#iiiiiiiiiii ltierally hate myself

[zibvs]

whatever, binch.

as the only child of a U.S. general officer, from little details to unique encounters, her life would have not been categorized as ordinary by any stretch of the imagination. moving around from post to post had one particularity in common ; that same old list of qualities anyone could acquire from enlisting in the army, brought to you by abel weiss himself. the yellowish page engraved with her father’s handwriting highlighted the importance of leadership, of teamwork, of discipline and versatility, of being able to work under pressure and meet deadlines, among a whole other bunch of skills ziba would get quizzed on at breakfast and dinner ( lunch was the exception ; her mother never did care much for his military traditions ), right after berakhah. much to nava weiss’  dismay, her daughter’s childhood was more of a boot camp preparation than it was a time to get dizzy in the roundabout at the park. 

as much as ‘ home ’ became an army base rip-off under abel’s hand, by being her martial arts trainer and by putting her in rather unpleasant situations ( i.e. pushing her into a pool without any prior swimming experience whatsoever --- because that’s how you teach your child how to stay afloat --- to see how quick on her feet she was ), ziba learned what her strengths and weaknesses and limitations were. out of habit, one that continued on and was improved during her time in the military, she rose at the reveille, for example, whether those maddening trumpets that made her yearn for the equally annoying chirping of birds were nearby or not ; and hunger tended to strike right on time every day. her body worked at its own time, had its own rules and regulations ; and even though any disruption hardly got as much as an idle sigh out of her, no change did ever go unnoticed.

so when her well-trained body started to feel different, it raised some red flags. at first, she had written it off as a cold. the nausea, the fatigue, the congestion ---- a neverending flu that, granted, was a pain in the ass. the following weeks, and the exhaustion that came along with them, ziba thought of it as not fully recovering from the mess viruses made and overdoing her job at callahan’s --- that’d explain the soreness and wasn’t rare. 

her mind was sharp, its processing was enviable ; always driven by reason and splendor. but never --- not once --- did she consider the possibility of a pregnancy, as that was the number one thing she never foresaw in her life.

AND HOW COULD SHE? nothing about her screamed warm or motherly, and who’s top say she even has a mother instinct waiting to be awakened? the mere sight of a child made her uncomfortable ; their babbling, their snotty noses, their inability to express themselves----- it aggravates her ; she doesn’t have the skills to understand them, and all she’s able to do is glare in frustration. there’s absolutely no guarantee that any of this would turn out to be a success---- nothing’s ever prepared her for something like having a CHILD.

her choice, what to do next, is a no-brainer ; she knows it, and everyone that knows her knows it... but then there’s the fact that termination did not cross her mind as she made her way to the pharmacy for a pregnancy test, and two extra just for good measure. it wasn’t there when she took them, or when she set them on a flat surface and waited for the results. again, not once.

two to four minutes, the box said, and time’s essential to brace yourself for impact. breath in, breath out. but time’s a bitch as well, and the clock barely marks a whole minute when the three blue crosses begin to make themselves clearer. she stares at them and the sticks stare back at her. an eyebrow kinks and unremarkably so, and she’s... hungry; famished, even. it’s all she can focus on because fully processing this brand new, life-changing information is just bizarre and weird and ridiculous and not what she wants. 

it’s not her fault, she doesn’t think, that she walks with a haziness to her; a curse, some may say, that affects not her, but everyone around her---- which she also does not care about. it’s a PROPHECY and she’s the ORACLE and it never fails to explain why her wires don’t connect quite right, not like the rest---- but it’s there, it’s her constant. 

and he’s someone she never expected or was prepared for.

the first night they shared a bed, ziba did not close her eyes until she was certain wolfgang was asleep. that’s not to say she suspected he would do anything to cause her harm, of course, but her father’s list never mentioned the demons you take home with you or the constant state of alert that takes years to get used to. and the funny thing is, that her best nights now include wolfgang’s arm thrown around her waist, the rise and the fall of his chest against her back soothing her in a way that makes sleeping addictive, and his heartbeat----- listening to his heartbeat and how it reminds her of HIS LOVE FOR HER despite, well, who she is? let’s say it’s not the worst thing to fall asleep to.

his lips tracing against her skin, his fingertips setting her body ablaze ; he makes her feel. although, to be fair, he clears away that ice numbing her heart. its existence within her ribs has been like a whisper amidst a crowd ; it becomes a roar that makes itself be heard when she merely thinks of him ( more times than she’s willing to admit, as we know ). it’s an uncomfortable twinge in her stomach that goes up to her chest, and it’s against all odds that she owns up to the begrudging... care, or affection, or whatever, that she submits to, leaving her wanting more ; asking for more time, to have met him sooner, even, especially when she learned of his heart condition. it never seems to be enough, but there’s no harm in trying to quench the unquenchable, right? 

so there she is, half a pastrami sandwich on hand and chewing on the other half as if she was never taught manners ; scowling at the goddamn sticks from the next room. with her back against the wall and a stuffed mouth, ziba lets out an exasperated huff ; anger bubbling up underneath her skin because first: the sandwich wasn’t even that good to begin with ( which also reminds her how wolfgang knows exactly what food she’s craving when she’s in a mood without as much of a glance to confirm it ---- and it’s weird, but she’s not the one to complain when food’s involved ) and second: the uncertainty of how much this would affect their... whatevership. did he even want kids? ever? he sure as hell never mentioned it and neither did she. she was bold & brazen in the midst of somewhere dark, not caring & comforting in the midst of holt grocery rummaging for the best diapers. and he was... well----- chances were he could be everything she couldn’t---- in a way, he already was.

she ambles solemnly as her mind goes ten miles per minute, reminiscing the days she’d read up on how intrinsic human behavior was and how some changes were beyond the individual’s reach. it hard-wires people--- love. their brains suffer changes ; their neurological pathways get altered and they make choices and decisions that otherwise wouldn’t. every step toward the hospital came with yet another reason as to why going through the pregnancy was a bad idea, like a weight plummeting down on her chest ; like bile crawling up her throat and charring everything within range, and a feeling she couldn’t quite identify. 

but it’s one reason alone that outweighs the rest ; one that unconsciously leads her straight to 1420 counts lane street instead, where the radio static her emotions become clears. it’s where she finds HOPE & PEACE & CLARITY and everything else disappears in favor of having his arms around her. the reason she needs to hear and see the other half, and why, against her better judgment, this ----- and anything, for that matter ---- doesn’t feel like an IMPOSSIBILITY.

and that reason is him.