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wilburgersoot · 2 months ago

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He wakes up completely disoriented, a heavy weight on top of him and no clue what the time is.

He blinks a couple of times and Sally’s face comes into focus, as well as his memory of the day before.

Jesus, that was intense.

But, he thinks as he looks at his — not — wife resting peacefully on top of him, it wasn’t all bad.

She nuzzles her face against him, soaking in his heat for all she can. She always liked that about him. Warm and soft. No hard edges ...

Not wife. Not wife. Not wife.

He nuzzles back.

She wakes up with a yawn and a soft grumble, hiding her face against him to block out the light. So, so, sleepy ...

He’s in no rush to be anywhere.

He brings his arms around her, warm and safe, pressing his lips against the back of her head.

“Morning, sleepy.”

Oh God, this guy. She just lays there. Too tired for anything.

He just smiles against her, enjoying the cuddle

Too. Tired. For. Anything.

She's thirsty.

He feels the shift in energy on top of him. Having been with Sally this long he can hazard a guess to what she wants.

“Want me to grab you some water?” he asks softly.

She doesn't want to move. Doesn't want the warmth to leave.

“Or … I could carry you to the rain box?” He offers.

She stiffens suddenly, thinking of the gross smells, and the damp pillows, and the vomit, and the food ...

“I cleaned it all up when you moved in here,” he says quietly. “So it’s … or I could carry you to the river if that’s better?”

She doesn't move or respond.

He rubs up and down her arms gently, “I’m yours to command, sweetness,” he says softly. “Whatever you want,”

She doesn't feel like commanding, though, she feels like laying still.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he says easily, kissing her shoulder and settling back in.

She's thirsty, damn it! She doesn't want to have to talk or make any of these hard decisions!

He sees her struggling and tries not to be endeared by it. “How’s this,” he says, bringing up his hands in front of her, “You pick left fist or right fist and that’ll be the way I get you water.”

She nods. Okay.

He holds them up for her.

"Your left or my left?"

“My left”

"What's your left?"

“Left is river.”

She baps it. She's not ready to return to the rain box yet.

He smiles softly. “Right was kitchen. You don’t have to go back there until you want to, okay?”

She just hums. River.

River.

With a pretty massive effort he manages to sit up, still clinging her to him.

He brings her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck so she’s nice and secure, then he stands up, holding her to him like a koala.

She clings to him lightly. She thinks of how gross and heavy she's going to be soon. She hates it.

He’s thinking about it too. About how beautiful she’s going to look. Easy for him, looking in from the outside.

He holds her closer and kisses her forehead, carrying her out, through the back door, to the river.

She slides into the water like it's a spa, relieved as it washes over her. She sinks under and lays down on the riverbed, staring up at the rippling sky.

Wilbur strips down too and hops in, shaking his head like a dog. Who says fish have all the fun?

She manages a smile at him, rolling her eyes. Idiot.

He smiles too, utterly relaxed, letting the river wash everything away, feeling the pulse of the current at his back.

She pushes herself back up to the surface after a minute. "You look like shit, by the way." His messy hair and the dark circles under his eyes didn't go unnoticed.

“Gee, thanks,” he says with a soft laugh, pushing himself back up onto the dock and running his fingers through his wet hair.

"It's kinda hot," She admits.

That gets a proper laugh.

“Well, that’s the most important thing after all,”

He gives a big, flirty, theatrical wink, and strikes a pose or two, sunlight hitting the water still shimmering on his skin.

She ogles him openly. She wishes she still looked that nice.

He stops posing.

“You also look like shit and incredibly hot right now, by the way,”

"Thanks." She rolls her eyes, combing her fingers through her slightly clumped hair.

He pushes back off the dock and towards her, reaching up to help detangle her hair.

“I mean it,” he says, “Nearly swooned when I saw you on top of me this morning,”

"You have to say that," She huffs quietly, leaning into his palms.

