when it came to posturing.

Instead, he was thinking of Ainsley, the way she’d been striding through the halls like she owned them, no longer the insurgent who was afraid to meet the Commander in Chief.

She seemed so much more confident--if no more coordinated, he thought with a smirk...but just as gorgeous.

Only Ainsley Hayes could crouch in the middle of a West Wing hallway, gathering her paperwork, and look completely radiant.

In the years since she’d left the Counsel’s office and he’d left the White house, he’d thought about her often. She was one of his few regrets: never making a move, being too worried about a scandal or even just looking like an idiot. He’d always had to wonder whether she would have said yes, if only he’d asked.

The last thing he needed now was to remember all of that, to relive it...to have it shoved in his face in the old halls where she glowed like new and he just felt tired.

After the meeting, he was grabbing lunch in the Mess when his attention was diverted from the new drought report by that light drawl.

"Hello again.”

“Hey.” He grinned at the size of her salad as she joined him. “Famished?”

“It’s lunchtime,” she answered, as though that answered that.

Ainsley studied him while she ate. It was strange to see how little Sam had changed, when the White House was full of it these days. He was still one of the most beautiful men she had ever seen, objectively speaking, who never acted like it. She still had the urge to pick a fight with him on every issue, just to watch his mind work.

“I’d heard you were taking the position as Deputy,” Ainsley told him as they finished eating. “How is it going so far?”

“Well, so far, it’s…madness,” he admitted with a chuckle. She noted with interest that the last few years had sharpened him...he’d lost that sweet, heart-on-his-sleeve look that had been so difficult to resist. He had the polish and steel he would need to be the new Josh, Ainsley thought, but had to give up parts of the old Sam to get there.

She hadn’t kept in touch after she left the Counsel’s office, and now she was left in the dark as to what exactly had happened to change him so much. She wondered if it was a bad breakup, or the congressional debacle she’d watched from afar. It couldn’t have been the White House itself, because here he was, back again.

“That sounds about right,” she replied.

“Yeah. There are perks, though.” His face brightened. “Want to see my office?”

“Even better,” she countered with a laugh. “Want to see mine? No bats at all so far.”

“Wish I could,” Sam told her as he set his napkin aside, “but I’ve got to be on the Hill by one. With the way President Santos likes to chart his own course, though, I’m sure I’ll be seeing it soon enough.”

With their new working relationship in the administration, Ainsley knew that he couldn’t avoid her entirely. But something compelled her to rush ahead before he could disappear for the second time.

“How about we meet for a drink later and catch up? I’d love to hear all about what I missed when I left. Say, tonight at nine?”

Somehow Sam was certain that socializing with her after hours was a bad idea, but now that he was Deputy COS, the last thing he needed was to antagonize the new White House Counsel before they’d even gotten their administration off the ground.

Blinking, he couldn’t find a way to politely refuse, so he didn’t. “Sure. Sounds good. The Gibson?”

Ainsley grinned, her smile still pure Southern sunshine. “Great. See you then, Sam.”

****

When he arrived at the bar, it took him a minute to find her, even though he knew she would have gotten there early. That was Ainsley for you, punctual to a fault, obsessed with her codes of honor and truth and star-spangled patriotism. But despite sitting across a table from her earlier that same day, he barely recognized her at The Gibson.

Her long hair was pinned back, framing her face, which had pinked up prettily to contrast her slick red lips. Suddenly Sam wasn’t sure this was a friendly drink after all. What was it she’d said when he agreed to meet? He tried to think back, unable to focus. Whatever it was, it hadn’t prepared him for the silver top that laced across her bare back and showed off creamy skin dipping down to a sweeping black skirt.

She was chatting with the bartender as he approached, her head tipped back in laughter, making the smooth line of her neck catch the muted light. He admired her ease with strangers, Democrat or Republican; he’d always been a little awkward with them.

“Sam,” she greeted him with delight, eyes sparkling as he approached. “You made it.”

