#i cry myself to sleep knowing that i am leaving home in september | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wherethehellisderrymaine · 2 years

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September Wrap Up

Books

vinculeando The OutsiderMusic my bod dysmorphic disorder music: catriel 5so5 jessie reyez silvestre y la naranja enhpyen noah cyrus black pink two sugars - tai verdes

Events:

01: sleepy and sick with a cold making croissants long day ahead - 9 hours of classes

bough lcho’s therm. not the color i wanted but it’s never on stock, damn it. 02: no classes bc of cristina’s muderder attempt - went to lucho’s when he left work - he talked to me about what i’ve done, he was so patient and adorable and sensible and sensitive; i know i messed up by reading something that was not meant for me and for not telling him about but I know I won’t do shit likethat againg and I’ll keep on working on letting myself be vulnerable. -- watched jolly’s videos together

03: made coffee, watched the qualy, had sex (god i love him) - had lunch together watching fargo, it’s amazing. - went to parque san martin and to little ofelia with cata and lari. it was tense bc i haven’t been a good friend AT ALL lately, but they love me and i loved them and I WILL get better at it.

had plans with lucho but i went back late to the baticueva, so we stayed and ordered food from asian ghetto. he was cleanning the banjo, i love watching him do things he loves - i sensed him a little tense or nervous but he said he was fine. after dinner he used the toys on me and he even tied me up to the bed... this man’s gonna be the death of me, i cannot love him more because that it literally impossible.

04: shower together, rushed bike ride to home with lucho to watch the race - 3rd place -. lovely ride back to the baticueva, finished fargo (LOVED IT), blow job (i live for that, i fucking love his moans and that he bites himself, i’m fucked up), made a pascualina together, watch the rings of power and feel asleep in the sofa.

05: bloated, feel ugly. neck hurts. tired sad day at work, juli cried bc of other kids being mean for no reason. i wanna kill them anxious, feel ugly, doubt myself,

06: had nightmares of lucho dating another woman and being happier with her than with me, uncertainty is scary sex books - i gotta get better at it feel ugly and anxious -- bad body dysmorphia -- had a lovely dinner with lucho, watched rick and morty, ate ice cream -- FEAR FOOD that triggers my worst thoughts, i’ve been working on it but it’s still something hard for me. lucho was patient and talked to me, which again is hard for me to do because i am ashamed of being like this.

07: tired -- ugly

08: really bad body dysmorphia day - anxious and cried - i feel nauseous - i weighted myself and I’ve gained weight. I hate that and I’m terrified of falling back into my old ED patterns

09: still feel bad. a little less anxious but i couldn’t sleep, i feel ugly AF. cancelled valeria’s session bc i can’t stop crying and it would be pointless i’m not breathing properly bc of the anxiety - i feel sad and my head hurts.

i took photos of myself and i don’t believe what i see. that’s my mental illness.

10: qualy at el grosellar with mum and dad -- rough night bc of anxiety and slight depression, and nightmares. -- woke up feeling a little better

better body image but tummy aches

luch with cati and lari at mitre’s park -- it was lovely -- we planned Ori’s birthday.

went to lucho’s - said hi to angie that was just leaving -- lucho was really affectionte which made me feel much better bc i needed him and his love -- we were about to leave to Pampa’s beer party but we had sex, which i also needed.

then we went to the party. i had lots of fun and beer but at the end of the night i felt sad bc i missed Foni and I couldn’t stop crying. Lucho and his friends supported me, made me feel comfortable and calmed me down. i adore them

11: tired, slept bad -- went home with lucho to watch monza’s race - leclerc ended up in second place, not bad

lucho made lunch, it was delicious. tender meat and creamy potatoes -- i made cinnamon rolls

went back to the baticueva, gave him his stanley’s therm and i think he liked it - took a nap bc we were both really tired -- hand job, i live to touch him, it’s my favorite thing

made terrarios - i loved that -- listenes to music -- he made empanadas and we watched how i met your mother, jolly and teloresumo’s videos. -- tried milka oreo’s alfajor

went to bed bc we were both feeling sick and my headache didn’t ease on me.

12: bloated and tummy aches. feel ugly but not boderline bipolar anymore. i still have that weird headache

tired, had nightmares and slept bad bc of coughing

13: akward, pain, lucho’s house, payday, plazo fijo, clases en la casa de lucho

14: PERIOD...makes sense just fucked up - better body image but still obsesing over it - lucho made me ramen, i loved it and i love him, we finished naruto, had s3x, it was great but i felt like i didn’t do it as good as i could have -- too self concious

15: better body image but really bad headache, ginecologa -everythign was ok- cleaned lcho’s house - lots of classes - tired and headache at night

16: same as yesterday, feel like crap - had therapy, talked about my mental disorders and how much i am body checking and counting calories... it scares me to admit that i am falling back into that and how good i feel when i think i’m skinnier. i’m the worst and i hate myself. -- lucho went to the nutricionist and i reacted badly, topics like weight gaining and losing trigger me so much, even more when the person talking about is already skinny. i know he is doing that to be healthier and feel more confident and be happier, which i totally support; it’s just i don’t know how to talk about it. i’ll have a talk with him to explain why i’m such a bitch.

---- i need to stop talking this bad to myself. valeria will kill me.

---i’m anxious about tonight :( and i’m ashamed of it

--- it wasn’t that bad but i was too into my own dark thoughts and I couldn’t enjoy the time. my head hurt and the music was super loud. i tried to focus on his cousins and on him bc they are great and funny but i was feeling like shit when we came back home, we talked about it and i felt a little better but i stil hated myself

17: my head still hurt - felt kinda tired mum and dad brough ori’s cake had lunch with lucho and watched how i met your mother -- had a long nap of 2 hours, i really needed it had sex again had sex, felt better. i need that when i feel ugly bc he makes me feel beautiful and wanted.

before taking a shower together and going to ori’s brithday party at my nonna’s apartment we had fun, lucho bought 2 wines and they were delicious, the girls met by gorgeous, it was important for me bc i love them all and wanted them to meet for a long time -- had pizzas, nachos, talked a lot, listened to music... it was great we went back home, watched how i met your mother and drank some water

18: slept in till late - we needed it had sex - loved it -- it get better and better and i don’t get it. i adore him went to the park for a walk and to do the groseries for dinner cleaned the frige - made lunch and watched ELVIS -- super sad but i liked it made eggplants and listened to music Ro and Angi came over for dinner. i really like them, they are fun and easy going. we made pizzas, drank beer, and talked a lot -- i love seeing my gorgeous with people he loves. i just want him to be happy we watched how i met your mother bc rick and morty’s wasn’t available still, and ate cake.

storm

21: spring day - lovely day at work with the kids and adults. celebrated 3 years of the baticueva at lucho’s - lovely night, had lots of fun and then talked with lucho. i love our chats

22: student’s day at cem -the kids loved the cake i made for them, and played games with me, i adore them

24: went to sierras’s with lucho. the day was amazing and I met his father. I felt good but nervous bc i didn’t want to make him feel inconfortable. then jime and santi came and we all had dinner together. collected paltas and moved the glasses for their remodeling project

25: bbq at el grosellar. lucho made it, he worked really hard the entire weekend but i think he had fun and that he liked going there. IAN hurracain in cuba and miami - strong winds where Foni’s at but they are out of danger.

28: lari’s birthday went to authorize the xray order - got the appointment for it visited lucho at work - i love visiting him bought wines for the party felt tired and had a headache - losing my voice the kids from first children liked the class went to lari’s house, had dinner, some wine and went back to lucho’s. he was playing videogames. i laid with him and then we went to bed and had s3x - i fucking love EVERYTHING about this man. i cannot stand how much i adore him

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treadmilltreats · 2 years

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The anniversary of my freedom

Yesterday was the 9 year anniversary of my freedom and the funny thing is, I didn't even realize the date. I was on Facebook, when my remember when came up. Gotta love Facebook's remember when, otherwise we'd never remember anything.

I laughed as I didn't even know or remember the date, I honestly thought it was sometime in September. I probably should have it burnt into my head as this was the date of my freedom. It was as if you've been let out of prison after 24 years, something you never forgot.

But here's the thing, I don't think about it because I've moved on. I made a wonderful, fulfilling life for myself. I am grateful every single day that I am free. For me every day is the anniversary of my freedom. Seriously, at least twice a week on the way home from the gym watching the sunrise, I get so overwhelmed that I literally cry.

I feel especially grateful as next week I get to go home and spend 10 days with my friends and family. These are the moments I now live for, being able to do as I please. I am grateful I am no longer in a verbally abusive marriage. I am grateful for this amazing life I have now, a life I almost gave up on, a life I wanted to end.

This life I am now living, a life that I envisioned and fought for, a life that is sometimes is hard as hell but that I wouldn't give up for anything in this world. I found my self worth through this process, I found that I loved myself once again. I learned that I need to be me, like me or not, it doesn't matter because I'm still gotta be me.

I lived too many years trying to be someone I wasn't, trying to please someone who would never be happy anyway and now I no longer have to do that. I have to live my true life, be my true self. I found out that I had strength I thought I lost, and I found it through my faith in God.

I found my voice and am blessed to be able to be a voice for others who have none. I found my purpose in writing and being able to expose the lies I was living. To show others it's okay, that it may not be perfect, but that it will get better, if you keep believing and never give up.

I sometimes look back and think about how far I've come. I think about the many nights I cried in my bath with my wine and pills, wishing it would be over, praying for the strength to leave or to die. I think about how every night as I went to sleep I would envision the life that I wanted, even down to what my home would look like. A home where I was free, a home filled with peace and love, with laughter and friends and family. I envisioned traveling, I saw everything in my mind as if it was. I envisioned all of this, this life I now have and I am here to tell you that you can have it too!

This is why I went through all I've been through so that I can be here for you, the ones who are still crying in their tubs, for the ones who hate their lives and can't see a way out. For the ones beaten down, feeling like they lost themselves. This is what my freedom means to me, it means I can give encouragement to others, to say if I did it, so can you. It can and will happen, just don't give up.

