[ We. Us. He wishes he could trust those plural pronouns as more than just glittery, cored-out shells. Wishes he could meet those bright eyes, that unflinching gaze, and let it coax him like a magnet to True North. The trust she has in him, the unfailing optimism, is excruciating. She's ever-ready to believe he has reserves of inner-strength he doesn't use -- moral resolve he doesn't use -- and that if he tries it will come to him. He knows right from wrong, sure. But the question is whether he's capable of choosing right. For her. For the baby. ]
[ He doesn't know. She's right up close, so he's inhaling the cloud of her aroma, her warmth enveloping him so he's helpless against the fragile tenderness wafting through him, helpless against his body's blind instincts. Except that existence going forward with a baby seems insupportable. He barely knows who or what he is anymore -- except that he's not someone who should be a parent. Inviting an innocent life into their precarious relationship could be a torture as much as a tantalizing blessing. And a if everything falls apart, it might never resume its usual shape and solidity. Their happiness would not just be bent. It would be broken to pieces. Perhaps erased forever. ]
[ Is he willing to risk that? ]
[ He doesn't gather her into his arms. But he doesn't jerk away either. His eyes, a few inches away, glint in orbit above hers -- shuttered, but quietly scared, too. ]
Or we could hate it. There's no way to be sure ... [ A breath, before he manages a tight, rueful half-smile. ] Having a baby is about what we need. It's never about the baby. Not until it gets here. Once it does, you can't send it back. You understand that, right?
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Date: 2015-02-16 03:14 am (UTC)[ He doesn't know. She's right up close, so he's inhaling the cloud of her aroma, her warmth enveloping him so he's helpless against the fragile tenderness wafting through him, helpless against his body's blind instincts. Except that existence going forward with a baby seems insupportable. He barely knows who or what he is anymore -- except that he's not someone who should be a parent. Inviting an innocent life into their precarious relationship could be a torture as much as a tantalizing blessing. And a if everything falls apart, it might never resume its usual shape and solidity. Their happiness would not just be bent. It would be broken to pieces. Perhaps erased forever. ]
[ Is he willing to risk that? ]
[ He doesn't gather her into his arms. But he doesn't jerk away either. His eyes, a few inches away, glint in orbit above hers -- shuttered, but quietly scared, too. ]
Or we could hate it. There's no way to be sure ... [ A breath, before he manages a tight, rueful half-smile. ] Having a baby is about what we need. It's never about the baby. Not until it gets here. Once it does, you can't send it back. You understand that, right?