#and when i obliged and let the dog in simon then ran over to the garage door

[gohandinhand]

this wee fluffy one, who you often find just 👁️👁️ staring into your soul from behind

went and hid in the bedroom while i was practicing my flute tonight lmao roasted

[maevefiction]

Your Light in the Mist - Chapter 50

Luke and Simon finished up their move on November 30th, and we closed on the penthouse December 2nd. I’d been busy getting things sorted at the office, and though Tom had begun packing there was still much more to do before the company we’d hired to relocate all our worldly belongings showed up on December 15th. We figured that would give us just enough time to settle in before Christmas, which Diana would again be hosting this year. There were boxes everywhere, and at nearly seven months pregnant my ability to navigate tight spaces seemed to diminish a little more with each passing day. Since we’d been back there’d been intermittent discussions regarding what to name Prog, but everything we came up with just didn’t seem to fit. Roland had always been my first choice, but that fucker Simon had beaten me to it, and while I could technically still use it, I harbored zero desire to have to listen to him calling me a copycat for the rest of my natural life so it was officially off the table. Tom’s first choice was William, but almost immediately after mentioning it he recalled that was my ex-husband’s name and into the ‘nope’ pile it went. By the weekend of the 10th we’d gotten to the point wherein we were wrapping and packing our collectibles, AKA the socially acceptable term for adult-owned toys, at least in our case, anyway. Tom had donned his Indiana Jones fedora after finding it in the spare room and was humming the theme on and off while wielding a tape gun as if it were a weapon. I’d flopped down on the bed, at which point he’d decided to see if he could land the hat on my belly. One toss was all it took, which wasn’t surprising because an easier target would have been a challenge to establish, and I just let it remain there because removing it would have required entirely too much effort on my part. Prog decided to give it a kick, and with that, just as I’d know he was a boy, I knew his name. I sat up, hat in my hand, eyes wide. Tom stared at me, concerned.

“Everything all right?”

 Nodding, I waved the fedora at him. “This is it. The name. His name.”

 Tom’s left eyebrow rose as his head tilted to the right. “Fedora?”

 I rolled my eyes. “Really? No. Not fedora.”

 He pursed his lips, one hand rising to stroke his jaw. “Surely you don’t mean to call him Indiana. Though, that is rather cool, if I’m honest…but it sounds awful in conjunction with Hiddleston, doesn’t it?”

 I sighed heavily in exasperation at his lack of comprehension, be it genuine or a ruse, as to where I was going with this, shaking my head as I lowered my chin to my chest briefly, then turned my gaze back to him.

 “No, Tom. Not Indiana. His name is Henry. Henry Thomas Hiddleston.”

 His hand shifted from his jaw to cover his mouth, nearly concealing a gasp of surprise. He walked around the bed to kneel in front of me, fingers grazing my belly as he leaned forward. “Oh. Oh my. That’s it, you’re spot on. Henry. Hello Henry. Wow. Okay.”  He looked up so his eyes met mine, a huge smile spreading across his face. “Guess we’ll call the dog Indiana, then.”

 “Cat. We can call the cat Indiana.”

 He pouted. “A house isn’t a home without a dog, Maude.”

 “You know what? You’re right…a house isn’t a home without a dog. A hot dog. Which is what I want, like, right now.  Help a girl up so she can go grab one out of the fridge, m’kay? All cold and salty…mmm…”

 He obliged, taking my hands and providing a gentle boost. “I’d be more than happy to cook for you, you know…”

 “Thank you, but…nope. Cold hot dog. Maybe two. Or three.” He stuck his tongue out, shaking his head in mock disgust. I shrugged. “Can’t be helped. What Henry wants, Henry gets, you know?”

 He kissed the top of my head. “Oh, I know. What ‘Henry’ wants, is it?”

 As we entered the hallway, I punched him in the arm. “Listen, I’m going to milk this whole pregnancy thing as much as possible. It’s the first time in my life I’ve had a legitimate reason to behave like a diva on a regular basis.”

 “You’re no diva, love. You’re a goddess…my goddess, thank the stars…and should be treated accordingly.”

 “Well, I can’t argue with that.”