So today my friends, remember this is not just my anniversary, I want it to be your anniversary as well. An anniversary of leaving the things or people that no longer work for you. The anniversary of a new you, a stronger you, a you that loves yourself enough to know your self worth and to demand respect. You can do this, hell, I did it and I am no different than you.

So let's all make this the anniversary of our freedom.

"Be the change you want to see"

@TreadmillTreats

"Be the change you want to see"

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darthwheezely · 3 years

Text

with you - f.w.

summary: based on the song ‘with you’ from ghost the musical

warnings: y’all this is a dead!fred fic strap in i’m so sorry :,), anger/resentment, a shit ton of death mentions

a/n: i love you, Freckles.

i picked up your shirts this morning

i don’t know why

The bedroom hadn’t been touched since May 2, 1998. A slew of clothes strewn about the room. A broken painting. A faint memory of him holding you. You didn’t know what was more messy, what happened to him or the world he left you with.

You started to clean.

every place we ever walked and everywhere we talked

i miss you

you never leave my mind

so much of you is left

behind…

Diagon Alley in September was a fever dream. It always was, children and their parents hopping from place to place to collect school supplies, teenagers wandering aimlessly to meet up with friends, go on dates, etc.

Diagon Alley in September was Fred’s favorite time of year.

You watched him at the shop light up and bounce about like a beach ball the moment a child asked for assistance, or even just carrying in an inventory box.

Fred would be frequently exhausted at the end of the day, but demand to take you out to the Cauldron for fish n chips, or buy you a butter beer (or four) or take you to Eeylops. You always agreed.

“One day we’ll be doing this for our own kids, Y/N,” he said softly, looking at the storefront for Wizard Wheezes, the tall animatronic lifting a rabbit from his hat slowing down for the night, even in the healthy chaos of Diagon Alley.

You looked at him then, really looked at him, the tears pooling in your eyes.

“Y-yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You hated Diagon Alley in September.

you

took my days

with you

took my nights

with you

You had never really lived after Fred.

How does a person live after watching their person get crushed under a wall?

How does a person live after they run to said wall and scream, cry, beg for mercy from some being up in heaven for this to be a nightmare?

How does a person live after trying to push a wall far too heavy for force and being carried away by another while they cried so hard they lost air?

How were you supposed to live after Fred?

those unfinished conversations we used to have

still speak to me

“Y/N?” He shouted over the enveloping noise, spells and curses being fired so hard you’d think the ceiling would cave in.

“Fred, this isn’t a really good time-“ you yelled back.

“When we make it out of this-“

when he makes it out of this

“-I’m building us that nursery you hear me?”

No one built the nursery.

all this wishful thinking gets me nowhere

i can’t stay

though my heart is broken

it keeps breaking every day…

Sometimes, on a good day, you’d get the boom box out of the closet. You always tell yourself you’ll never touch it again, but there you are, touching it again.

That mixtape he made you will get fed through the muggle machine, and then it will spit out the song Crazy by Aerosmith.

“Come on, love, get up-“

“Fred, we’ve been assembling this bed frame we can’t just give up on it-“

“Say you’re leavin’ on a seven thirty and you’re head in’ out to Hoooooll-ay-wOOood - come on Y/N, bum up and get groovin’ with me!”

You two would dance until you were kissing and then he’d hold you standing up because to Fred Weasley, there was nothing on this planet but you.

You didn’t get through the whole song this time.

you

took my hopes

with you

took my dreams

with you

Kingsley Shacklebolt had left a message on the phone:

“Hey Y/N…I’m sorry to call you on a Monday night of all days - just busy lines everywhere else. I’m um…I’m really sorry but we um…we can’t have you as an Auror right now. We don’t want to ah - speed up your…your process right now. We know you’ve had a - hard - time recently and that job’ll only make it worse. Call me back if you want and maybe we can get you back in at Magical Accidents, they’ve got an opening. Alright. Well. See you, Y/N.”

i keep thinkin that you’ll be callin

everyone says that it’s all in my head

and i can’t accept it yet

You could’ve sworn you heard him.

You felt him in the shop (when George could force you to go.)

You saw him in every laugh and giggle little Dominique made.

Fred was everywhere and nowhere. It confused you, rage swelling in your chest like a hot air balloon only awaiting gas to take flight.

You had yelled. Told him going on that mission was selfish when you’d both been too risky for the Order as is.

“You can push me away all you want, Y/N-“

“Fred, stop-“

“No you need to listen to me for once in your life and it’s that i’m not going anywhere, I’m going to do that damn Seven Potters mission and I am coming home to you, do you hear me?”

You looked at him.

“I am always coming home, Y/N.”

“What a good joke, Fred, but where’s the punchline?”

i can’t comprehend this

and pretend that i don’t care

any place i wanna be

i wanna see you there…

“Hi, Freddie,” you hoarsely called to the barren-ness of the house.

“I hate sleeping here, did you know that? I feel way too close to telling myself that we’re okay, that I’m okay, kinda dumb isn’t it?”

No one answered.

“‘S alright, you always did hate the serious stuff. I’m just heading out to Gin and Harry’s for the night okay? I promise I’ll come back tomorrow. Will you be here?”

No one answered. You smiled, tears falling on your lips.

“That’s okay, I understand.”

You choked out a laugh and shrugged. “I love you! Have a good night, sweetheart.”

You shut the door.

you

took my life

with you

took my world

with you…

•••

taglist! @lumosandnoxwriting @billyhxrgrove @wandsandwheezes @harrysweasleys @fredweasleyisart @luvfrommars @luvshack @babyjordy @jillys-feral-fandoms @vibraniumwing @vixen @goddessofdawns @sagittarius-flowerchild @sinfulweasley @animprxperworld @daedreamss @lilypad-55449 @i-love-scott-mccall @omghufflepuff @vivianweasley @wh0reforthemarauders @amrtxntias @sunrisefairy @theorangedrummer @loony-loopy-lupinn @band--psycho @melmalone

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fic #fred and george

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cap-winter-barnes · 3 years

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What They Did To You (August Walker x Reader)

Mission Impossible: Fallout spoilers ahead (sort of)!!

A/N: This is an AU in which August comes home. I just had this idea of a really soft, loving, family-oriented August in my head and I absolutely fell in love with it.

Warnings: Like one swear word & mentions of injury

Buy Me a Coffee

During this time of the year, the English countryside becomes increasingly colder, almost seemingly out of nowhere. It’s as though, as the last days of September approach, that the sun decides it no longer wishes to provide the beautiful warmth it had during the summer months.

The sky outside is a darkening grey as you stare absentmindedly out of the window of your bedroom, the view still beautiful looking upon the expanse of greenery to the front of your property.

Moving to England had been the best decision for you, especially under the circumstances. You first occupied your quaint, sheltered home the previous year, in the midst of the Autumn season – the surrounding areas of the cottage you so adore, instantly made you feel at home amongst the beauty of the countryside.

You love the season so much so, that you bestowed its name upon the small bundle nestled safely in your arms, barely a month old.

Your little Autumn.

Such a small, delicate thing, with ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes. As soon as you saw that positive pregnancy test gripped between your shaking fingers, you vowed to protect and love her with your life – nothing could change that. A dusting of dark hair adorns her head and that accompanied by the beautiful ocean blue of her eyes, makes her a spitting image of her father. Your husband.

A husband you wish makes a safe return home, to you. To both of you. Despite his work and his beliefs, you still love the man the world has begun to fear – albeit under the guise of John Lark. The last you saw of him was a week before you gave birth to Autumn – he was flying to Berlin to infiltrate the CIA – that was all the information he had given you. That and the promise to come home safely. Yet weeks later, you fear the worst, spending any chance you can sparing glances out the window, expecting him pull up the driveway at any moment.

Your peace is suddenly interrupted by the incessant ringing of your phone, panic causing your heart to weigh heavily in your chest. There are only two people that have this number – your mother and August. Yet he never calls whilst on work duty, unless in an emergency, which has never occurred previously.

Autumn stirs in your arms, her small fists raising into the air in a stretch, soft gurgles escape her mouth as she begins to wake. Taking her dummy from the coffee table, you gently ease it between her lips, soothing her into silence as you reach for your phone. With unsteady fingers, you answer.

The voice on the other end of the call, you do not recognise, yet you know that he is an ally of August’s, his tone too reassuring to be a threat.

“Mrs Walker, your husband is alive.” You sense there is more that he’s not saying.

“Where is he?” You pull Autumn closer to your chest, a need within you to protect her even more so than before.

“He’s safe and will be on a private jet home within the hour, ma’am.”

“What aren’t-“

The call ends and you feel nauseous. Something is clearly wrong that they do not want you to know. Yet all you can do, is sit and wait for the return of your husband.

At quarter to midnight, nine hours after you received that dreaded call, you hear the sound of tyres on gravel nearing your home. Vacating your bed and ensuring that Autumn is soundly sleeping in her cot, you make your way to the window overlooking your driveway.

You are met with the sight of three Range Rovers, black in colour with tinted windows. As soon as the second car comes to a halt, the rear passenger swings open and, in a rush, out steps your husband. Despite not being able to distinguish his features, you know it is him.

Without further hesitation you remove yourself quickly from the window, uncaring of the fact you wear only a pair of black underwear and one of August’s button-up shirts. You have barely made it halfway down the staircase before the door flies open, revealing the silhouette of the man you love.

There is the briefest of pauses before you both instinctively move towards each other. August envelopes you in his arms, holding you tightly against his body as you grip the back of his shirt in your fists. Heavy sobs escape from your mouth as you revel in the feel of his warmth against your skin, the sensation of his hands on your clothed back. A forceful, yet loving kiss is placed on the crown of your head as August takes in the scent of your hair, missing the smell of your shampoo in the time that he has been gone.

As if only realising, August pulls away, a gasp leaving his lips as his strong hands gently caress your stomach – the last time he saw or felt your body, was with a full-term bump.

