theunpressuredclub | (no subject)

Entry tags:

rp,
with: edgar

(no subject)

It's so different from the Deck.

The city in which Ophelia has helped her set up has nothing of the suffocating smallness that her home has. Nobody here knows entirely who she is except for the small handful of people the Queen had pointed her in the direction of-- and even they only really know her as a Diamond, not necessarily a Suit-switcher. It's refreshing.

It makes it tempting, almost, for her not to come back, regardless of whether or not she decides to raise the child growing inside her-- a decision she's still struggling to make, this far along. Because yes, while she knows the boy (and it's a boy. Edgar would be thrilled, in other circumstances) would remind her almost constantly of his father, she's also not certain if she doesn't want the reminder. She misses Edgar Eicheln, after all.

But missing him certainly does not mean expecting him to show up at the door of the apartment she's staying in. Thank goodness she looked through the peephole before opening it.

It's tempting to not respond to his knock. But she also knows just how resilient he can be if he thinks there's anything like a chance.

There's a crack in her voice as she calls through the door, "Please leave."

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She's breathing so quickly she's almost hyperventilating. She's leaning just a little against the back of the couch to stay standing. She can't help the way she flinches when he moves closer.

It helps that he halts. Helps that he's looking at her and he doesn't sound angry, even if he can't quite manage calm.

She can't quite manage calm, either. Can't quite process what he's asking her to do because her mind is racing, "'m sorry. I'm sorry, Ed--'m--"

She's pregnant. Somehow, it's impossible to begin to properly process. It's got his mind reeling and entire being operating solely on instinct.

Instinct to look after her. Instinct to love her. Instinct to make the world spinning around her spin slower. Instinct to try to be safe.

"Rach." He still can't keep the nerves from straining his voice, but he's speaking slowly--with the obvious intention of calm, if not the intonation. "Don't... don't apologize, okay? Just... let's just sit down."

He's trying to be calm. He's speaking slowly, staying a careful distance away. It's helping, just a little, to ground her. She still nods a little too fast, but she's going to start moving towards the couch.

"O-okay."

"Okay."

Closing the door behind himself is careful. Leaning against it is also careful, involves just the tiniest bit of a slump. Having the stability--and seeing her properly seated--helps make breathing easier.

"Okay."

There hadn't been much of a plan beyond this. It takes a moment to get more words beyond that.

"So... so we're... Y-you're going to..."

Sitting down and having him stay there by the door is easier. Gets her breathing into something more settled again as she shifts to look at him, one hand smoothing over her stomach with unconscious anxiety.

"...'m gonna have a baby," And the rest of the words come out in hasty reassurance; perhaps even justification, "You weren't-- I was-- going t'just give him away. I know 'm-- probably not gonna be a very good mother. I was-- gonna have him an'-- give him t'a good family and then-- probably come back. You weren't meant t'know. You don't-- you don't have t'do anything, Ed. This doesn't have t'... change anything."

She's going to have a baby. She's going to have a baby--their baby, their baby a piece of his brain catches is a 'he.' She's going to have a baby and she's going to give that baby away and come home.

She's right. It's complicated.

He opens his mouth, and for a moment, nothing comes out. Finally, a sigh escapes, his back sliding slightly lower against the door. "You don't have to... do this alone."

She doesn't expect him to want this-- not so soon, not coming out of the mess they've made. She fully expects him to agree with her plan and have that be that.

But his words almost imply otherwise. His words throw her off, clear confusion lining her expression.

"You-- I mean, 'f you want t'-- stay until I have him, I-- I guess that's-- all right, but 'm-- 've got people here that have been helping, too."

She can't process the possibility of him wanting to keep the child. Not under these circumstances.

She keeps calling the child 'he.' It keeps hitting him like a blow to the gut.

This isn't just an idea. This isn't just a theory. This is a child that came from their love, that will look like them; that will live and breathe and be taken away.

But that's what she wants.

"...Rach, I... I want to be with you. If-- if this is-- part of that, then... then I want to be here."

"Y'y-ou-- You want t'be here."

She has to repeat it to make certain she's heard him correctly.

"Y'want t'-- be with me. Even-- with everything?"

With the fact she hadn't told him. With the fact she'd been carrying their child and hadn't told her.