 He smirked. “Well, I feel as if I’ve achieved what I’d always thought was an impossible victory.”

 “Whatever. Hush up and fix me my hot dog.”

 “Hmmm, I thought Henry was the one who…”

 “Is that how we treat the goddess, Tom? Is it?”

 Bowing deeply, he took my hand and brought it to his lips as he gazed up at me. “No. No it is not. Shall I make it up to you by delivering your meal to the couch so you can sit back and elevate your legs?”

 I patted him on the head as he rose. “That’s more like it. Also, yes please. And thank you.”

 “C’est mon plaisir, Maude.”

 “Oh god, not the French.” I’d developed a bit of a kink for it over the past month, which he’d graciously accommodated. Rear entry was really the only position that worked well for us of late, and my libido had tanked considerably. Him talking dirty always got me in the mood, though, and when he spoke in French it was like my stupid maternity pants just fell right off. Once he’d discovered that saying literally anything in that particular language got me fired up, even if I had no idea what the fuck it meant, he began making a habit of interjecting it into our conversations when I least expected it.

 “Votre chaud chien vous attend.”

 I recognized a good bit of that, especially the words for ‘hot’ and ‘dog’. “Pretty sure hot dog in French is just…hot-dog, Tom.”

 “That’s not nearly as erotic as chaud chien, is it?”

 I groaned. “No. No it’s not. You suck.”

 He grinned. “We’ll see.”

 ****************************************

Once all our stuff was in place and put away, it became apparent that the penthouse was downright vast as far as space was concerned. The sofa and chairs blended in nicely with the modern design, and the tree of life rug looked perfect in front of the built-in white shelf that ran the length of the closed stair railing, but they seemed so much…smaller. Even the dining table was dwarfed by the openness, though it was, at least in part, sort of freeing…less cluttered living. The bar-style island required the purchase of new chairs so we could eat there when we felt like it, and I insisted upon the kind with backs as opposed to bar stools because I knew I’d end up ass over teakettle otherwise. Admittedly, there was an awful lot of white cabinetry throughout, but the floor to ceiling windows let in so much light it seemed much more New York flat-ish as opposed to New Orleans house-ish. The entry point was on the lower floor, within the rectangular portion of the building. Just inside the main door and to the left was a guest half-bath, with a hall door that led to two large bedrooms with full en suites. In the entryway, next to the door to the bedrooms, was a hall closet. Directly across the entryway from the closet was the double-door entrance to the circular portion of the building. Straight ahead through the doors and on the right-hand side of the circle there was a staircase to the second level, and to the left was a door to another small hallway that led to two more en suites, one average-sized rectangular bedroom and a a second three-sided bedroom comprised of two traditional walls and one curved measuring twenty-seven by eleven feet overall. Down past the staircase and on the left was the entrance to the twenty by eighteen-foot master suite, with a full quarter-circle glass wall on one side overlooking a forty by nine-foot terrace. The bath was also quarter-circle in shape, and the dressing room rectangular. We sacrificed some of the dressing room square footage in order to put in a door to the other semi-circular bedroom, figuring it would be an ideal location for Henry’s nursery. The upstairs footprint was identical to that of the lower level, though wide open except for the small wall that served to support the kitchen cabinetry. There was another half bath just off the kitchen in the squared-off dining room area, as well as sliders to the large private outdoor deck that overlooked Regent’s Park. Where to display our book collection was our biggest conundrum…the only section of appropriate public wall space was in the living room opposite the television and stairs, but the couch was backed against it so they’d have to be above and behind us, which would make it impractical to peruse them easily since they’d be difficult to reach. There was space for shelving downstairs just before the staircase, but not enough room for everything. The entry area was also an option, but still, not enough room. We decided to store them in the smallest bedroom until we’d grown accustomed to day-to-day living in the penthouse and had a better feel for the flow, especially since there were more pressing issues that required our attention at the moment. Issues like ‘holy fuck, what actually, like, goes in a nursery anyway and where do we buy this shit’.

