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intheheartTitle: Heartbeat
Rating: PG.
Summary: Henrik and Thea, to the end.
Notes: Isana's fault.
Warnings: death from cancer
1)
She'd taken his hand outside the restaurant, and hadn't let go once on the long walk to the bus stop. It might have been clingy, on a first date, but she didn't even seem to notice that she'd done it.
Anyway, holding Thea's hand felt comfortable, and right in a way Henrik hadn't experienced before. Their hands just seemed to fit, Thea's smaller fingers sliding neatly between his, her palm flat against his, the pulse in her wrist a gentle rhythm against the heel of his hand.
He slid his thumb along hers, just for the sake of her skin.
2)
Thea was sprawled across him when he woke, the taste of her still in his mouth. He'd been a little afraid that she'd be gone when he woke, only that taste to remind him what had happened, but she was still there, her heartbeat fluttering against his tongue when he bent to kiss her neck.
Last night had been amazing-- her lips, her hands, her thighs, the sharp, sour-sweet taste of her as she tensed and cried out under his mouth. He'd be happy if he never tasted anything else in his life.
She stirred above him, and he smiled.
3)
He listened to Thea's belly for hours on end, straining to hear the baby's heartbeat. He'd heard it once in the doctor's office, standing awed above his wife as the beat sounded in his ears through the stethescope, and he was determined now to hear it for himself.
He never did hear it. He heard Thea's heartbeat, all the time, and he heard the baby moving-- he got kicked in the ear too many times to count. But he kept trying, right up until the day their daughter was born.
Thea laughed at him, but she always let him try.
4)
Henrik hated the scent of hospitals.
His sister Mathilda had been in one, long ago, when she had appendicitis. The smell hadn't changed since then-- the antiseptic burn in his nostrils, the scent of dying flowers, rubber, and chemicals. In Thea's ward it smelled of sickness, talcum powder and vomit.
He didn't have to be there. He could have stayed at home, caring for their children and waiting for the call to come get Thea. But he'd never left her before-- he wasn't about to leave her now.
He kept his hand on the pulse in her wrist, and waited.
5)
She was dying. Thea was dying.
He'd tried so hard not to believe it. She meant so much to him that she couldn't possibly be dying. It was his heart beating strong in her chest, propelling the spikes and sharp beeps of the EKG meter. His heart would keep her going.
Except she was dying, a little more each day. He could hear the EKG meter going slower and slower, his pulse keeping time in sympathy. He could hear her raspy struggles for breath get harder and harder.
She was dying, and there was nothing he could do to save her.
6)
It's just his heart now.
Rating: PG.
Summary: Henrik and Thea, to the end.
Notes: Isana's fault.
Warnings: death from cancer
1)
She'd taken his hand outside the restaurant, and hadn't let go once on the long walk to the bus stop. It might have been clingy, on a first date, but she didn't even seem to notice that she'd done it.
Anyway, holding Thea's hand felt comfortable, and right in a way Henrik hadn't experienced before. Their hands just seemed to fit, Thea's smaller fingers sliding neatly between his, her palm flat against his, the pulse in her wrist a gentle rhythm against the heel of his hand.
He slid his thumb along hers, just for the sake of her skin.
2)
Thea was sprawled across him when he woke, the taste of her still in his mouth. He'd been a little afraid that she'd be gone when he woke, only that taste to remind him what had happened, but she was still there, her heartbeat fluttering against his tongue when he bent to kiss her neck.
Last night had been amazing-- her lips, her hands, her thighs, the sharp, sour-sweet taste of her as she tensed and cried out under his mouth. He'd be happy if he never tasted anything else in his life.
She stirred above him, and he smiled.
3)
He listened to Thea's belly for hours on end, straining to hear the baby's heartbeat. He'd heard it once in the doctor's office, standing awed above his wife as the beat sounded in his ears through the stethescope, and he was determined now to hear it for himself.
He never did hear it. He heard Thea's heartbeat, all the time, and he heard the baby moving-- he got kicked in the ear too many times to count. But he kept trying, right up until the day their daughter was born.
Thea laughed at him, but she always let him try.
4)
Henrik hated the scent of hospitals.
His sister Mathilda had been in one, long ago, when she had appendicitis. The smell hadn't changed since then-- the antiseptic burn in his nostrils, the scent of dying flowers, rubber, and chemicals. In Thea's ward it smelled of sickness, talcum powder and vomit.
He didn't have to be there. He could have stayed at home, caring for their children and waiting for the call to come get Thea. But he'd never left her before-- he wasn't about to leave her now.
He kept his hand on the pulse in her wrist, and waited.
5)
She was dying. Thea was dying.
He'd tried so hard not to believe it. She meant so much to him that she couldn't possibly be dying. It was his heart beating strong in her chest, propelling the spikes and sharp beeps of the EKG meter. His heart would keep her going.
Except she was dying, a little more each day. He could hear the EKG meter going slower and slower, his pulse keeping time in sympathy. He could hear her raspy struggles for breath get harder and harder.
She was dying, and there was nothing he could do to save her.
6)
It's just his heart now.
