[ It's not that he's repulsed by her. Disconcerted, certainly, by the changes in her body, the breasts so dark-tipped and swollen, the belly so hard and tight, those mysterious networks of blue veins scattered here and there across her thighs. It's hard not to see her as ill, somehow: there is still no concept of the baby, because whenever he tries to conjure up a vision of what is in her belly, his mind's eye plays him an x-ray of a pelvis that could be anyone's, speckled with cryptic lucencies that could be a grub-like embryo, could be gas, could be cancer. ]
[ None of it makes her unbearably sexy, the way she always is to him. More like she was after her battle with Zaheer, her frailty filling him with an unbearable tenderness, a gnawing ache to cradle her against him the way a child might hold a baby bird in their cupped palms. ]
[ He knows he hasn't conveyed that sentiment to her. Can't, because she'd hate the idea of being regarded as helpless in some vital way. She's the Avatar: she is powerful and graceful. A force of nature. She won't stand for being thought of as a sickly girl white-knuckling staircase banisters, struggling through life one wobbly step at a time. Pregnancy doesn't mean everything in her has melted to goo. ]
[ He quirks an eyebrow when she hides the bag behind her back. Maybe it's a sex-toy -- god knows they haven't been firing on all the cylinders lately, and she needs to let off plenty of steam. Her drive has always been higher than his. Or maybe it's nothing sexy. Just a toy for the brat-bun in the oven. ]
[ He doesn't ask. But he does notice how unenthused she sounds about dinner. ]
You don't have to eat if you're not hungry. [ Why inflict heartburn on the poor girl? ] I brought those seaweed crackers you like.
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[ None of it makes her unbearably sexy, the way she always is to him. More like she was after her battle with Zaheer, her frailty filling him with an unbearable tenderness, a gnawing ache to cradle her against him the way a child might hold a baby bird in their cupped palms. ]
[ He knows he hasn't conveyed that sentiment to her. Can't, because she'd hate the idea of being regarded as helpless in some vital way. She's the Avatar: she is powerful and graceful. A force of nature. She won't stand for being thought of as a sickly girl white-knuckling staircase banisters, struggling through life one wobbly step at a time. Pregnancy doesn't mean everything in her has melted to goo. ]
[ He quirks an eyebrow when she hides the bag behind her back. Maybe it's a sex-toy -- god knows they haven't been firing on all the cylinders lately, and she needs to let off plenty of steam. Her drive has always been higher than his. Or maybe it's nothing sexy. Just a toy for the brat-bun in the oven. ]
[ He doesn't ask. But he does notice how unenthused she sounds about dinner. ]
You don't have to eat if you're not hungry. [ Why inflict heartburn on the poor girl? ] I brought those seaweed crackers you like.