“Is-“

You cannot see his face clearly in the darkness of the hallway, but you can just make out that his attention is directed towards the top of the staircase.

“August, come and meet our daughter.”

The intake of breath that you hear from him causes a flutter in your chest. He had confessed to you, the day you revealed your pregnancy to him, that he hoped it would be a girl. A girl for him to cherish and spoil, to protect and love with his entire being.

As you are about to ascend the stairs, you reach for the light-switch, yet August’s hand stops you.

“No lights, please. I don’t want to wake her.”

“August, the light will be-“

“Please.” There is something different in his voice, if you were to guess it would seem like distress. But too caught in the moment of finally introducing August to your daughter has you brushing the thought aside.

“Okay. Take my hand.”

August takes your hand in his, his thumb dancing across your skin. As you reach your bedroom, you ignore turning the light on and continue further into the room. Before your reach her cot, August halts, reluctantly releasing your hand.

“Darling, are you okay?”

Clearing his throat, you can make out a nod of his head.

“Let me just clean myself up first.”

You watch as he retreats to your en-suite, closing the door behind him, save for a fraction that allows you to see the light turn on. But as you catch just a small amount of his reflection in the mirror, you feel sick.

“August?” The raised whisper of his name startles him and as he catches your expression through means of the mirror he curses.

“Shit.”

Moving quickly, you enter the bathroom and turn your husband to face you. Immediately, tears spring to your eyes and flow freely down your cheeks.

“Please don’t cry.”

He can hardly meet your gaze as he speaks, voice rough and broken.

The red, raw skin of the right-side of his face looks painful and you cannot help but think that this is in its healing stages, dreading to picture the sight immediately after the damage was caused.

“This is why you didn’t want the lights on, isn’t it.” A moment passes before he nods his head twice, a sombre expression on his face. Your hand reaches for the unaffected skin on his left side, taking his cheek in his palm, you stroke your thumb over his cheekbone, grazing his eyelashes in the process. August closes his eyes, relishing in the feeling of your gentle touch.

“I’m sorry, I-“

“What happened?” At your interruption he meets your eyes, your gaze unwavering as your heart breaks at seeing him so vulnerable like this.

“Engine fuel.” More tears slip from your eyes as you now close them. With both hands August cups your face in his palms, wiping the tears away as he does so.

“I can’t stand the sight of myself, but just knowing that I have been able to come home to you, has me counting my lucky stars. I am truly sorry that-“

“Stop apologising, August. You’re home now and that’s what matters, I just hate seeing you in pain. This,” you gesture to the damaged skin, will not change how much I love you.”

His response is a soft chuckle before he places a chaste kiss to your lips, lingering briefly.

“If it’s any consolation, I can’t feel a thing – now anyway.” A swift, yet gentle slap is delivered to his bicep as you push yourself away from him playfully. This is the way it has always been between the two of you – the way it is supposed to be. “Now if you don’t mind, dear wife, I would love to meet our daughter.”

You both smile as you kiss him again. Pulling away you lead him across the room to the cot beside the window, turning the lights on as you do so.

Nestled against a soft pink blanket, lies a sleeping Autumn.

Glancing at August you see his tear-filled eyes as he reaches an outstretched finger to her tiny-clenched fist, which at his touch opens and then closes around his fingertip.

“She’s so small.”

“Babies usually are my love.” He meets your eyes with a playful glare before directing his attention back to the small being he helped create.

“She’s beautiful. Just like her mother.”

As if sensing the presence of her father, Autumn stirs and begins to open her crystalline blue eyes.

“Yet looks just like her father.” He smiles in adoration as his little girl stretches. “Why don’t you hold her, you have a lot of Daddy cuddles to catch up on my love.”

There is reluctance before August reaches for her, steadily lifting her from where she lays, until he is cradling her in his arms.

Instantly, Autumn snuggles herself comfortably into his chest, almost as if she has found comfort in his arms. A pleasant ache forms in your chest at the sight of both of them together like this.

“What do I call her?”

You briefly look away to find that August is lovingly directing his gaze towards you.

“Autumn. Autumn June.”

“Like your favourite season. It suits her perfectly.” He moves his attention solely to the small being in his arms. “Well, Autumn June Walker, I think that you are the most perfect thing I have ever laid my eyes upon. Just like your mother. And I promise, I will never let anything happen to you. I swear it.”

#august walker x reader #august walker #august x reader #august walker imagine #henry cavill #henry cavill imagines #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill x reader #requestsareopen

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fanficbitch · 3 years

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In Another Life // Holding it Together

Aaron Hotchner x y/n

September 2013

I rock Jane back and forth as she wails. I glance at the clock in her room and see that it is 3:26 in the morning. I silently groan.

She has been like this for the last five days. I have gotten maybe eight hours of sleep in that time. Every time I put her down for a nap, she cries. Every time I put her down for the night, she cries. The only time she doesn’t cry is when I’m feeding her.

Aaron is on his first case since Jane was born. While he was home, he was the one doing all the late nights. Oh how I miss him.

“Mama,” Jack whines from Jane’s doorway, eyes barely open. “I can’t sleep.”

“I’m sorry baby. I’m doing everything I can to get her back to sleep,” I tell him. “Do you wanna sleep in my room?”

He shrugs. “It’s worth a shot,” he says then pads across the hall to my room.

I continue to rock Jane back and forth, silently praying that she will just drift off to sleep.

**********

My eyes droop as I pull into Jack’s school. “Jack,” I say, keeping my eyes forward. He doesn’t answer. “Jack?” I ask again, but turn around. He is slumped over in his seat with his eyes closed. I reach back and shake his knee.

He shoots up and becomes alert. “What? What?” he asks.

“We’re at school,” I say.

“Oh,” he says. “Bye Mama,” he says then rolls out of the car.

“Bye baby,” I whisper.

I take a moment and try to collect myself. Jane is finally silent in the back seat. Maybe I could just take a nap right here? No, I can’t do that. Although it is very tempting.

My car phone begins to ring and shows Aaron’s contact. “Hello?” I murmur.

“Y/N? Are you alright?” he asks urgently.

I quickly perk up and try to be my normal up-beat self. “Yeah, I’m great,” I say, my tone changing. “How are you?”

“I’m fine. We’re getting close to wrapping up the case so I should be home by tonight,” he says. I let out a sigh of relief at his words. “How are the kids?”

Despite how tired I am, my heart swells at the plural of kid. “They’re good,” I say as I scratch my forehead. “I just dropped Jack off and school so Jane and I are about to head home.”

“And she’s been good?”

“A perfect angel,” I tell him.

“Good, good. I can’t wait to see you all,” Aaron says. “I have to go honey, but I’ll talk to you tonight. I love you.”

“I love you too,” I say then hang up the phone.

I am left in another moment of silence that quickly ends by Jane’s cries. I groan and fall down on the steering wheel. Maybe I will just take a nap here.

**********

It’s nearly midnight at the Hotchner household, Aaron no where to be found. Although, he should be home any minute. I put Jack to bed an hour ago through Jane’s crying. Jane has been a joy the last hour. She has been sobbing and I just finished cleaning up her diaper blowout.

Jane’s tears have dried up on he cheeks as I bounce her up and down. I place her in the bassinet then move to my bed. Silence at last. As much as I want to lay down, my hunger is overpowering.

I pad down to the kitchen and make myself a piece of toast. When I am halfway through buttering it, Aaron comes through the front door. Aaron gives me a soft smile and holds out his arms. I immediately fall into them and hold him tight. He smells like hotel soap.

“Tell me,” I say. “How was the case?”

“We saved a victim and caught the unsub so pretty good,” he says as we pull away from each other.

I begin to pout. “I miss being out there with you guys,” I say as I go back to my toast.

“We missed having you,” Aaron says as he comes up behind me. “The kids have been good?”

“Yep,” I lie as I take my plate upstairs with Aaron following at my heels. Well, it’s not a total lie. Jack has been perfect. When we reach our room, I place the toast on my dresser then fall into bed.

“Tired?” Aaron asks with a chuckle.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” I say.

Aaron undresses from his work clothes and he is looking good. “Hey,” I whisper as I sit up. “C’mere,” I whisper.

Aaron crawls on his knees to me. I place my fingertips on his cheeks as his lips reach mine. “It’s agony being away from you,” Aaron murmurs against my skin. I feel myself smile for maybe the first time in a week, just basking in the joy of being in my boyfriend’s arms.

Then Jane cries.

Aaron and I both pull away from each other and exchange looks, but I can’t take it anymore. The wall breaks and tears come flooding from my eyes. “Honey, honey,” Aaron whispers as he wraps me in his arms. “What’s going on?”

“I just can’t do it anymore,” I heave between sobs.

“D-Do what?”

“Jane is crying and pooping and won’t sleep so I can’t sleep,” I complain. “I’m just so tired and all I want is a glass of wine, but I can’t have one because then it will be in my milk. Then Jack hasn’t been sleeping either because of all the crying. Aaron, I can’t do it anymore. It’s so hard without you.”

“Honey, honey,” Aaron coos as he moves me to the end of the bed and rocks me. He holds me for a few moments, but then tends to our daughter.

I wipe the tears from my cheeks as Aaron picks up Jane and she immediately stops crying. “I swear you’re the baby whisper,” I say as he sits at the head of our bed with Jane. I scoop up and sit next to him while he rests Jane on his bent legs.

Aaron wraps one arm around me as I curl up in his side. “So tell me what’s been going on,” Aaron says softly.

“I just can’t be a single parent, I can’t. Jack has been perfect, but he is sleep deprived, we both are,” I say. “It’s hard to do it alone.”

Aaron stays silent for a moment.

“Well you aren’t alone,” Aaron says.

“But you have to work,” I whine. He can’t argue with that.

“That’s true,” he coos. “But I think I know where we can recruit some extra help.”

I look up at him with a furrowed brow, but he just gives me a cheeky smile.