“Of course I did.” He took a seat at the bar next to her. “It’s busy in the Oval, but we’re not quite at the working-past-eight stage of the chaos yet.”

“Well, I’m glad.”

The bartender nodded his way, eyes returning to Ainsley afterwards. Sam couldn’t blame him. “What’ll you have?”

“Tom Collins.”

By the time the bartender brought his drink, Ainsley had coaxed out the story of why he had left the Bartlet administration. It was easier than he would’ve expected to admit that the loss of an unwinnable campaign soured him on politics. It was harder to answer her understandable follow-up question.

“Then why did you come back?”

“Josh needed me. President Santos intrigues me. And I just...I missed it.”

He folded his napkin in half, then tucked it into his pocket--an old habit he stopped noticing years ago. "What about you? Why not stay at the...where were you again, the Coolidge Institute?”

“Hoover.”

“Right.” He smiled. “So, why did you come back?”

“Well, first there’s Josh’s winning personality,” Ainsley drawled, making him laugh.

“But seriously...” She thought about it. “I feel like I did more good working under President Bartlet than I have in the years since. Bipartisanship is where real change happens--where government can actually work for the people.”

He was nodding along, drawn in by her sincerity. There were many things Ainsley Hayes was not, but she always said only what she meant. That was one of his favorite things about her.

“I want to work for the people,” she finished simply. A firm nod punctuated her words. “So I’m here to help the President do that.”

He couldn’t help the slow smile that spread over his face. He was simply enchanted by her strange intensity, always had been. Dazzled.

Sam told her about a few of his strangest encounters after leaving the White House, and she returned the favor with tales of being accosted for her traitorous career choices whenever she went back to her hometown.

“This is fun. Why did we never do this during the Bartlet administration?” Ainsley asked him, sipping her second sparkling pink cocktail.

“Why do you think?”

“Well, it wouldn’t have been appropriate,” she began the list easily, as though she had it already prepared. “I was new, and wanted respect, not whispers about fraternization. We had nothing in common.

“And also?” She smiled at him. “You never asked me.”

He enjoyed the way her words went soft around the edges with just that hint of the South, he always had. Despite her years in Washington, that had yet to change, and it made him grin back at her in return.

“This time I didn’t have to,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, I’m all about seizing the day now,” Ainsley said with a laugh. “I just thought it would be nice to catch up.”

“Even though we still work together, and have nothing in common.”

“Well, it’s not like I’m a senior counselor,” she replied, growing serious again. “We have history in common. And after Leo...every day matters.”

“Yeah.” Sam blinked back the stinging in his eyes for a second.

“Anyhow, it was just an evening out,” Ainsley beamed at him and finished her drink. “Nothing to worry about here.”

****

Walking amiably next to each other on the way back to her place, they got caught up in a dissection of the latest Supreme Court decision, Roper v. Delaware.

“It’s clearly a civil rights violation. All you have to do is look at the prior case law, Madison v. Harwick for one.”

“Come on, Sam. You of all people can’t honestly be saying that the Constitution guarantees--”

“Well, clearly I am saying it or you wouldn’t be trying to argue against it!” Sam shook his head. Some things never changed. He was glad this one hadn’t. Ainsley was still his best opponent.

“This is me.” She stopped in front of an unobtrusive brownstone and smiled at him. “We’ll have to continue this during office hours. Maybe we could grab lunch tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

“I’m really glad we’re going to be working together, Sam." Impulsively, Ainsley leaned in to kiss him on the cheek, before shooting him another smile. “Thanks for walking me home.”

“Goodnight,” he called out as she headed up the stairs, not sure what had just happened.

Dazed, Sam began the walk back toward his own apartment. His cheek tingled where she’d kissed it. Catching a goofy smile on his own face, he thought back to their evening at the bar, swapping stories and avoiding shop talk.

Had he just gone on a date with Ainsley Hayes?

#tww #sam x ainsley #ainsley hayes #sam seaborn #tww fic #sam x ainsley fic #sam x ainsley fanfic #tww fanfic #fanfic #my fic #abw2017

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