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baenakinskywalker · 2 months ago

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give you my wild

“Do you know what time it is?” Through the phone, Caitlin yawns. “I’m picking you up in twenty minutes,” Taggie says. “I need your help.” Which is how they find themselves at the chemist in Cotchester at 8:30 in the morning, both decked out in sunglasses and scarves. The last thing Taggie needs is for a photographer to catch them — the headline would be enough to send Daddy to the grave. It doesn’t matter that she and Rupert have been married six months; anything that alludes to their sex life is liable to cause an aneurysm.

rating: t

words: 2,302

a/n: written for @rutagdiscord week day six: firsts! thanks so much to @popjunkie42 for the quick beta read, and to @mckittenpants for the vintage pregnancy test inspo (check out her fic Late, too!)

read on ao3 or under the cut:

Thank God Caitlin is home on holiday.

Taggie calls her after Rupert leaves Penscombe early in the morning to head to London. Daddy picks up the phone at the Priory, and Taggie rushes through pleasantries, doesn’t ask a single question, not even when he mentions Patrick and Cameron in passing. Just nods her head and tries to sound calm until there’s an opening to ask for her sister.

Daddy puts down the handset, and Caitlin picks it up in her room upstairs.

“Do you know what time it is?” Through the phone, her sister yawns.

“I’m picking you up in twenty minutes,” Taggie says. “I need your help.”

Which is how they find themselves at the chemist in Cotchester at 8:30 in the morning, both decked out in sunglasses and scarves. The last thing Taggie needs is for a photographer to catch them — the headline would be enough to send Daddy to the grave. It doesn’t matter that she and Rupert have been married six months; anything that alludes to their sex life is liable to cause an aneurysm.

They’ve only been married six months.

She’s only 22.

Taggie counts in her head. 23 by the time…well, if she’s even pregnant in the first place.

A young mother, just like Mummy.

The thought turns Taggie’s stomach — or is it just morning sickness? “Caitlin, can you please just pick the one that’ll give me the fastest results?”

Her sister nods and grabs a blue box from the shelf. “This one says nine minutes.”

“That’s fine. I think.” Taggie could have asked Lizzie — thought about it, even — but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Involving a woman with children of her own would make it too real. With Caitlin, Taggie can still pretend it’s a hypothetical. A maybe. A probably not.

The trouble is she’s not sure what she wants it to be yet.

She and Rupert have talked about it. She loves Marcus and Tab, and of course she feels motherly around them. And it’s not like the idea of a baby is a bad one — but it’s different altogether when she’s in bed with her husband, begging to be filled, and he’s right there in her ear saying naughty things about how he’d love to see her belly round, her breasts heavy. In the light of day, he’s much more practical.

“Well, we’ve got the two already,” Rupert says. “I’m not in much of a rush.”

Taggie stands at the checkout in a trance while Caitlin pays.

She stays like that in the car. Staring out the window at the rolling hills and the blurred thicket of trees, she clutches the brown paper bag in her lap as Caitlin drives them back to Penscombe. Taggie drifts out of the car, up the lawn, and into the house without even noticing. It’s only her sister’s hand catching her elbow before she trips up the stairs that has her blinking and registering her surroundings.

“Hey,” Caitlin says softly. “It’s all going to be alright.”

The role reversal nearly makes Taggie laugh. Years ago, with Mummy and Malhar, Taggie had been the one comforting Caitlin through the string of shouting matches in London, through the fog of uncertainty that clung to the air around their parents’ marriage. And now look at them.

They trudge up the stairs side by side on the way to the primary ensuite. “Do you have to pee?” Caitlin sets the bag on the vanity and sizes up the bathroom. “Whoa.”

“There’s not another way to do it,” Taggie says. Her face is hot all over, and sweat beads on her lower back.

“No, I mean do you need to pee right now? Like, have you had enough water to do this?”

“Oh. I think?”

Caitlin produces a paper cup from the depths of her shoulder bag, like a pink-haired Mary Poppins. “Only one way to find out.” She wiggles it in the air before placing it beside the bagged pregnancy test. “Do you want me to — ”

“Leave?” Taggie finishes. “Yeah. I think I should do this part myself.”

With a quick kiss on the cheek, Caitlin breezes out of the room. The door closes with a heavy thud.