 The answer to ‘where do we buy this shit’ was simple…the internets, thank you very much. As it turned out what goes in a nursery was also answered simply and included a.) place for the  baby to sleep, b.) place to dress the baby and conduct baby-waste removal and related clean-up activities, c.) place to store the things required for item b and finally d.) a rocking glider which was sold under the pretense of baby feeding and baby rocking but was more than likely a spot for the parental units to collapse because they were too exhausted to walk another fifteen feet to their bed after completing all of the aforementioned tasks. Things got complicated when the morons with minimal baby experience attempted to choose the design style for the nursery components while trying very, very hard to be mindful of the form over function rule but wound up falling down the ‘oh, we might need this too’ rabbit hole. There was the Baby Bay, a white three-quarter crib that attached underneath a mattress so there could be co-sleeping without the danger of rolling over and suffocating the infant, which seemed like a great idea since I’d decided I’d give breast feeding a go. Next was a tripod bassinet for upstairs that came complete with a curtain to block out light in case Henry needed to crash out while we were doing Adult Things. It looked like a teepee, and I questioned its stability but Simon said it was perfectly fine and that he’d ordered them for their old place above the office, which would function as a family-friendly home-away-from-home for him and Luke going forward. For when Henry was awake, a baby lounger was evidently required, and I chose a 3-in-1 bouncy-recliner model with a light wood base and a micro-fiber seat, finding myself left bitterly disappointed that such things, if available, were not easy to find in an adult size. All of the furniture was either white or grey, or white and grey, other than the clear acrylic rolling bookshelf, which looked like it was straight out of Magneto’s prison cell. The crib railings were white and the sides grey, and the nightstands and dresser/changer combo mimicked the same design, both sporting grey sides and white drawers. The glider was oversized...really oversized, and I was pretty sure Tom and I would be able to squeeze into it together when I was no longer a sci-fi movie sized dinosaur egg with appendages. It was grey mock-tweed, as was the ottoman, both with brushed chrome bases. We’d found a Mima Xari aluminum and black stroller that screamed ‘Maude! Shiny! For baby!’ but was priced at a ludicrous $1700…after watching several videos and evaluating the cost of the individual components we’d still need to purchase if we went with a different model, I gave in, reassuring myself that this was one of those rare instances wherein function and form melded perfectly. We copied Luke and Simon’s car seat and baby wrap choices since they’d been researching prior to the actual conception of the girls, and other than incidentals like diapers, clothing and bedding, Tom and I felt we were prepared for Henry’s arrival. Or at least we felt as such until we thought of yet another ‘oh, right, that’, which, for me, was a significant indicator that no one is ever fully prepared for such a momentous event and that parenting would probably be like everything else in life…a total ‘fake-it-‘til-you-make-it’ scenario. Shit happens, you deal with it. Which just happened to be my specialty.

 Christmas at Diana’s was peaceful, joyful and chock full of hilarity. No painful family secrets to be revealed, no anger, no resentment…a simple gathering of people who’d endured a great deal of ups and downs over the past twelve months and were feeling incredibly blessed to be in each other’s company while not-at-all politely competing for the title of Scrabble Champion. I knew that trying to keep the fact that I was carrying a boy under wraps would likely be an epic fail, so once we’d settled in on Christmas Eve Tom mentioned that we’d learned the gender and since we might slip up we’d prefer to tell everyone prior to such an occurrence. James wept at the news, beaming with pride as he strode toward me. I could feel myself bristling initially, but when he kissed his right palm and then placed it on my belly and said ‘first a granddaughter and now a grandson…how fortunate a man am I to see this come to pass’ I realized I’d read his reaction entirely incorrectly and felt like a huge jerk until I was distracted by a plate of scones being circulated among us.

 As part of her gift to us Diana asked if we’d allow her to paint a mural in the nursery, which was a fantastic idea, but drew attention to the fact that we’d yet to choose a theme. This was unacceptable in parenting circles, apparently. Worse, even, than not having a birthing plan that laid out every detail right down to the specific piece of music you wished to play as your baby emerged from your womb. Every theme we’d considered left us feeling ‘meh’ at best…they were either too gendered, too boring, too busy, or just plain fugly. Dr. Seuss had been a viable option for a day or two, but the more I stared at the bedding the less interesting it became and boom…suddenly, meh. On Christmas morning, after all our other gifts had been opened, Diana left the room briefly and returned with a large box wrapped in red foil and set it on the floor in front of the sofa Tom and I were lounging on. From her expression I discerned that she was both excited and nervous about us seeing the contents inside. She smiled sheepishly.