The shock will wear off, eventually. The hurt will come, likely at night while he fights with all the other demons he's been collecting since she left. But reasoning will come with it. Consideration of the situation--of the way things had been left.

The hurt won't outweigh what's absolutely always been true and hasn't changed despite the tightness in his chest while he tries to breathe.

"I love you."

Her breath comes out shaky, still, when he says it at last. She can't quite smile in response, even if it's so wonderfully reassuring to hear.

"I-- love you, too, Edgar."

And she needs him. Needs him so desperately.

It helps to hear. Relief has him sliding, slowly, the rest of the way down to sitting on the floor.

"Then... then we'll do this." And it's crazy, because they're far too young and they don't have a plan, but for a second his heart genuinely wants to mean they'll have a baby--their baby. A slight shake of his head helps. "We'll... we'll figure it out from here."

Together.

For a moment, that's what she thinks he means, too. For a moment, the prospect doesn't seem nearly as terrifying as it did before.

"We'll-- figure it out t'gether." And it's clear that eases so much of the worry from her brow, "All-- all right."

She's not sending him away. She's not telling him there's someone else. She's not making it clear there isn't anything left.

She's saying 'together.' She's saying she loves him.

For a moment, he has to just close his eyes and breathe that in; let it become more real so that the rest of what's real--and much more overwhelming--can feel less dizzying.

"Can... can I come sit...?"

Her breath catches at the query, but she relaxes after a moment. Settles back into the thought that he's safe-- he's always been safe, even when he's been angry with her.

He doesn't seem angry, now. He seems relieved, if a little shell-shocked. It's not going to be a bad thing, to have him close.

"O-okay, Ed."

He tries to stand up. Honestly, he does. It's just he can't quite keep himself steady beyond kneeling. There's too much shaking in his frame for walking.

So it's a stumbling sort of crawl to cross the room. It's a careful, slow moving to lean against the couch close to her.

It makes it easier to feel the reality of the situation. To really feel the weight of the truth settling on his shoulder.

It leaves him in speechless contemplation again.

Somehow, it helps to know he's just as unsettled. That it takes all the energy he has to just make it to the couch. Somehow, it helps to know he's just as alarmed.

It takes her a few moments of calming down again once he's settled beside her, but one hand does, very tentatively, reach out for one of his.

"--Hi."

The pause as she reaches isn't hesitance; it's curious. It's to watch her face for a moment to be certain she's really reaching, not just shifting. That he isn't imagining it.

His grip might be a hair too tight at first, but he forces himself to relax it.

"Hi, Rach."

Relaxing his grip gets a much easier to smile. It's a shaky one, but a smile nonetheless.

"--I've missed you."

"'ve just-- been going absolutely insane without you."

Which is true. Which is probably why he's sitting in so much shock rather than getting worked up.

"We can't-- we can't do that again, nn?"

There's always a bit of a lull after moments of extreme emotion; a sort of numbness to let the mind and body recuperate. The baby shifts, elbowing her, and her other hand automatically drops to her stomach even as she nods.

"Def-definitely not."

She wouldn't be able to survive it. She'd barely made it this time.

He can't help the way his attention snaps to her hand moving to her stomach. He can't help that a piece of his heart leaps at the image of her--however tired and strained--pressing her hand against the swell of her child.

Their child.

"...good."

The way his eyes drop to her stomach naturally catches her attention. Her hand stills on her stomach, her gaze sharp on him.

Things are still shaky. She squeezes his hand just slightly, "...Do you want-- t'feel him?"

It would be the most natural thing in the world. It would absolutely have made him smile in any other circumstance.

But.

"Won't... won't that just... make it harder?"

Since the child--their boy--wasn't going to be theirs?

"Might," she admits freely, a shadow of sadness touching her face. Now that he's here, she's even more uncertain about whether or not she wants to give the child away. She didn't think she'd have been a very good mother alone but-- Edgar had a way of helping her balance. It might be easier.

She doesn't know if she wants to think about it. The conflicting emotions flicker across her face for him to easily see, this close, "'ve been thinking it might-- make it easier. Let me-- feel like I knew him before I-- let him go.'"

Her voice cracks just slightly towards the end of the sentence. The thought is quite suddenly an incredibly painful one.