“There has been a certain someone that has been begging for more time with Jane,” Aaron says. I widen my eyes at him, waiting for an answer. “Penelope.”

“I can’t ask her to come help. That’s unfair to her,” I say.

“Are you kidding? She would do anything for you.”

I think on it for a moment. I don’t want to burden Penelope, but I really am desperate. Instead of talking about Penelope, I burrow deeper into Aaron’s chest. “I have a solution. Don’t leave.”

Aaron chuckles slightly. “I can’t promise that,” he says. “But I promise to be here until morning and do all parent duties till then.”

I raise my eyebrows at him. “You’re going to breastfeed her?”

“I might need your help with that part. But hey,” he says then pushes some hair behind my ear. “I promise to do anything I can to make things easier for you while I am here, okay?”

“Okay,” I smile. “I love you so much.”

“I love you so much,” Aaron says back then kisses my lips.

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sisterspooky1013 · 3 years

Text

Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 23

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

It doesn’t feel real until she sees the flutter on the ultrasound, the grey and white pixels flashing erratically confirming a healthy ten-week pregnancy. The doctor gives them a due date of September 17th, and she explains to Mulder repeatedly that the due date is only an estimate, that the baby will most likely arrive sometime in the two weeks before or after that day. Nonetheless, he prints little numbers in the corner of each date on the calendar, counting down.

She is lucky to experience very little nausea, but the time saved clinging to the toilet is instead allocated to bursting into tears at every tiny inconvenience. Mulder comforts her with a confused expression when she cries because she can’t find a Tupperware lid that fits, or her latte has too much foam, or she realizes she can no longer see her toes. She cries because she’s crying, because she feels out of touch with her own body and thrown off by her own emotions. They marvel at the growth of her belly as well as her breasts, which are even more sensitive than they were before. Her libido kicks into overdrive at the same time that she becomes incredibly self conscious about her protruding belly, her fuller face, her swelling feet. This leads to more tears as she grapples with both wanting desperately to be touched and not wanting him to look at her.

He tells her each day how beautiful she is, her hair growing longer and thicker, her skin glowing, her rounding belly housing the perfect little life that they created together. When he’s home, he rubs her feet every night, fetches her countless glasses of water and then helps tow her out of the bed so she can pee ten times in the night. When he’s on the road with Monica, he calls three times a day, asks Missy and her mother to go by and check on her, calls in dinner to be delivered so she doesn't have to cook. As her due date nears, he stops going on out-of-town cases, needing to be close enough to be by her side immediately when she goes into labor. He will not risk missing the birth of his child.

The apartment becomes cramped with a bassinet, changing table, pack n play, and various other baby gadgets. They consider moving, but the idea is too overwhelming for Scully so they decide to stay put until the baby becomes mobile and they really need more space. Mulder breaks the lease on his apartment and moves his fish tank into the living room, putting the rest of his furniture in storage until they buy a house. Priscilla breaks in all the baby gear, sleeping in the car seat and jumping into the swing, covering the tiny onesies with her black fur and making Scully cry yet again. Mulder refuses to let her scoop the litter box, even though she insists it’s safe if she wears gloves and washes her hands afterward. Other tasks she’s forbidden to complete include cleaning the toilet, carrying in the groceries and hauling laundry to the washing machine. When he’s on the road, she misses him as much as she is relieved to be able to be independent, not much caring for being treated as though she’s made of glass.

For the majority of her pregnancy, Scully insists that she doesn’t want to know the sex of the baby, that she wants to be surprised. Mulder respects her decision, even though he would personally like to know, and they create two lists of potential baby names, Scully crossing off “Lisa Marie'' each time Mulder tries to add it to the “girl” column. When she reaches 39 weeks, her pelvis widening as the baby drops into the birth canal, she is so miserable that she has a change of heart, needing to feel connected to this thing that is destroying her body and stealing her sleep. They call the doctor together on a Thursday afternoon as Scully sits on the couch in tears, having woken that morning to find angry red stretch marks marring her previously lily-white belly. When Mulder relays the doctor’s message that the baby is a girl, she sobs harder, and he’s not sure whether it’s because she’s happy or disappointed.

She wakes him at 3:00 am on September 21st, the irregular Braxton-Hicks contractions she’s been feeling for weeks having taken up a predictable cadence, now ten minutes apart almost on the dot. He starts rushing around, scrambling for her hospital bag and his shoes, and now it is her turn to provide comfort, to let him know there’s plenty of time. She doesn’t want to go to the hospital until the contractions are five minutes apart, and so they wait. The progression to nine minutes, then eight, then seven is alarmingly fast, and by the time she agrees that they should head to the hospital she’s starting to feel pressure low in her pelvis. Mulder drives too fast, the streets thankfully still quiet in the early morning, and she is wheeled into labor and delivery with not enough time for an epidural, much to her lament.

Molly Katherine Mulder has blue eyes and a dark shock of nearly-black hair. She barely cries at her entrance to the world, instead searching the room with a curious gaze, squeezing her daddy’s finger with an impressively strong grip and latching like a pro. They are able to go home the following day, Scully wincing as she moves gingerly from the bed to the couch, rinsing her tender stitches with a bottle of warm water and bleeding through entire packages of overnight maxi pads in a day.

Mulder takes off work for two weeks and they spend blissful days curled up in bed with the baby nestled between them as Priscilla curiously sniffs around her, licking her hair with a rough tongue and making them laugh. Each time Scully wakes at night to nurse, Mulder insists she go back to sleep while he changes the baby and walks her around the quiet apartment until she is asleep, singing softly and lulling them both.

When Mulder returns to work, Scully insists that he get a full night's sleep and let her wake up with Molly, reasoning that she can take naps during the day. She does not, of course, take naps during the day. Instead she tries to keep the apartment clean, the clothes washed, the diapers taken out to the dumpster, the litter box scooped. She does too much, and he sees it each day as she grows more and more weary, more and more defeated, the bags under her eyes deepening in color and her mouth rarely hosting a smile. He begs her to let him do more, to ask less of herself, but she is stubborn and strong-willed, the very things he loves about her now keeping her from properly taking care of herself.

They struggle through sleep-deprived arguments over who left the breast milk out on the counter all night, why it matters if he changes the baby on the floor instead of the changing table, why Scully doesn’t want to supplement with formula so he can take some of the night feedings. Her doctor releases her as medically clear to have sex after six weeks and she cries as she tells him that she doesn’t feel ready, that she can’t imagine anything worse than sex right now, and he holds her as he tells her that he doesn’t care, that she should take as much time as she needs, that he can wait.

They struggle, and they thrive. Moments of absolute unadulterated joy are punctuated by intense despair and overwhelm. The gain of a family against the loss of a life where you could pick up and go, stay out until 2:00 am and make love in the middle of the day. They are happy, and they are stressed, and they face it together.

On a Saturday in December, Mulder wakes early and takes care of every conceivable task in the house; the laundry, the dishes, cleaning the bathroom, scooping the litter, buying the groceries. He checks every item off Scully’s to-do list and then takes Molly for a long drive, leaving Scully alone with nothing to do in hopes that she will rest for once. When they return from their excursion, he creeps into the quiet apartment with a sleeping baby in his arms and sets her in the bassinet by the couch. At first he thinks maybe Scully has gone out, but he finds her in bed asleep with soaking wet hair, Priscilla curled up behind her knees. He watches her for a bit, affection clutching at his chest, then changes into sweats and kicks Priscilla out so he can snuggle up behind Scully. It feels so infrequent that they just lay like this anymore; one of them is always about to get up with the baby, about to get ready for work, or doesn’t want to be touched after a tiny person has clung to them all day. He pulls in a deep breath, smelling her lavender bubble bath and feeling the rise and fall of her ribs against his chest. He doesn’t want to disturb her, but he can’t resist pressing a tiny kiss to the side of her neck.

“Mmmm,” she hums in response, twisting her body around so they are face to face.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he whispers.

“It’s okay. Where’s Molly?”

“She’s asleep in the living room.”

She sighs and snuggles closer to him, pressing her forehead into his chest and pushing one of her legs between his.

“This feels nice,” she says contentedly, and he brushes his hand softly up and down her back.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Tired. Frumpy. Like I haven’t put on real clothes or a stitch of makeup in three months,” she laments.

“Well, I’ll give you tired,” he says softly, “but I can’t agree on frumpy. I think you look very beautiful.”

She scoffs against his chest.

“You don’t have to placate me, Mulder. I know I’m a mess.”

“Maybe so, but you’re my mess,” he retorts, pushing his fingers into her hair to gently scratch her scalp.

She tilts her head up to look at him, appraising his face with a skeptical eye.

“Is this what you thought it was going to be like?” she asks, her tone open and vulnerable.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly, “I guess I didn’t really know what to expect.”

She sighs. “I just wish I knew when I might start to feel like myself again,” she says sadly. “I can’t help but feel like you’re not getting what you signed up for.”

“What do you mean?” he asks with a concerned frown.

He sees her eyes growing glassy, dampening with impending tears. “I mean the woman you asked out in the autopsy bay isn’t the one you’re with now,” she whispers, swallowing against the lump in her throat.

“That’s not even a little bit true,” he implores, cradling the back of her head with his hand. “You are everything you were then, and more. I’m amazed by you every day.”

She closes her eyes, a tear rolling across the bridge of her nose. He feels his chest ache; the need to make her understand is overwhelming.

“Hey,” he says, pulling the blankets back, “come here.”

He pulls her into a sitting position and slides off the bed, towing her along with him to sit on the edge of the mattress. He kneels on the floor between her knees, his hands on her hips.

“If you think for one second that I want to be with anyone but you, you’re fucking insane. I don’t care if you wear giant milk-stained T-shirts and have spit up in your hair for the rest of our lives, Scully. You’re it for me, okay?”

She pulls in a shuddering breath and wipes at her eyes, but won’t look at him.

“Stay here,” he commands, and disappears into the bathroom for a moment. When he comes back, he returns to his post kneeling at her feet.

