Lost Children
Jan. 24th, 2012 02:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
intheheartTitle: Lost Children
Rating: PG
Summary: You can't protect your children.
Date: November 2010
AU: George
Notes: A slightly more sober look at AU George. Heavily influenced by Lois McMaster Bujold, most specifically Cordelia's Honor. (on that note, ffffff Cryoburn)
Joanna was sitting up in bed when he got home after work, staring out the window at the last fading streaks of light in the west. A brush lay by her side, and her hair fell over her shoulder down her chest; it almost looked like a shadow in the growing darkness. She moved her hand in slow circles over her belly, pausing every so often here and there.
It wouldn't be very long now. Three more weeks if everything went well.
Hugh knocked gently on the doorjamb to let her know he was there, then walked in and sat on the bed beside her. "Did you not want the lights on?"
She shook her head, and leaned back against him; he put his arms around her automatically, and folded her hands in his. "It seemed like too much effort. Hi."
"Hi." He kissed her temple. "Work go well?"
Joanna sighed a heavy, exasperated sigh, which made him laugh. "It was short. That's about all I can say for it. You?"
"Like any other day. Maybe slightly fewer frustrations than usual." He freed a hand and stroked it over her belly, once. "Do you want me to brush your hair?"
"Oh!" She started. "I completely forgot. Yes, please."
Hugh laughed, and kissed her temple again. "And here I thought you left it for me out of kindness."
It was not a joke. He loved Joanna's hair, the weight and the feel of it in his hands, the way it looked on the rare occasions that she wore it loose and uncovered. It might be an odd thing to love about a woman, and it certainly wasn't the only thing he loved about her, but there it was.
She slid away from him a bit; he picked up the brush and pulled her hair back, then began to brush it in long, even strokes. Joanna sighed softly, and tilted her head back, but did not relax as she usually did.
It worried him, and he was beginning to wonder if he should speak up when she did, very suddenly. "I almost don't want him to be born."
Hugh paused in his brushstrokes for a second-- was she regretting this?-- then started up again, very evenly. "Oh?"
"Stop panicking," Joanna said. "I don't mean it that way. I mean... once he's born, once he's not inside me anymore, how can I keep him safe? I'm so afraid that I won't be able to protect him." She linked both hands over the curve of her belly; they were trembling very slightly.
"Ah," he said, only a little bit relieved, and then, "You can't. We can't. I know it isn't what you want to hear."
She snorted. "If that was all I wanted I would never have married you."
He paused again, this time to figure out what, exactly, she meant by that. It was a compliment, he decided, at last. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," she said, and they lapsed into silence for a while.
"I think about that all the time," he said, finally. "Children, I mean, and protecting them. And not just because of Olivia. I see children come into my office all the time sick or injured, and I see their parents and how agonized they are. How terrified."
Joanna was quiet, that listening, encouraging sort of silence she was so good at.
He closed his eyes and thought for a moment. "I... I think of Olivia, too, and if I'd been just that little bit faster... you feel guilty. You feel you should have done something better. Different."
She leaned back against him again, quite suddenly, her weight and warmth against his chest a surprise but not an unwelcome one. Hugh put his arms around her and pressed his face into her hair, just for a moment.
"I wonder if that's what all the stories are about," she said, softly, after that moment. He didn't move, but he did listen-- it sounded as if she was talking mostly to herself thus far. "Peter Pan, the Pied Piper, all those stories I hated so much in Children's Lit. They're about other things, I know, but at the heart, they're about fear."
Hugh made a face, into her hair. "I hate Peter Pan. All those lost boys."
"And no lost girls," Joanna said. "I used to think... why no lost girls?"
"He wrote it for boys," Hugh said. "But I agree. There are so many lost girls, and not even one in Neverland." His daughter, Joanna's sister, the little girl who'd been murdered on his block when he was ten years old...
"So many lost children," she said, and crossed her hands over her belly, protectively. "Please, not him."
It was addressed to the heavens; Hugh added his own silent prayer to hers. No, not him. Not their son.