 “Now if you don’t have use for any of this, please don’t think I’ll be offended. And please don’t you be offended by my presumptuousness…it’s just that Tom was always very fond of…well, I’d best let you open it before I spoil things, shouldn’t I?”

 Inside was a plastic tub, which Tom lifted out and placed beside the gift box, jaw dropping as he removed the lid.

 “Mum, my god…is this what I think it is?”

 She nodded. “I saved all of your layettes and other special items from when you were babies, both because I love to look at them from time to time and because I thought you might want them for your own babies someday…” She trailed off, sniffling.

 Tom began removing onesies, rompers, footed pajamas, tiny t-shirts, shorts, and overalls…all of them bearing at least one character from the Winnie the Pooh series. I watched them pile up on his thighs until one in particular caught my eye. I reached for it, surprised by the fact that it was in such beautiful condition all these years later. It was a jumpsuit, the sleeves, collar and and ankle cuffs a cream-colored cotton, the rest a green, brown, yellow and cream plaid flannel with four white decorative buttons down the front. To the right and towards the bottom was an embroidered Pooh raking leaves, and to the left and near the shoulder was an embroidered Tigger appearing to be leaping out of the jumpsuit pocket while tossing leaves into the air. I couldn’t stop staring at it, Diana’s voice when she spoke sounding as if it was emanating from another room.

 “I’d always loved Winnie the Pooh, and so did Tom, right from the start. He’d get so excited when I’d sing him the theme song, even when he still fit in those clothes, his legs and arms flailing about…”

 Sarah snorted. “That’s still how he dances, to this day.”

 I smiled because she sure as shit wasn’t wrong, but could also feel myself tearing up as my fingers traced over Pooh and Tigger and the softness of the flannel, picturing Diana singing to Tom while he was wearing it, then imagining myself singing to Henry while he was wearing the very same garment. The tears began to flow, running down my cheeks in spite of my best efforts to not cry. I looked up at Diana and found her frowning, concern in her eyes.

 “Oh goodness, I’m so sorry, I didn’t…”

 I smiled through my tears. “No, no…please don’t be sorry. This…these…all beautiful…I just…I don’t have any of this sort of stuff and I’m so grateful that you do and that you’ve chosen to share it with me. With us. It means more than I can ever properly express. Thank you, Diana. So much. I don’t suppose that mural can be a scene from the Hundred Acre Wood, could it?”

 She gasped, her own tears glimmering with flashing colors, reflecting the tree lights. “Really? Well what an unexpected and perfect gift for me…yes, yes. I have one in mind already, actually…”

 Tom leaned in to wipe my tears with his thumbs and kiss my cheek, grinning. “That’s our theme problem solved then, eh?”

 I nodded, snuggling into his side. “Yep. Only one thing left on our list, really.”

 He draped his arm around my shoulders. “And what’s that?”

 I patted my belly. “Convincing Henry to exit the premises as scheduled.” He laughed, and I pointed my left index finger in his direction. “It’s a legitimate concern.”

 “It’s not uncommon to go past the due date, is it?”

 I shook my head. “No. But I’m crossing my fingers that l he’ll take after me as opposed to you in regard to timeliness.”

 As he began to speak Diana interrupted him. “Maude, perhaps it will ease your mind a bit to know that Tom was the only child I bore that wasn’t late. All downhill after that though, as far as being prompt goes, I’m afraid.”

 Tom attempted to speak again, only to be interrupted by me this time around. “So there IS hope after all…even if it’s fleeting, I’ll take it.”