Nausea sets in as soon as she’s alone, hitting so fast that Taggie sinks to the tile floor, head dropping between her knees. Deep breaths. In and out. Try not to focus on the smell of toilet cleaner, or the too-bright overhead lights. She clenches her fists and swallows, but then —

She only has seconds to lunge for the toilet before she’s heaving. Caitlin bangs on the door from the bedroom, calling out, “Are you okay in there?” Another wave hits, so she doesn’t answer.

Taggie presses her sweat-slicked forehead to the toilet seat, too wrung out to worry about germs. She hears the door open again, feels Caitlin’s hand on her neck. “How late are you?” she asks.

With a groan, Taggie pushes herself into a sitting position. “A week.” When she turns, Caitlin’s eyes are wide.

“I know,” Taggie adds. “I just…we’re still newlyweds.” Her voice goes soft, a little watery at the end. Her lip quivers.

Caitlin squeezes her shoulder. “I’ve seen the way Rupert looks at you. Frankly, I think he’d understand if you were pregnant.”

He would. Taggie knows he would. Knows that even though he’s said he’s not in a rush, his eyes light up when she’s in the kitchen with Marcus, or out in the stables with Tabitha. She can see his smile grow wider when they’re all in the sitting room after dinner, or when Taggie helps tuck them in at night. And all of his talk in the bedroom comes from somewhere. She knows that.

So why did she go into a blind panic when she realized her period was late? Why did she bargain with herself — give it a week, and then take a test — and decide it was probably just stress? If not for Rupert, why?

“I-I…I don’t know if — ” Taggie’s throat goes heavy, tears pricking at her eyes. “I mean, I love Tab and Marcus, but they—they’ve got Helen, and I—Mummy…I don’t…” The tears fall faster, and then she can’t talk. Can’t do anything but sit between Caitlin and the toilet and let her fear, her guilt, wash over her.

Mummy always said that giving birth to Taggie nearly killed her. Physically, of course, but the mental load of having two children so close together must have been hard. Having all three of them must have been hard. Mummy, who called her retarded. Mummy, who dressed her in the morning and braided her hair.

Mummy, a word that’s always felt more complicated in her mouth than Daddy.

Taggie was afraid to want Rupert at first. Then, afraid to get attached to his children. Now, afraid to give him a child.

“Caitlin, what if I turn out just like her?” It comes out soft, like a plea.

Her sister frowns. “Are you serious?”

“She had so many plans,” Taggie says in a rush. “And then there was Patrick, and me, and you…and she took it out on all of us.”

“She did. But, Taggie, you always made up for it. Even as a kid yourself, you took care of me. Loved me.” Caitlin’s eyes go shiny.

Deep down, Taggie knows she’s right. The fuzziest memory of Caitlin just home from hospital, bundled in a pink and blue striped receiving blanket — the prettiest thing she’d ever seen. Playing with dolls together while Mummy slept before a show. Then, older: walking her to school, fixing her lunch, wiping her tears after a fight with a friend.

Caitlin sniffles, then wraps her arms around Taggie’s shoulders. “I think you should pee in the cup now.” She pulls Taggie up off the floor gently.

“Okay, okay. Just give me a minute.” Taggie rubs at her eyes and wipes her mouth. She shoos Caitlin from the bathroom, takes a deep breath, and fills the cup with what she imagines should be enough. After washing her hands, brushing her teeth, and fishing the box out of the paper bag, she groans. “Get back in here! I can’t read the bloody instructions.”

“Oh, right.” Caitlin squints at the test, then reads over a leaflet in the box. “You dip to here” — she points at a line on the strip — “for thirty seconds, and then we wait for nine or ten minutes. There’s a control pad that should stay white if you did it right, and then it’ll turn blue if you’re pregnant.”

“I could do it wrong?”

“I think they have to cover their bases.”

So Taggie dips, Caitlin counts to thirty, and they watch as the control pad stays a bright white.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Taggie whines. Her palms are slick, and the lights are too bright again.

“How about we get you some tea and a…cracker, or something?” Caitlin leads her from the bathroom, down the stairs, and toward the kitchen. “Aren’t crackers what people always use for morning sickness?”

When they round the corner, they find Rupert Campbell-Black with his briefcase in hand, brow furrowed and eyes wide as saucers.