“We knew this was going to be hard,” he says tenderly, holding one of her hands in his. “You said it yourself before Molly was born, that it would be the hardest time in our lives, and that we’d be at our worst. And I’m telling you that if this is your worst, sign me up, okay? It hasn’t changed how I feel about you.”

He holds up his other hand, a diamond ring perched between his thumb and forefinger.

“If you’re not ready to say yes yet, that’s okay, but I need you to know that I still want to marry you, Scully. I’ll wait forever if that’s what you need, but there hasn’t been a single day since I asked that I haven’t still meant it.”

Her tears have stopped, though her eyes are still wet and the tip of her nose is red. She looks from him to the ring and back, her eyebrows stitched in contemplation.

“I didn’t hear you ask me a question,” she says quietly, and he picks up on the slightest lilt of playfulness in her voice, which makes him break out into a smile.

“Dana Katherine Scully, love of my life, mother of my child, will you marry me?”

She smiles then, and he thinks his heart may burst right out of his chest.

“Yes, I’ll marry you,” she answers, and he takes her left hand, slipping the ring on her finger.

She wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him repeatedly, soft pecks devolving into lingering smooches as he shifts up slightly, pushing her back gently to recline on the bed. He moves over her, kissing along her jaw and down her neck, not going any further, not wanting to rush her.

She brings her hands to his hips, letting the tips of her fingers slip under the waist of his sweatpants, and his cock stirs. It’s been so, so, long, and he wants her desperately, but not until she’s ready. She pushes her hand down the front of his pants, gripping him as he grows hard under her touch. It’s overwhelming in the best way; he feels like a teenager being touched for the first time.

“I wanna have sex,” she breathes into his ear, the words rushing out quickly as though she’s afraid she might change her mind if she waits too long to say them.

He pulls back to look at her. “Are you sure?” he asks, and she nods, bringing her palm to his cheek before glancing at the ring on her finger and smiling.

They move slowly, though still with a sense of urgency that a baby sleeping in the next room brings. He pushes her shirt up and she lets him take it off, then slips the yoga pants off her hips, leaving her in basic black cotton briefs. He sees the hesitancy in her eyes as he looks at her body, now softer than it was before Molly, curvy in different places, purple streaks running from below her belly button to disappear under her panties.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, kissing her chest, her breasts, her belly, running his tongue along the grooves of her stretch marks. He loops his thumbs under the waist of her panties and tugs them down slowly, quickly undressing before he rejoins her in the bed.

“Tell me if anything hurts, okay?” he asks with a serious expression, and she nods, letting her legs fall open as he settles between them. He lines himself up with her entrance and pushes in achingly slowly, watching her face raptly. Her mouth opens slightly, and she takes in a sharp little breath. He’s about to ask her if it hurts when she closes her eyes and her mouth drops open further as she breathes out “oh,” in a way that he knows means pleasure, not pain. When he’s all the way in, their hip bones pressed together tightly, he stills and kisses her for a while, feeling like he could melt into a puddle for how good everything feels. His heart, his mind, his body, he is all wrapped up in her and it’s exactly where he wants to be.

He begins to move, and she responds with an arch of her back and a little gasp, her hands clutching at his shoulders. Little by little, he increases his pace until he knows he won’t last much longer.

“What do you need?” he asks, and she brings her hand to her breast.

He dips his head, flicking at the hardened bud of her nipple, and feels her clench around him. He plays with the level of pressure, licking and sucking, pleasantly surprised that she is enjoying it even as her breasts have taken on a purely functional role these last few months.

She pulls in a huge breath, arching her back and pressing her head into the mattress and he groans as he feels her tighten around him. She emits a single piercing cry when she comes, stifling it with an arm slung across her mouth. He pours into her, burying his face in her neck, clinging to her like a life raft. She is, in fact, all he needs to survive.

Resting half his weight on the mattress beside her, he stays inside as they both come down, panting and smiling, brushing hands over each other’s skin, reconnecting.

“Ah!” Molly yells from the living room, and Mulder laughs.

“You’re being summoned,” Scully says with a tender smile.

He withdraws from her, handing her his T-shirt to clean up while he slips on his sweatpants and retrieves Molly from her bassinet.

“Guess what, Goose?” he says, using his special nickname for her, “Mommy and Daddy are getting married.”

“AH!” She squeals, flapping her arms.

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #gillovny #msr #sculder #x files fanfic #alternate universe

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engagemachine · 3 years

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"You're so gentle," she tells me. They all say it. I hear it from my patients every time I take their arm to wrap the blood pressure cuff around it, or when I place my stethoscope on their belly, or when I rub circles into their back when I've helped them sit up on the side of the bed for the first time in three days. Sometimes they cry, because it's the first tender touch they've felt since they've been in the hospital. It's very humbling and at the same time very concerning -- why has no one else offered this tenderness to you? Why am I always the first?

But I don't feel gentle. Not when a pair of ribs are cracking beneath my hands as I'm doing chest compressions on a Covid patient who's stopped breathing--the second time I've administered CPR on a Covid patient in two days. I don't feel gentle when I'm wrestling with a patient and begging for them to keep their oxygen mask on. When I have to hold them down and hold them still so my coworker can draw a blood sample. I don't feel gentle when I'm inserting a nasogastric tube down someone's nose, then throat, and into their belly while they're gagging around the tube and their arms are flailing. And I don't feel gentle when I'm washing a sacral wound with bleach and they're crying because it hurts. I don't feel gentle when I have to shout, beg, and plead for patients to listen, when I tell patients they're going to die if they don't keep their oxygen mask on. I don't feel gentle when I have to place a patient in restraints, or when I call a family member and tell them that their loved one's condition hasn't improved. I don't feel gentle when a patient tells me they can't breathe, they can't breathe, I can't breathe, and I'm yelling for coworkers to call the doctor while I'm cycling through different oxygen masks and trying to administer medication to slow their respirations and calm their anxiety.

I'm writing this because I feel like I've been living a little bit behind a veneer on here, although I know deep down that's not really true; I have always wanted my blog to feel like a positive space for anyone and everyone, including myself. I come here to have fun and destress and that's why you usually don't see me reblogging content having to do with politics or global news. I think it's possible to create a healthy space where one does talk about those things and spreads awareness for important causes, but for me, Tumblr is where I come when I need to escape the harsh realities of real life. This is my platform where I can indulge in my fictional proclivities and interests, where I can appreciate art, photography, beautiful writing, my favorite films, music, and cute animals. That's what this space is about. I also have loved meeting new people and getting to know my readers and making new friends and chatting about my stories. That's why I'm here and I thank you all so, so much for indulging me in my passions and for encouraging my writing the way that you have: it has helped me weather the current storm of stress I am feeling in more ways than I could possibly convey.

But I have to be very honest with you all about how much I've been struggling lately, as I feel like I'm reaching a breaking point and I'm somewhat at a loss for how to handle it.

Since September of last year, I've been on an accelerated track to finish the degree I'm working towards, which is a Bachelor of Science in Nursing. I've been a nurse for four years, but I graduated from a two-year nursing program versus a four-year program because I wanted to get into the field earlier than some of my peers, which has been great. Anyway, my school counselor/mentor and I agreed that I could obtain my BSN in a year if I really pushed myself. The program I'm in is self-paced, which has been both a blessing and a curse. Most of my classes I have finished in about three to four weeks. Other classes, like biochemistry, took substantially longer, about seven or eight weeks, if I remember correctly. All of the classes have relied on my ability to self-teach, as there are no scheduled lectures to attend, only assigned readings and videos to watch, if you choose to do so. Fast forward to the end of May, when I went to visit some family, and, upon my return home, really started to lose some of my motivation to complete my classes. I was meant to finish my program in August (this month) but agreed with my mentor that I would take a short break and put my last three classes on hold so that I could resume the program in September. I've enjoyed approximately a month off from school, but "enjoyed" is a term I use loosely here as I was also picking up extra shifts at work because we've been so short staffed and losing nurses left and right.

Which brings me to the main cause of my stress. This pandemic has completely changed the landscape for how I administer care to my patients, and the stress of the care itself has been so utterly overwhelming at times I can hardly bear it. I broke down in tears at work on Sunday morning, shortly after 4:30 am, right there at the the nurse's station, and was sobbing so hard that my supervisor had to pull me away so that I could have some privacy. I wish I could tell you that I sobbed harder than I have in a long time--but I had sobbed at work with that same intensity just four weeks prior, only, I had been alone at the time. It's becoming a trend--I either cry at work or I cry at home--because the stress of this job has become unbearable.

I wish--I desperately wish--I could convey to you the seriousness of Covid. I think so much of the world has already decided to move on from it because they're so tired of having to deal with it and, quite simply, are ready to return to normal. I don't even know what normal is anymore and when--or if--we'll ever be able to return to it. And that has caused me a fair amount of stress and anxiety in and of itself. I miss traveling so much and I don't know when I'll be able to do it again. I haven't seen one of my best friends since the fall of 2018 for this reason, which kills me.

I've seen so much death. Transferred so many patients to the PCU and ICU. Frantically chased patients' oxygen saturation, trying to keep them from circling the drain. Being responsible for six or seven human lives at one time is a stress you cannot fathom unless you have done it yourself. I have cried with a patient, a young woman, who had lost her husband to Covid only hours before in the ER, a young woman who was now faced with battling Covid herself but also planning the funeral of her high school sweetheart from her hospital bed. I have wheeled a patient to the ICU so that he could say one final goodbye to his wife--married for over 50 years--before they pulled the plug and removed her from the ventilator. I have raced down the hallway with my patient on BIPAP, pushing his bed to the ICU and praying that he doesn't stop breathing on the way there. I've had to console crying family members over the phone who are worried about their loved ones, not to mention my crying coworkers who are as overwhelmed as I am. These are just a handful of experiences from the past month alone. There are so many more.