 ****************************************

 Tom opened and held the Bull & Last’s heavy wooden entry door for me so I could waddle my way inside. Though I was now officially five days beyond my due date, we were out and about on a Friday night to meet Luke and Simon for a Tom’s day-late birthday and early Valentine’s Day celebration dinner. It was their first time out of the house together sans children since Persephone and Esmerelda had arrived on December 28th, and probably Tom’s and my last for a while. I’d covered the Prosper office from that point until Luke had returned on February 1st and I’d wanted to keep working, but Tom very gently suggested that perhaps I should take some time off to relax before Henry joined us. An argument ensued and I may or may not have called him a sexist asshole prior to discussing the matter via phone with Dr. Phillips who agreed that it was probably best to take it easy since I’d begun experiencing some edema, which he’d mentioned a week earlier but I’d decided to ignore. I considered calling him a sexist asshole as well, but Tom had clicked the end call button before I had a chance to properly evaluate the situation. After he retrieved a bag of truffles from the kitchen for me we’d had a little chat wherein we attempted to establish why I might be feeling the need to keep working, during which I stared him straight in the eye and said very matter-of-factly that there was a human growing inside me and it was going to come OUT of me and there was nothing I could do about it but maybe if I just kept going things would stay just as they were forever. AKA, I was scared shitless about the entire process, I felt powerless, I didn’t like feeling powerless, so I did something that made me feel powerful as a distraction so I wouldn’t have to face reality. Classic Maude, Impending Motherhood Edition. The fear had remained until three days ago when Henry did a somersault that nearly knocked me off the couch and I began having to pee every forty minutes or so. A few hours into that fuckery I was willing to try anything to get labor going, but when I’d gotten up this morning I’d found myself in a state of quiet acceptance. I’d gotten my wish…I was going to be pregnant FOR-EV-ER.

 We spotted the free birds at the corner window table, all the way at the back of the main room to the left of the fireplace. My black leather boots, which Tom had kindly put on for me since my feet and I hadn’t seen each other in four weeks or so, clunked as we made our way across the wooden floor. As we drew closer Simon stood and clapped.

 “Oh honey, I love that dress…” His clapping ceased as he tiled his head from one side to the other. “Maude. You’re waddling. Which you weren’t doing when I saw you Tuesday. Wowza.”

 “Yes. The waddling. I’m aware. Also, I can’t wear pants anymore and this is the only dress I could squeeze into that was suitable for public consumption but, you know, yay that you love it, I guess.” It was a tea-length black mock-turtleneck sweater dress, the merino wool blend making it possible to go without a coat, which was necessary since none of those fucking fit me any longer, either. I sighed as Tom pulled out the chair nearest the fireplace for me, then lowered myself down like a sloth. There was no need for him to push me in because my belly was already mere centimeters from the table. Simon was directly across from me, and he walked around the table and squatted next to me, tapping on my stomach gently.

 “Henry, I’m sure it’s cozy in there, but you really need to come out and play with us. Your friends Seph and Ez can’t wait to meet you.” The girls were, not surprisingly, gorgeous…both blonde, Seph with Luke’s brown eyes and Ez’s eyes a shade lighter than Simon’s grey ones. I’d held them both, separately, which was terrifying enough, thank you very much, but every time it was Ez’s turn Henry became far more active than normal. I’d even made a point of testing the theory, and it totally panned out. Seph, nothing. Ez, kicks and shifting aplenty. I had not a clue what the deal was, but it was fascinating nonetheless.

 I patted the top of Simon’s head. “I appreciate your efforts, kind sir. But I think he’s just a tiny bit…dare I say…stubborn. And I have no idea where he gets that from. Certainly not from me.”

 Tom sat, pulling his chair forward. “Not from me either. It’s an unsolvable riddle, in my opinion.”

 We all laughed as Simon returned to his seat, took a sip of his wine, planted a kiss on Luke’s cheek, then lifted his glass high. “Cheers, dear friends. To laughter, love and life.”

 Tom and I raised our water glasses and Luke lifted his very full beer mug carefully, all of us clinking in the middle. The waiter arrived with menus, and I stared at mine for entirely too long trying to find something that appealed to me. All of the entrees were a no, so I ordered sides – a bread basket, Buttermilk Chicken & Aioli, and Triple Cooked Chips. Tom opted for the Chargrilled Onglet, Simon the Chargrilled Aged Cote de Boeuf, and Luke the Beer Battered Haddock. Halfway through dinner I reached across to snag a piece of beef from Simon’s plate and felt a pop, then a rush of warm liquid between my thighs. I froze, and my expression was presumedly cause for concern because, in unison, the three of them asked if I was all right. I took a deep breath as I put down my fork and leaned back into my seat.