“Oh, do I?” And there’s playful challenge in his tone as he scratches at her skull with his nails, tackling a particularly stubborn knot. “It can’t just be true?”

"No," She mumbles, a trill rising in the back of her throat, "You say it because you love me."

“Maybe.” He starts working at a kink in her neck, as he says carelessly, “You’re still fucking hot, regardless,”

"God, right there," She praises, head rolling to the side. It's almost like a little spa. She stares out over the water.

And yep, that went straight to his dick.

He blushes bright red, very glad she’s not looking at him right now as he slowly works her over, getting the last of the knots out of her hair with some difficulty.

As he runs his fingers through it a thought occurs to him.

“Do you want me to braid your hair? To stop it getting so tangled all the time?”

"You wouldn't know how," She huffs, voice going distant as she watches how the sun gleans off the rocks and water.

“Course I do,” he says, mildly offended. “You think I could live around Techno for any amount of time and not know how to braid hair?”

She doesn't respond, just goes silent.

His fingers don’t leave her hair, running through it carefully.

“Would you like me to braid it?” He asks again, halfway hopeful.

Still no response.

“Sally … you okay?”

After a long moment, she quietly says, "I wish I could be a fish again."

Oh.

He pulls his fingers from her hair and gives her a soft hug.

“You will,” he offers softly. “It’s not forever.”

"Everything's gonna suck and I'm gonna feel like shit and then I have to deal with … it."

He closes his eyes, hiding his face from her, “You don’t have to,” he says quietly. “If you don’t —,” he takes a deep breath. “I know you asked about looking into potential adopters and … I’ll do that. I will. But …” and now he’s looking out over the water. “I was thinking … I could — I could look after it. Given you don’t want to.”

She whirls back to face him with a sharp, "No."

He looks back at her, legitimately hurt at the vehemence in her voice. “What? Why not?”

"God help me, Will, you would never see me again," She threatens.

He blinks for a second, trying to compute what she just said. “You would want to see me again? After this,” He sounds legitimately confused.

"No — I just —" She pushes away from him in the water, "It'd be fucking weird. Then you'd get all sentimental and shit about it and honestly we should just pretend this whole thing never happened so we can move on with our lives."

“Right. Because having it run around the server with some other parent is going to make that so easy,” he mutters, but he sees her look. He doesn’t want to fight. He sighs. “I’ll look into potential adopters,” he repeats, conceding.

"Find another server," She shoots back.

He can’t hide the immediate heartbreak he feels at that suggestion. He’s not fast enough. He can’t even speak.

He just looks away from her.

She sighs.

"Wilbur, I don't know what you expected."

He wipes at the tears budding at his eyes. Fuck, he does not want to cry right now.

He looks up at the open sky, willing the water back into his body.

They both know what he expected.

Whether it was realistic or not.

She blinks at him, and if she weren't so tired she might feel bad. "Listen, we both fucked up. It's fine. If you want to kick me out of the house just because I'm not gonna give you the suburbia that you wanted, that's fine. I'll deal with it on my own. I'm just saying there's no reason to be upset because I never wanted this, Will, and I still don't. And that's not going to change. You knew that."

He sighs. “I’m not going to kick you out of the house. Stop saying that. It’s not going to happen.”

He turns to look at her. He has managed not to cry, but his eyes are still glossy, his eyelashes wet and dark around them.

“And I know it was never going to be a white picket fence and fucking … I don’t know … PTA meetings with you. You don’t want that life, and that’s fine.” He breathes. “But don’t tell me there’s no reason to get upset. I’m it’s father. That means something to me. You know it does. I’m allowed to mourn that.”

"Not for long." She doesn't mean it maliciously, truly. It's as matter-of-fact as the weather or passing of time. She'll get through it and then get rid of it. That's all.

He shakes his head with a sad laugh. “I grieve everything. There’s no timeline on this stuff. It just keeps happening until one day it doesn’t. And then you get hit two weeks, or six months, or years later, and it’s brand new again. Like the tide coming into shore.”