The discomfort of my job has become secondary. I expect, now, to be wearing an N95 for a full twelve or thirteen-hour shift because there isn't time to take it off. Not having a chance to pee or go to the bathroom during that time. Not drinking any water until I'm in my car and taking off my mask and finally taking a deep breath.

On a more personal note, I am continuing to lose weight and it's so discouraging. In high school I used to wear a size 2 or 4. Now, depending on the brand, I wear a double 00. My hair is falling out because of my stress. I haven't slept during the night in... I don't even know how long. I'm constantly tired. Exhaustion hits me like a great tidal wave and I am powerless to stop it. I expect now to crash during the middle of the day on my couch, only to wake up at 11pm and be wide awake for the rest of the night, and, if not wide awake, then in an out of nightmares and sleep paralysis. I have thought about leaving my job, but the idea of job hunting during a pandemic, and while I'm in school... it just makes me feel even more stressed.

I need a break, but it feels like there's nowhere to go to escape. I fantasize about some great adventure, going somewhere I've never been, but I also really miss my family and I'm scared to go home to visit.

This post doesn't really have a conclusive ending. I'm just exhausted and overwhelmed. Any prayers/thoughts would be greatly appreciated.

#text

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let-the-dream-begin · 3 years

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In My Daughter’s Eyes Chapter 27: Vortex

Chapter 26

Read on AO3

Vortex: a mass of swirling water that draws everything to it

——

In late August, with September right around the corner, Claire and Faith were about to experience their first hurricane. Claire had experienced all levels of terrifying weather with Uncle Lamb out in the field, including floods, sandstorms, mudslides, and nearly every other manner of natural disasters. Hurricanes, however, had eluded them. They’d only gone to South America one time, and they’d merely seen some heavy rainfall.

Claire had been keeping her eye on the news, seeing how hurricane Matthew was affecting other areas along the east coast. She shuddered to think of them even losing power, let alone anything actually disastrous happening. All news and weather outlets were assuring that by the time it hit the island, it would have lost most of its power, so the storm wouldn’t be devastating, but it would do damage nonetheless.

Claire was doing another scan of the weather channel (which Faith did not appreciate) before work when her phone rang. Jamie.

“Sassenach?”

“This is she.”

“Good morning, lass. Sleep well?”

“I did, is everything alright?”

“Aye, fine. Just wanted to check in. The storm is gonna hit tomorrow; wanted to make sure ye were prepared.”

“Prepared enough,” Claire said, throwing a bar and a yogurt into her purse. “I’ve gotten the bread and milk, as they say. Stocked up.”

“Aye, that’s good. Are ye prepared for losing power?”

“Flashlights are ready with spare batteries and all. Portable charger for the iPad.”

“What about fer you?”

“Oh, I have to be at the hospital before it starts and then stay. It runs on a generator so I’ll be good with a regular charger.”

“Wait, what d’ye mean, stay?”

“Well, I’m considered an emergency worker so I can’t take off. I’m going to have to sleep there if the roads are flooded or blocked with trees.” Claire zippered her purse as she flitted back into the living room, then started pulling on her shoes.

“Ye could be there for days, Sassenach.”

“I know.”

“What about Faith?”

The little girl in question barreled into her as if on cue, waiting for her goodbye. “One second, Jamie. Yes, time for goodbye hugs.” Claire crouched down and gave her daughter a squeeze and a kiss. “Be good for Mrs. Lickett. Yes? Okay, bye-bye.”

With one final kiss and a farewell to Mrs. Lickett, Claire was out the door. “Sorry, what were we talking about?”

“What’re ye gonna do wi’ Faith while ye’re at the hospital?”

“Oh,” Claire said, opening her car and sliding into the driver’s seat. “I’m dropping her off at the Abernathy’s with a few provisions before work tomorrow. After I’ve taped all the windows, of course,” she added wryly.

“She’ll be alright?”

Claire sighed as she started the car. “She’s going to have to be.”

Her voice wavered, and she cursed herself.

“She’s never spent the night away from home. Will she no’ get upset?”

“I don’t really have much of a choice.” She was not defensive or angry, but resigned, sad. She didn’t want to leave Faith at someone else’s house, but she could not very well ask Gail to live with her toddler and child in her small apartment for an indeterminable amount of time. The fact that they’d opened their home to Faith was kind enough. She couldn’t very well ask it of Mrs. Lickett, either. Her children were older, but she still shouldn’t be away from them for that long during a potentially dangerous storm.

Jamie was silent on the other end, and as Claire turned onto the main road, something clenched in her throat. He couldn’t be upset with her, could he? He couldn’t be judging her decision, condemning her for planning to dump her child off during a natural disaster? Logic told her that of course he wouldn’t, but she was so god damned insecure about it all herself that she could not be calmed.

“You still there?”

“Aye,” he answered quickly. “Sorry, I was thinking.”

Claire swallowed. “What about?”

He paused again. “Tell me to shut my gab at any point going forward,” he began uncertainly.

Claire’s brow furrowed. “Ehm, alright…”

“What if…what if I stayed wi’ her. In her own home.”

Claire was gobsmacked. Her mouth actually dropped open in surprise.

“Please tell me no if ye’re truly no’ comfortable, Claire. I mean it. I ken it may be too soon, and I understand. I just thought to offer — ”

“Jamie,” Claire cut him off. “It’s okay…I…” She blinked away tears. “Would you really be alright doing that?”

“Aye,” he said quickly, perhaps a bit too quickly. “Anything I can do to make it easier fer her. It’s gonna be scary.”

Claire swallowed thickly. “She’s heard thunderstorms before.”

“I’m sure. But this willna be like anything she’s ever experienced. And Gail is lovely, truly, she’s a blessing fer ye both, but she’s…she’s no’ you.”

“And she’s not you,” Claire said, finishing for him what he likely was thinking but would never say.

“Claire, I’d never presume —”

“Well I would,” Claire said. “There’s no denying you have the experience that Gail lacks, Jamie. And Faith trusts you. And I trust you.”

He was silent, likely processing what she said. Claire turned into the employee parking lot.

“Besides,” Claire said with a chipper tone that was only slightly forced. “It’ll be good for her to have you all to herself. You’ve never been alone with her before.”

She heard him chuckle. “Aye. Ye think she’ll like that?”

Claire put her car in park, and her heart swelled, warming her from the inside out. “I really think she will.”

——

Jamie arrived the following morning with a duffle bag and a backpack. The sky was already gray, the air thick with the oncoming storm, the wind picking up. He’d half expected the skies to open up on his way there.

The door opened, and his heart cracked. Claire’s sweet, lovely “hello” included a smile, but he could see that frantic look in her eye. She was close to tears. He greeted her gently and then addressed the bouncing, squealing thing below them.

“Ah, yes, hello, wean.” He cupped her head gently to stop her bouncing. “I’m happy to see you, too, lass. Can ye fetch ballerina Minnie Mouse? I’d like to see her if ye dinna mind.”

Like a shot, she was off, eager to please Jamie, and Jamie pulled Claire into his arms. She clung to him tightly, breathing deeply into his neck.

“It’s times like these,” she began shakily, “that I believe Frank was right.”

His brow furrowed. “Whatever d’ye mean?”

“That I should’ve given it up, that I still should.” She sniffled. “I don’t know if I can leave her for several days during…during what they’re saying it’s going to be…”

“It’s alright, Sassenach.” He kissed the top of her head, and then Faith emerged from her room, waving the stuffed animal above her head. “Ah, thank ye, lass. What about…” He wracked his brain, trying to remember any of the dozens of toys she’d shown him. “Daisy Duck? Can I see her?”

She was off again, and Claire laughed wetly against him.

“Listen to me, Claire Beauchamp.” Jamie pulled far enough away so that he could tilt her chin up and look her in the eye. “Ye’re a doctor because it is what God put ye on this Earth to do. Ye’re a damn fine one, from what I gather. Ye’re going to help lots of people in the next few days, people that might have been much worse of wi’out ye.”

“What about the baby that He gave me?” Claire said hoarsely. “The baby with…so much that she needs from me…”

“It’s not just you,” Jamie said, with the most careful combination of firmness and gentleness he can muster. “No’ anymore.”

Claire rested her forehead against his, breathing deeply. “It’ll be alright,” he assured her, Faith puttering back in with the next toy. He praised her quietly, tucking Daisy under his arm with Minnie. “I will do everything in my power to see that she’s alright these next few days.”

“I know,” Claire said, then pressed her lips to his. “I know.”

Faith was reaching up, bouncing again impatiently. Jamie handed her back down her toys; evidently, she did not like them out of place for very long.

“I can’t thank you enough for this,” Claire said, squeezing his hands. “I think I’d be beside myself if I left her away from home. Well,” she laughed dryly, “more so than I already am.”

“It is an honor to ease yer burden, mo ghraidh.” He lifted their joined hands and kissed her knuckles fervently.

Claire led him around the apartment to show him one last time where everything was kept; Faith’s vitamins and nighttime medicine, snacks, candles, spare batteries, matches. Jamie had remembered, but he let her show him all of it again to ease her mind. He knew it helped her feel like she had more control over the situation.

“Once the power goes out,” she said, gathering her own duffle bag with her overnight essentials. “Either soybean butter and jelly, cold cuts from that cooler that’s still in the fridge for as long as they’ll keep, or the spaghetti-o’s. Just pretend you’re using the microwave or something and she’ll never know the difference.”

Jamie nodded seriously, though he’d remembered all that, too.

“And watch her with the fridge. She’ll keep it open and stare in there looking for something which is bad enough when there is power. Make sure she doesn’t let the insulated coolness out if you can help it. Though if it’s gone for too long it’s a moot point.”

“Right. Got it.” Jamie nodded curtly. A large gust of wind howled outside, rattling the windows.

“Jesus.” Claire shuddered.

“Ye’d better get going before ye get stuck in the oncoming downpour,” Jamie said.

“Right.” Claire froze in the middle of the living room, her eyes glued to Faith, sitting cross-legged with Angus’s head in her lap, calmly stroking his fur. Jamie’s heart strained, and Claire looked like she might cry again. She exhaled heavily and crouched down next to Faith.