 “Well, I’m pretty sure my water just broke, so…I mean, I don’t know?”

 Tom whipped his phone out of the back pocket of his black dress pants, and I heard him greeting Dr. Phillips as I pondered my predicament. On one hand, I was thrilled, and on the other, frightened. Weren’t there supposed to be contractions first? Because I’d yet to have any, so did that mean something was wrong? I’d read about labor over and over but my ability to retain information had declined considerably throughout my pregnancy, which was a common occurrence. I shook my head.

 “But yet I remember that relatively unimportant fact in a rather ironic fashion.”

 Tom told Dr. Phillips that he didn’t recall me mentioning anything about it, then passed me the phone. He was white as a sheet, and I could tell he was trying very, very hard to not freak out. I took it from his shaking hand and held it up to my left ear, Dr. Phillips’s tempered Scottish accent causing me to envision Sean Connery, as per usual. He resembled him, really, though shorter and much rounder. Grey hair, bald on top with a closely cropped beard and piercing dark brown eyes. Kind of like a cross between Santa Claus and James Bond, in the business of delivering presents and a being a huge hit with the ladies.

 “Maude! Finally some news, eh?”

 “Uh-huh. I felt a pop, then a sploosh…but I haven’t had any contractions…is that normal? I know I knew the answer to that but I just…don’t anymore. Oy.”

 He chuckled. “Hormones wreak unexpected havoc, don’t they? Yes, it’s normal. But, you should head to the Portland tonight to check in. Labor usually begins within twenty-four hours after the amniotic sac starts leaking, and being in hospital reduces the risk of infection. Which is quite minimal, mind you. So, Tom said he couldn’t recall you mentioning any pain. Be that as it may, I’ll ask you in any case…have you experienced any pain?”

 “Other than my lower back screaming at me, no. And that’s nothing new. I mean, it does seem worse today than usual but…oh, shit. Back labor. Is this back labor, do you think? Also, as I do for all medical professionals forced to interact with me while I’m experiencing any sort of pain, I’m going to go ahead and apologize now not just for this singular instance of the use of profanity but for the hundreds of others you’ll likely be hearing until this whole birth thing is done and over with. So, sorry. Anyway…back labor?”

 “At what point did the intensity of the pain increase, Maude? A general timeframe is what I’m after here, so precision isn’t essential.”

 Throughout the entire duration of baby-harboring I’d kept as active as possible, doing yoga, walking outdoors and on the treadmill in our new gym, dancing when the spirit moved me…and I’d only gained twenty pounds. Up until four weeks prior I hadn’t felt constrained in any way, really, but by then I’d gotten so large that yoga was no longer possible and once the routine stretching ceased the muscles in my lower back became stiff and sore. It was most noticeable when I was standing for long periods and eased when I resumed a sitting position. When Tom and I had gone grocery shopping last night the pain had definitely been more pronounced, and it had continued even when I was in a horizontal position, trying to get some sleep between bathroom trips. I hadn’t thought anything of it because, frankly, I expected random physical components to begin failing the longer I continued to schlepp Henry’s estimated nine-plus pounds around. I squeezed my eyes shut as I answered the question, embarrassed by my ignorance.

 “Um, almost twenty-four hours ago.”

 There was a long pause, followed by Dr. Phillips first inhaling, then exhaling deeply. “All right then. As I said, next step is getting you to the Portland. May I speak with Tom again, please, Maude?”

 I laughed. “You’re going to tell him that I’ve probably been in labor for a whole day and we need to bust a move so I don’t give birth right here or something, aren’t you? Sure, you can talk to him…but I’m going to put you on speaker, okay?” I tapped the button, then handed the phone back to Tom, who wasn’t quite as white but still far paler than normal. He cleared his throat, then spoke.

 “I’m here, Dr. Phillips. We’re about fifteen minutes away from the hospital. Will that do?”