That's a bit too abstract for her. She sinks back under the water to enjoy it.

He rolls his eyes, but just like her it’s not mean spirited. He knows she doesn’t get it.

What did he say once? A sentimental guy in love with an unsentimental woman? Something like that.

He floats to the top, spreading out his arms and legs like a starfish, closing his eyes and hearing nothing but the river.

She lays below him at the bottom of the river, relaxing. She’s still so tired.

He does his best to keep his mind clear of anything at all. Unbidden, images come into his head, like a montage, of that suburban life that will never be real. It’s vague. Not concrete. What their child looks like remains elusive, shifting, changing, never clearly seen. He sees Sally, happy, and knows it’s a lie.

He pushes the images away, leaving only a vague ache in his heart.

Her body, limp, floats grotesquely to the surface. But she's just asleep.

He doesn’t see her, his eyes still closed, deaf to the world and everything in it. Drifting in the river.

He starts doing Sudoku in his head instead, trying to calm down, but none of the numbers fit right.

She sleeps on.

Eventually he gives up, standing up, and shaking his head, clearing his ears of the water.

He looks over to her and there’s a brief moment of fear before he realises what’s going on.

He swims over to her and gently turns her over.

She'd get a nice tan like this if she weren't a fish. At least she's well hydrated.

He’s feeling a little pink himself. He wasn’t expecting to spend this long out here …

He scoops his arms under her, trying not to wake her.

“Up we go,”

She rouses pretty easily, but goes limp against him. It’s a bit telling that she isn't instantly freaking out when unknown hands are on her …

He chooses to believe that means that despite their … more than turbulent relationship … she still trusts him, deep down.

“Back to bed with you, I think,” he says softly, carrying her back.

At least he’s getting pretty fit carrying her everywhere.

He wonders if they’ll keep this up all the way through the pregnancy.

“She carried you and I carried you both,” is a joke he might say in the future … if he’s allowed.

But he knows he’s dreaming.

She leans into the warmth now, after being in the cool stream, softly sleeping against his chest.

He leans in too, pulling her close to him as he carries her through the house and eventually lowers her gently onto the bed.

She grumbles under her breath in her sleep, curling into her stomach.

He smiles softly, kissing her temple as he starts tucking her in and building her customary fortress of pillows.

"No," She huffs.

He pauses. “No, what?” he asks curiously.

"Wrong."

He looks down, more confused.

“Do you mean the pillows?”

But she doesn't elaborate, just goes quiet in sleep.

He’s left mouthing wordlessly, a pillow in hand, completely lost.

Does he wake her and ask?

That seems … ill-advised.

But so does letting her wake up to something “wrong.”

He shakes her shoulder experimentally, seeing if she’ll wake.

Only half there, she shoves his arm off. "Stop tryna fuckin'... you don't know how to do it..."

He pulls his hand back, “I’m just trying to make you comfy,” he says softly. “Do you want no pillows?”

"You suck at nesting," She grunts, "Let me sleep."

He huffs a laugh. “Alright. Why don’t you show me how it’s done in the morning? We can get it just right for you.”

"Mmmmm ..." That sounds like maybe a yes?

“Sounds good,” he says, smoothing down the covers, “Goodnight, Sally.” Never mind it’s barely midday. She instantly goes back to snoring.

She's pregnant and malnourished and depressed. That takes a lot out of a fish. And he knows it.

Looking at her, the quiet and persistent worry that she’s too thin comes back to him.

He knows that she’s going to have to put on at least 25-30 pounds to help support the baby, and up till now she’s been doing the opposite.

He bites his lip. He can do it. Load her up with heaps of good, nutritious, rich food. No worries. He smiles a little as he remembers how pleased she was that he’d eaten worms for her.

No worries.

He goes to put some lotion on his skin. He really doesn’t want to get sunburnt.

#rp blog #tw pregnancy #tw disordered eating #tw depression

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