“Hey, baby.” She cupped her little head and smiled. Faith kept her attention on Angus, and Claire gently tapped her nose. “Can you look at me, Faith?” She did not, and so Claire took her hands off of Angus and held them between hers. Somewhat annoyed, Faith looked up at Claire, obviously waiting for her hands to be released. “Hi,” Claire said. “Remember what we said? Quiet hands, quiet feet, and quiet mouth for Jamie.” She pointed to each mentioned body part. “And listening ears on.” Claire poked each of her ears, one after the other. “Mummy will be gone for a few days, but Jamie is going to play with you, and keep you safe. It’s all going to be okay. It might get very dark, or very loud, and there might not be any tellie. But Jamie is going to make sure you’re okay. Yes?”

Faith moaned impatiently, and it was unclear if she was listening.

Jamie is going to make sure you’re okay.

Jamie’s chest involuntarily puffed out, and his back straightened. He silently and solemnly vowed to do just that.

“I’m going to miss you, lovie.” Claire cupped both of Faith’s cheeks. “I love you.” She held up the sign, and Faith mirrored her as always, pressing their foreheads together.

“I’m going to call every day. I’ll talk to you on the phone. I promise.” Claire pulled Faith in for a hug, squeezing her tightly. “Big goodbye hugs,” she whispered into her hair.

When Claire released her, she stood up with a heavy sigh. Jamie was holding her duffle bag, and he walked her to the door.

“Please be careful,” Jamie said. “Text me when ye get there.”

“I will.”

He kissed her deeply, pressing her tightly to him. When their lips parted, he looked into her eyes, those swimming pools of amber and honey. On his tongue was something he’d known, something he’d been burning to unleash from within him since April.

I love you.

Instead, he swallowed thickly and kissed her forehead. “Drive safe, Sassenach.”

With one final squeeze of his hand and a reassuring smile, she was gone. Jamie ran a hand over his face before peeking out the window to make sure she pulled out of the driveway. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to tell her. Christ, he’d wanted to reply with it the second he watched that video; he’d wanted to tell her that day in the office, he’d wanted to tell her on the ferris wheel, the carousel, he’d wanted to tell her when she fell asleep and drooled on his shoulder halfway through The Godfather, he’d wanted to tell her when he’d finally positioned himself between her legs and entered her, and felt so completely fulfilled and complete, and every time he was in that position thereafter.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Not until she was ready to hear it.

He knew she was scared; no matter how well this was going, he knew she was still worried and paranoid. He wouldn’t rush her.

A giggle pulled him out of that train of thought, and he realized that Claire’s car was long gone. It had also already started to rain, and it would definitely get nasty soon. He turned to see Faith grinning impishly down at Angus, who was licking Faith’s open palm over and over. This was something she did often, put her palm right at his snout and wait for him to oblige her. Jamie supposed she liked the tickling sensation. He smiled and made his way to the couch, sitting down and watching Faith with her loyal companion for a while.

Claire had given him a whole list of things that Mrs. Lickett usually does with Faith while Claire is gone for the day. There was play-doh, the big clunky legos (both good for fine motor), the flashcards for identifying signs, and of course coloring. On the list, Claire wrote that when Faith colored with Mrs. Lickett, Mrs. Lickett always — underlined several times — signed the color that Faith picked up. Color identification would be a big deal once she started school.

Something else that Jamie knew would come once school started was the school district-provided tablet for text to speech communication. Claire had been recommended speech therapies to get a head start on that, but she’d turned them all down, insisting that it was very important to her that Faith know how to sign before relying solely on the screen. And since Faith had proven capable, she’d stuck to that.

It amazed Jamie how Claire somehow just knew what was best for her child. Jamie saw all too often at the stables parents that had no idea what they were doing. Which was understandable and nothing to be judged about. But when he’d reach out, recommend additional services, hint that they might get more out of equine therapy if they approached certain things a different way, they didn’t want to hear it. It was hard to watch those kids regress because their parents weren’t willing to set their pride aside and admit they weren’t aware of something. But his reach only extended so far, and if he was going to sleep at night, he had to let those things off his conscience.

With Claire, if someone offered her advice, she could plainly tell them that she’d already researched that and had either tried it or decided it was not going to work, but thank you very much. Prompt speech therapy, for instance. If Jamie had a nickel every time Claire complained to him that yet another person had recommended Faith try it, he’d be quite the rich man. Prompt speech involved a lot of touching, and Faith would certainly not be okay with that. Even if it meant her daughter would never say a word, Claire would not put her through it. Not even an eval.

And Jamie admired the hell out of her for it.

After letting Faith continue with Angus for a bit, Jamie intervened and ushered her into the kitchen for some “structured play with learning benefits,” as Claire had referred to it. Faith, having never done any of the listed activities with Jamie, wanted to do every single one. They went on even longer than Jamie had anticipated she would sit still for because playing these games with Jamie was a novelty. They built a castle with a wall with her legos, made several snakes and desserts out of play-doh, colored, and worked on signs. Faith was not satisfied until every single card was flipped over and worked on. Jamie knew full well that she did not insist on such a thing with Mrs. Lickett. It made him grin smugly and melt at the same time.

It was pouring in earnest by the time Jamie finished getting through Faith’s stack of flashcards. Instinctually, he checked his messages from Claire, even though she’d told him hours ago by now that she’d gotten in safely. The wind was picking up, too, turning into a constant roar.

“Ye’re brilliant, Princess Faith,” Jamie said, giving her a thumbs up. “Ye did such great work today, lass. I’m so proud of you.”

She smiled cheekily and then reached for her crayons and princess coloring book again. Rain suddenly pelted against the kitchen window, the wind having changed direction to blast the water right into the glass. Faith dropped her crayon with a startled cry and clamped her hands over her ears. Jamie had to admit it even startled him.

“It’s alright, lass,” he crooned, getting out of his chair to kneel beside hers. He stroked her back soothingly. “Just the rain. It’s alright.”

She kept her eyes squeezed shut and her hands on her ears, so Jamie switched tactics. He scooped her in his arms, cradling her to his chest. He brought her out of the kitchen and deposited her on the couch. If the wind was blowing into the window in the back of the apartment, perhaps a similar noise would not happen in the front windows. He called Angus over when Faith still would not move or open her eyes, and after a few minutes of deep pressure, she at least opened her eyes. Jamie was then able to coax her into picking a DVD. They were on borrowed time until they lost power, so he thought it best to take advantage of the tellie while they still had it.

She ended up choosing a Winnie the Pooh movie, jabbing at it with her elbow, hands still on her ears. She didn’t even take them off to put the movie in the player, though she stood by and watched every move Jamie made as he did so instead. As the DVD started playing the previews before the “play” screen, Faith got behind Jamie and started pushing against his legs. He took this as his cue to walk, and he allowed her to push him into her bedroom. He knew immediately what she wanted. He smiled widely as he stepped into the room and picked up the enormous “Pooh Bear” that he’d won for her at the carnival. Faith hummed in excitement and bounced a little as Jamie carried the giant bear into the living room and deposited him on the couch. She skipped back into her room and Jamie gathered the rest of her Hundred-Acre Wood friends, arranging them around their giant leader.

A few minutes into the movie, Faith finally took her hands off her ears and began enjoying the movie in earnest. The wind continued to howl and the windows continued to rattle, but the movie drowned most of it out for now, as did Faith’s giggling and humming along to the little songs. At one point, she moved all of the little toys into Jamie’s lap and tipped over the giant bear so she could lay bodily on top of him. It really was practically a mattress underneath her. She nuzzled further in, humming contentedly and smiling broadly, bottom lip caught between her teeth. Jamie smiled down at her, her eyes fixed on the screen, and then he brought his legs up on the couch, cross-legged, so he could fit every toy she’d given him in his lap, holding onto them with as much care as he would if Faith herself was in his lap.

The power went out before the movie finished, close to the end if Jamie deduced correctly. Faith immediately sat up, nearly toppling off the couch because of her uneven position on the bear. Jamie felt dread settling in his gut, and he immediately wanted to kick himself. He’d made the wrong move, and he was about to pay dearly for it.

Faith slid off both bear and couch and marched right up to the tellie. She began pushing all the buttons on the tellie and the DVD player, the volume of her whining increasing. Jamie set aside her toys and approached her tentatively.

“Faith, it’s alright. Remember what Mummy said? That there might be no tellie?”

With a great wail, she began slapping her hands against the television screen, and Jamie grabbed her wrists.

“No, lass, ye canna do that. No hitting.”

She began screaming in earnest, jerking against him with all her might.

“I’m sorry, Faith. The tellie is all done. I’m sorry.”

Fat tears rolled down her cheeks as she continued to pull against his grip on her wrists. He swiftly picked her up under the arms and deposited her away from the electronics. She pointed at the tellie, bouncing impatiently, wailing all the while.

“Aye, lass. I ken. It’s my fault, I’m sorry.” Jamie genuinely hated himself at the moment. He thought they’d have time before the power was gone, he thought that it would be good for her to be able to watch a movie that wasn’t downloaded to her tablet. He should’ve thought of this possibility, and he should’ve known that she’d be grossly unhappy if the movie was unable to finish. It would drive her mad for hours, knowing that the movie was sitting unfinished in the player. She couldn’t even get it out of the player to put away. One of her biggest OCD triggers had gone off, and it was his fault.

Jamie wracked his brain. Claire had said if she were melting down to either give hugs and cuddles, or to deposit her in her room and let her scream it out. That is if Angus didn’t do the trick. Jamie tried for the hug, but narrowly avoided a swinging fist. Clearly she blamed him for the tellie’s sudden malfunction. As she should, he thought miserably.

He called Angus over just as Faith started swinging her arms with abandon, and Jamie caught one of her fists before it collided with a picture frame on the table behind the couch. She pushed at his hand, punched his arm, pulled backward, but Jamie knew that if he let go, she’d dive right for trouble and possibly break something. Angus arrived just as Faith sank her teeth into the skin of Jamie’s hand.