 “Get there just as soon as you can. Maude, if you begin to experience contractions, be sure either you or Tom track the time between. I’ll make sure everything is ready by the time you arrive. If things escalate quickly, call emergency services first, then me. All right?”

 Tom nodded, then remembered Dr. Phillips couldn’t see him. “Yes. Thank you. We’ll be leaving immediately.”

  Dr. Phillips assured us that everything would be fine, wished us luck, then hung up. Simon, who’d remained refreshingly subdued during the exchange, began babbling as Luke sipped his beer.

 “Ohmygod, okay, this is happening. It’s happening. Do you need us to drive you? We can drive you and bring your car down later. You have your go bag with you, right, Maude? In the car? Have to remember to get that on the way out…”

 I covered my face with my hands, my voice muffled as I spoke. “No. I do not have my go bag. My go bag is sitting in the hallway at home, where I put it so I’d remember to ask Tom to put it in the car when we left. It was in the car, but I decided to reorganize it for the hundredth time yesterday. Hence why it’s sitting. In the hallway. At home.”

 Tom gently pulled my hands away from my face and held them in his own, placed a kiss on each palm, then released them. “We’ll figure it out, love. First things first…we need to, as you said previously, bust a move.”

 Luke stood, and Simon followed suit. “Simon can use our vehicle to go back to the Atrium and pick up your bag, I’ll drive you in yours and we’ll all meet up at the hospital.”

 Just like they’d transitioned to a family vehicle, Tom and I had purchased a Range Rover Sport right after the holidays. I wasn’t a Jeep, but I’d deemed it acceptable, at least in the gunmetal grey body color. What I wasn’t prepared to deem acceptable was someone chauffeuring us in it on our birth pilgrimage…we’d decided that it would only be the two of us in the delivery room, hospital staff being the only exception, and I’d assumed it would be only the two of us on the way there as well. As I pushed down on the table and began to stand with the intention of stating that we’d be fine on our own but I’d really appreciate them picking up the enormous bag of shit I probably didn’t even need and dropping it off at the hospital, my first official contraction hit me like a freight train. I’d read that they were supposed to feel like menstrual cramps, but to me this…this felt more like food poisoning cramps on steroids. Once it passed I realized I had no concept whatsoever of how long it had lasted, or whether or not I’d remained silent. I didn’t recall having spoken, but that didn’t mean I hadn’t uttered some sort of reflexive primal scream. With the pain gone I was able to stand fully erect, and as I glanced to my right toward the bar no one was staring back at me so I figured I was in the clear as far as making a spectacle of myself went. For now, anyway. I turned to Tom, who was now standing as well, his eyes wide. The flash of utter terror I saw in them before he smiled at me changed my stance on being chauffeured.

 I nodded. “Luke, that sounds great. Thank you. Simon, you have the key, right?” He nodded in turn. We had a set of keys to their place and they had one for ours, just in case of an accidental loss, lock-out or in the event of an emergency situation. I would have thought the latter wouldn’t be the first time they’d be needed, but hey, the universe is full of surprises, isn’t it? Fucking A it is. The sensation of something crawling down the inside of my left leg diverted my attention downward, scanning the wooden floor and hoping I wouldn’t see any droplets of amniotic fluid. Nope, so far so good…but the chair I’d been sitting on hadn’t been so fortunate. It was shiny, as if it had just been wiped with a wet cloth, which it had been, in a way…but it was a woolen wet cloth, also known as my dress. I grabbed my napkin and dried the wood as best I could, then found myself wondering what the fuck to do with the soiled square of cloth. Putting it back on the table for our waiter to pick up would be super gross, and I’d left my purse in the car. Tom took note of my dilemma and reached out, grabbed the napkin and stuffed it into his front pants pocket. He was wearing a maroon sweater over a white button-down, and in that moment I loved him so fiercely it startled me. A sense of renewed energy and an almost absolute power flowed through me, and I took two steps toward him, then grabbed on to both of his forearms.

 “I’m ready. Let’s go have this baby.”