He could not survive it twice.
Rating: PG
Summary: You can't protect your children.
Date: November 2010
AU: George
Notes: A slightly more sober look at AU George. Heavily influenced by Lois McMaster Bujold, most specifically Cordelia's Honor. (on that note, ffffff Cryoburn)
Joanna was sitting up in bed when he got home after work, staring out the window at the last fading streaks of light in the west. A brush lay by her side, and her hair fell over her shoulder down her chest; it almost looked like a shadow in the growing darkness. She moved her hand in slow circles over her belly, pausing every so often here and there.
It wouldn't be very long now. Three more weeks if everything went well.
Hugh knocked gently on the doorjamb to let her know he was there, then walked in and sat on the bed beside her. "Did you not want the lights on?"
She shook her head, and leaned back against him; he put his arms around her automatically, and folded her hands in his. "It seemed like too much effort. Hi."
"Hi." He kissed her temple. "Work go well?"
Joanna sighed a heavy, exasperated sigh, which made him laugh. "It was short. That's about all I can say for it. You?"
"Like any other day. Maybe slightly fewer frustrations than usual." He freed a hand and stroked it over her belly, once. "Do you want me to brush your hair?"
"Oh!" She started. "I completely forgot. Yes, please."
Hugh laughed, and kissed her temple again. "And here I thought you left it for me out of kindness."
It was not a joke. He loved Joanna's hair, the weight and the feel of it in his hands, the way it looked on the rare occasions that she wore it loose and uncovered. It might be an odd thing to love about a woman, and it certainly wasn't the only thing he loved about her, but there it was.
She slid away from him a bit; he picked up the brush and pulled her hair back, then began to brush it in long, even strokes. Joanna sighed softly, and tilted her head back, but did not relax as she usually did.
It worried him, and he was beginning to wonder if he should speak up when she did, very suddenly. "I almost don't want him to be born."
Hugh paused in his brushstrokes for a second-- was she regretting this?-- then started up again, very evenly. "Oh?"
"Stop panicking," Joanna said. "I don't mean it that way. I mean... once he's born, once he's not inside me anymore, how can I keep him safe? I'm so afraid that I won't be able to protect him." She linked both hands over the curve of her belly; they were trembling very slightly.
"Ah," he said, only a little bit relieved, and then, "You can't. We can't. I know it isn't what you want to hear."
She snorted. "If that was all I wanted I would never have married you."
He paused again, this time to figure out what, exactly, she meant by that. It was a compliment, he decided, at last. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," she said, and they lapsed into silence for a while.
"I think about that all the time," he said, finally. "Children, I mean, and protecting them. And not just because of Olivia. I see children come into my office all the time sick or injured, and I see their parents and how agonized they are. How terrified."
Joanna was quiet, that listening, encouraging sort of silence she was so good at.
He closed his eyes and thought for a moment. "I... I think of Olivia, too, and if I'd been just that little bit faster... you feel guilty. You feel you should have done something better. Different."
She leaned back against him again, quite suddenly, her weight and warmth against his chest a surprise but not an unwelcome one. Hugh put his arms around her and pressed his face into her hair, just for a moment.
"I wonder if that's what all the stories are about," she said, softly, after that moment. He didn't move, but he did listen-- it sounded as if she was talking mostly to herself thus far. "Peter Pan, the Pied Piper, all those stories I hated so much in Children's Lit. They're about other things, I know, but at the heart, they're about fear."
Hugh made a face, into her hair. "I hate Peter Pan. All those lost boys."
"And no lost girls," Joanna said. "I used to think... why no lost girls?"
"He wrote it for boys," Hugh said. "But I agree. There are so many lost girls, and not even one in Neverland." His daughter, Joanna's sister, the little girl who'd been murdered on his block when he was ten years old...
"So many lost children," she said, and crossed her hands over her belly, protectively. "Please, not him."
It was addressed to the heavens; Hugh added his own silent prayer to hers. No, not him. Not their son.
He could not survive it twice.