He swore in Gaelic, and then he pinched her nose shut, causing her mouth to immediately open as a reflex. Jamie shook his hand, hissing in pain, but he didn’t skip a beat. He maneuvered himself to be behind Faith, and he scooped up the photos in her reach. He stood back and let Angus do his job, shoving his bleeding hand into the pocket of his shorts to avoid dripping anywhere else. At least if it stained, it wouldn’t be where anyone could see.

Angus kept hopping up on his hind legs so he could brush his snout against Faith’s screaming face, gently patting her chest with his paw before falling to all fours again. Every time, Faith pushed him away with an indignant yelp, but he kept trying until she sank to the ground with him, tightly squeezing his neck. Jamie sighed with relief when girl and dog were settled in a pile on the floor. He took the opportunity to put a bandaid on his hand before it soaked through his pockets.

When he returned after being in the bathroom for mere seconds, Faith’s screaming had been reduced to a heartbreaking, whimpering sobbing. Angus used his front paws to stop Faith from scratching and hitting her face or pulling at her hair, and he started licking her palms to keep them otherwise occupied. Jamie sighed and quietly made his way to the kitchen, where he could sit down and still see her through the doorway. He kept his eyes glued to her, his leg jiggling and his left hand tapping on his thigh. The urge to press her to him for comfort was painfully strong. Ignoring the urge to comfort was just as painful as it had been with her mother, all those months ago, before he’d ever really held her.

Jamie’s eyes must have glazed over, either with tears or weariness, because when he blinked, Faith was standing right in front of him, still weeping quietly.

“Hi, leannan. What d’ye need?” He restrained himself from touching her. Her hands were laced in Angus’s fur, sitting dutifully beside her. “What d’ye need, Faith? Show me?”

She inhaled slowly with a great tremor, and on the exhale, she put her arms up in front of her with a long, drawn out whimper.

I need a hug.

He heard her, loud and clear.

“Oh, lass…” Jamie’s voice broke, and he practically sprang forward. “Come here…I’ve got ye.” He scooped her into his lap and hugged her tightly, rocking gently. “It’s alright, now. Ye’re alright. I’ve got ye. Dinna fash, now. It’s alright.”

Claire had said that during a meltdown she wouldn’t want to be touched, but that perhaps after, she’d need to be held. Jamie had thought about it, then brushed it off. This was his fault. It was clear she’d blamed him for the mishap. She’d bitten him, swatted at him. She’d take her comfort from Angus until she was calm, and then she’d ask to be fed. That was what he’d thought.

But here she was, clinging to his shirt and sputtering into his neck, wetting his collar.

“I know, mo chridhe, I know…” he soothed. “I’m sorry, leannan. It’s alright. I’m sorry…”

He continued to whisper such platitudes, in both English and Gaelic, rocking her and holding her tightly. He knew how silly his train of thought had been. He’d seen with his own eyes this exact same pattern of kids coming back again and again despite how much it seemed like they hated their parents or guardian. He was always the first to assure a parent that it was never personal, that the child just could not see past their distress and only wanted to swat at whatever was in the way.

But even the thought of Faith resenting him had made him sick, however briefly it came to him. He couldn’t mess this up; god, he just couldn’t.

She burrowed in further, nuzzling her wet cheek against his neck, and then her hands came up to caress his beard stubble. Jamie smiled involuntarily. He knew she liked how that felt. He let her rub her hands and arms all over his cheeks, even shaking his head back and forth so she could feel it across her skin.

And then, after an indeterminable amount of time, she was quiet.

——

Claire [9:22]: Made it here alive. Just in time it would seem. Have a good day. xx

Jamie [9:25]: glad to hear it. stay safe. good luck. xx

Jamie [10:03]: cheerios and a banana for breakfast. made sure she had milk too.

Jamie [10:03]: not in the cereal, mind. I ken she doesn’t like that.

Jamie [10:37]: *photo attachment*

Jamie [10:37]: look at the size of that castle :)

Jamie [11:16]: *photo attachment*

Jamie [11:16]: “snakes. why did it have to be snakes.”

Jamie [11:16]: since i ken you’re too busy to answer, i’m just going to trust that you got that reference.

Jamie [11:17]: don’t panic, they’re made of play-doh. lol.

Jamie [11:56]: *photo attachment*

Jamie [11:56]: the art gallery we’ve created today

Jamie [12:32]: *photo attachment*

Jamie [12:32]: the gang’s all here for movie time. bet ye can’t guess what we’re watching ;)

Jamie [12:32]: got through a bunch of signs cards today btw. she did great. very proud.

Claire [12:46]: Thanks for all the updates. Faith looks so happy in all these. You’re amazing Jamie. Thank you.

Jamie [2:17]: power went out a bit ago. wee meltdown, but she’s alright now. eating soybean butter and jelly. already picked oreos for her treat.

Claire [2:18]: I saw the word meltdown. Do you need me to call? Are you okay? Any blood or bruises?

Jamie [2:19]: everything is fine. angus did a great job. i swear she’s perfectly content now. back to work missy.

Jamie [3:24]: *photo attachment*

Jamie [3:24]: needed to hold the flashlight while she did this so i couldn’t help. shame. i love puzzles. can’t believe how dark it got.

Jamie [3:24]: she’s got the headphones on now. wind is really loud. hope everything is ok by you.

Claire [4:04]: I’ll be able to call at 7:30. If she starts asking for me, tell her that.

Jamie [4:05]: aye aye captain

Jamie [6:02]: dinner promptly at six. spaghetti-os.

Jamie [6:55]: *photo attachment*

Jamie [6:55]: a wee faerie in her den.

——

Jamie tucked his phone back in his pocket after sending the latest message, smiling contentedly. The “faerie den” was a fort of sheets in the living room, tall enough for Jamie to sit up. Draped around the edges above their heads were battery powered string lights that Jamie had picked up a few days ago. He’d also blown up the air mattress that he’d known Claire had (with a battery powered air pump), put on a fitted sheet, and piled it with blankets and pillows from both Faith’s bed and Claire’s bed. Claire had told him to sleep in her bed, so he’d assumed the pillows would be up for grabs to do with as he pleased.

Faith was absolutely enamored with it. The smallness of the space made her feel cozy and safe, and it also made it easy to illuminate, so it was very bright in there in an apartment that was otherwise very dark. The worst of the storm was happening right at that moment, and it was dark as night at six in the evening in August. If Faith hadn’t been wearing her headphones, she’d be inconsolable at the sound of the wind, the occasional crack of a tree, the rattling of the windows. But she was blissfully unaware, petting her dog in her faerie den, tablet at the ready.

After Claire’s phone call, Jamie pulled out his flashlight and led Faith to the bathroom to brush her teeth. On their way there, she tried turning on every light switch they passed, growing increasingly distressed the more she encountered that would not work. When they reached the bathroom, she flipped the switch an uncountable amount of times and then started crying. No matter what Jamie did, she would not allow him to brush her teeth; she just sat on the floor with Angus and cried inconsolably. Jamie brushed his own teeth to the sound of her wailing, and she only got off the floor when Jamie pushed aside one headphone and she heard the words “faerie den” in her ear.

She calmed down very quickly after she was settled back in her bright little safe space. Jamie quickly shot Claire a text that teeth-brushing did not go very well, but that he’d snagged the Risperdal and dropper from the medicine cabinet so he could give it to her without reminding her that the lights weren’t working.

Apparently, she’d be sleeping in the fort tonight. Jamie had anticipated the possibility, which is why he’d included the mattress, blankets, and pillows. The question was whether or not he’d be sleeping in there.

The answer came shortly after when Faith had fallen asleep in his lap at the end of the movie she’d put on for them to watch on her tablet: Brave. Jamie couldn’t hear since she was using her headphones to continue to block out the storm, but he watched it playing, laughing when she did, pointing at the screen and signing to her occasionally. It was a whole new experience, watching her watch it rather than watching it with her. The only audio he got was from Faith herself, humming along to the music. It made his heart ache with love.

They were nestled in a veritable nest of blankets and pillows when Faith fell asleep in his crossed legs, head resting against his heartbeat. For a moment, he told himself he would simply stay in that position all night, that it would be worth it if it brought her a good night’s sleep after the chaos of the day. But then his hip started cramping in the open position, and he remembered he hadn’t given her Risperdal yet. So he had to move.��

Cradling her like a tiny infant, he lifted her off his lap and laid her gently atop a free section of the air mattress. He commanded Angus to lay beside her and left the fort to put on the sleep clothes he’d brought in his duffle bag. Just as he got his shirt off, Faith started whining. He quickly finished dressing and crawled back into the fort.

“I’m here, leannan. I’m right here.”

Right. So he was definitely sleeping in there.

After coaxing her to take the dropper of her medicine, Jamie swiped a pillow off the air mattress. She began whining again.

“Come on, lass. I’m no’ going anywhere. See?” He settled in on his pillow, facing the air mattress and looking up at her. “Go back to sleep.”

She did, and Jamie flicked off three out of the four strings of lights inside the fort before laying down again, getting as comfortable as he could on the floor.

——

Jamie [9:02]: she’s asleep. we watched brave in the fort and she crashed. made sure she had her medicine.

Claire [9:11]: Of course you watched Brave. That’s the one she associates with you.

Claire [9:11]: I’m in bed now myself. These cots are not nearly as comfortable as my bed. Especially when you’re in it.

Jamie [9:11]: don’t start talking about me being in your bed. not when i can’t do anything about it.

Claire [9:12]: ;)

Claire [9:12]: Really though, I’m about to crash myself. Sleep well, darling. Give Faith a kiss for me.

Jamie [9:12]: what about me?

Claire [9:12]: I think you know exactly what you can give yourself. From me.

Claire [9:12]: ;)

Claire [9:12]: Goodnight, Jamie.

Jamie: [9:12]: goodnight sassenach

116 notes · View notes