 He inclined his head in the affirmative, and I released him, then turned around and began to make my way toward the heavy wooden doors, pushing the one marked ‘exit’ outward. Tom was right behind me, close enough so no one would notice if there happened to be a dark spot on my dress…not that I gave a single fuck. I waddled my ass out into the night and down the sidewalk toward our car, my love in tow and my mind set on one purpose, and one purpose only…finally meeting our son.

[buriedbrain]

Chairs thrown, and tables toppled, Hands armed with broken bottles, Standing no chance to win but, We’re not runnin’, we're not runnin’.

However the fuck they had gotten themselves into this five-on-two fight, Simon already regretted sticking with Negan through all those years. He had stopped counting the scars that ass had caused him one way or another, but he never forgot the first one; the one on his leg, a bit over an inch long, a few stitches on its sides. It had been the last year of high school, that guy prancing into the classroom as if he owned the place, never backing down, never trying to fit in. One day he had been there, no one knowing where on earth he had come from, refusing to stick to the rules, refusing to leave. Simon hated him, and he hated Simon. It took them only a week to get into a real fight, black eyes, split lips. A broken nose for Negan and a cut open leg for Simon. After that they stuck together, having each other’s backs without the need to clarify it. They shared the school, smokes behind the building while crouching on the bleachers. They also shared Negan’s first girl from the new school.

And they ended up at the same crappy college, the same crappy dorm, the same even crappier room.

There's a point I think we're missin', It's in the air we raise our fists in, In the smiles we cast each other

It was Negan who threw the first fist. Of course it was. It always was him looking for the next fight. Simon only jumped into every fight with him. It was what friends did, right? Even if it meant getting a bloody nose, a black eye, and – without doubt one day it would come – a knife in the guts. He still had no idea why Negan was that way, still had no idea where he had come from. He only knew he never talked about his father – probably left the family like Simon’s had so many years ago – and that Negan had never introduced him to his mother. There were no siblings, no story about the time before he transferred to Simon’s school, only that rage that could erupt every second and that swagger he showed everywhere he went. There never was fear, only the biggest smirks he cast him whenever shit was about to go down, like he was waiting to be praised for it.

He reminded him of a feral dog.

About the time we gave up hope and We never find these locks still open, Stumbling on stones unturned, The hurt we feel, we all have found.

Simon never thought about why he stayed with him, going through all this crap. It wasn’t actually fun, like he knew Negan thought about it. But he had known from their first fight onwards that Negan understood him, and he did – in a twisted way, without really knowing much about him – understand Negan. He understood how shitty life could be, that they came from nothing, with no one but themselves. It probably had been that mutual understanding that had glued them together beyond help. Simon would follow Negan even into the depths of hell if only he saw it fit for him to go there. It was a scary thought but at the same time it was the most powerful feeling in the world. There was nothing they couldn’t do.

Although we have no obligation, to stay alive On broken backs we beg for mercy, we will survive (Break out) I won't be left here Behind closed doors.

Neither of them cared about college all that much. They managed, somehow, Simon always caring more than Negan. Sometimes he wondered how he managed to keep his grades okay or how he had even managed to get into college at all, let alone pay for it. There were so many mysteries surrounding Negan. One being how he knocked out two guys in the time Simon managed one. They were standing back to back now, spitting blood to the side while each focused their remaining opponent.

“Last chance to run.”

No one ran.

Bonfires burn like beacons, Guiding the lost and weakened. Flames dance on crashing waves, Guiding ships who've gone astray

They looked awful, crusted blood on their chins and still fresh blood dripping down their necks. It still amazed Simon how easily Negan snapped and how brutal he was whenever it happened, but also how quickly he got back to normal. He wasn’t exactly afraid of him, but he also preferred a friendship over having him as his enemy.

They laughed, laughed so loud it hurt, their deep voices echoing through the empty side street. He liked seeing Negan smile, lighting a cigarette and offering him one; he liked seeing this side of him; liked the way he was polite and courteous towards women, even less hesitating to get into a fistfight with guys treating their girls the wrong way.

Right. That was how they had gotten into this fight.

Black eyes, broken fingers, Blood drips and I let it run down my lips and to my swollen gums When hope is non-existent, Our instincts all scream, "Run", We never turn our backs or even bite our tongue

[Song's Behind Closed Doors by Rise Against]