“Oh my God.” Taggie screws her eyes shut like she can turn back time if she just concentrates hard enough. “Oh my God, Caitlin.”

Caitlin narrows her eyes. “What did you just hear?” she asks.

“What the fuck is going on?” Rupert asks. “Tag, are you — ?”

“Why are you home right now?” Caitlin asks, cutting him off. “Shouldn’t you be off in Parliament?”

He turns to her, mouth hanging open. “I left my briefcase, so Sydney had to turn back. Why are you here?”

Caitlin’s mouth presses into a thin line. “Sister stuff,” is what she settles on.

Rupert’s eyes go impossibly wider. “Taggie, what the fuck is going on?”

Her eyes open slowly. “I’m going to sit down,” she says. Taggie walks to the breakfast table carefully, willing the room to stop spinning on her way there. She lands in a chair, and the world stills. “Caitlin, do you mind?”

Her sister nods, then pockets a kitchen timer from the counter before leaving the room. She gives Rupert a weak smile on the way out.

“Darling,” Rupert starts, “please.” He looks utterly pained. “Are you — ?”

“I don’t know,” she answers quickly. “I think, though.”

Rupert’s face softens immediately. He pulls another chair out and scoots it as close to Taggie as possible, grabbing her hand across the table. “Are you okay?”

“Dunno, really.” His hand squeezes hers, thumb rubbing across her knuckles — across her wedding ring.

“What are you worried about?” Rupert asks. His voice is low and even, like he’s soothing a spooked horse.

Tears well in her eyes again, and Taggie suddenly wishes she were being braver about all of this. She’s married, for God’s sake. All the crying does is make it seem like the gossip rags were right: She’s a child bride, stolen away from the safety of her home by an old man.

“Is it too soon?” she asks, voice wobbling. “You said you weren’t in a hurry, and I’m so y-young — what if it’s a disaster?”

“Oh, Tag.” It brings her back to their first kiss in the Priory, back to the beginning of them. Her heart clenches. “I only meant that I wanted to follow your lead. Not that I think it’s too soon.”

“You don’t think I’m too young to be a mother?”

“Not if this is what you want,” he says plainly. “Is it?”

She breathes in slowly. “Maybe.”

The smallest hint of a smile flashes across Rupert’s face. “Maybe,” he echos. “How much time is left on the test?”

Taggie’s shaking her head when there’s a ding from upstairs. “Oh God,” she says again. Her stomach has worked itself into knots, and at this point, she’s not sure which result would make them unfurl.

“Shall we?” Rupert asks. He casts his eyes toward the hall, and Taggie nods. She lets herself be led back to their bedroom, where they find Caitlin sitting on the floor.

“I didn’t want to look without you.” She pushes off the ground and nods at Rupert. The two of them walk to the door, turning back when they notice Taggie still standing next to the bed.

“I…” Taggie starts, wringing her hands. “I-I think I’d like to look by myself.”

“That’s — of course, angel.”

“Yeah, we’ll be right here,” Caitlin adds. “Just, erm, holler if you need us.”

So she walks past her husband and her little sister into the unknown. Into two possible futures, with two different merits. In one, a cradle. A sweet-smelling infant in the crook of her arm with Rupert’s dark eyes and her auburn hair. Tabitha fawning over a baby sister while Marcus plays piano for them. In another, flutes of champagne at the BAFTAs, long vacations cruising the Mediterranean, and a thriving catering business. A restaurant, even.

The test sits on the vanity where Taggie left it — turned over so the result is face down. As she lifts it, heart thundering in her chest, she wonders: Can I have both?

Mummy couldn’t. Her career suffered, and she was forced to make herself small. To prioritize Daddy’s dreams over her own. But Rupert isn’t her father. They would have help, for one, and he’s always talking about her business — he even showed her real estate listings in Cotchester if she ever wanted a space all her own to cook out of.

Rupert loves her, more than he loves his job. And he would love a baby — their baby — just as much.

Taggie turns the stick over.

The world narrows to a singular point.

She takes a steadying breath and smiles.

#rutag #angelblack #rupert x taggie #rupert campbell black #taggie o'hara #taggierupert #rivals #rivals 2024 #rivals disney+#my writing #hungry like the wolf update is coming i promise! work just knocked me tf out last week #so i needed a warmup to get back into the swing of things #give you my wild

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