Date: 2015-02-24 03:04 am (UTC)
mortemscintilla: ∅ Oh no, don't be shy (Hei - Rare Smile)
Better than my skull.

[ An attempt at a joke. A bad one. ]

[ He cradles her against him, pressing his face to her hair and kissing the messy strands, waiting until the crying jag has shaken through her and passed. Her meltdown should be silly -- the cliche of hormonal martyrdom, a picture of tragic, abandoned motherhood. Yet there is a depth of fear and hopelessness there that she's never revealed before. At least not to him. He lets it beat against him and dissolve in dwindling sniffles with his eyes shut, staring into the color-splotched darkness in his skull, seeing futures that should never happen. ]

[ After a beat, he detaches gently, smoothing a palm over her tear-dampened hair, cradling her sticky-hot cheek. ]


Tell me you didn't skip dinner.

[ Her weight, just as during her last pregnancy, isn't what it should be. He's always trying to play her with thick fruit-smoothies, crunchy cereals, a stewy melange of vegetable soups -- while she practically froths at the mouth for Meat Meat Meat. ]

[ Hormonal little beast. ]
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