Work Text:
Frankie said he would be away for ten days.
He couldn’t reveal too much but mentioned the private reconnaissance job Santiago had recruited him for was worth seventeen thousand dollars.
You hadn’t been overly enthusiastic but in the end, satisfied that he was going to be surrounded by men you both trusted and if all went well he wouldn’t be remotely anywhere near live fire. Leaving you, his girlfriend in the seventh month of her pregnancy, alone wasn’t his favourite idea in the world either but he also couldn’t turn down almost twenty grand.
That Thursday morning, you drove him to the airport. He kissed you goodbye at the terminal’s drop-off. With both hands cradling your face he asked you to promise to not overexert yourself while he was away. Your response was to roll your eyes and say you couldn’t make any promises. He pulled your face to look him in the eyes, brow furrowed in concern.
“You know I’m joking, sweetheart.”
“I know, just don’t have the baby without me.”
He wrapped you up in his arms like he’d done so many times before, one arm around your shoulders and a hand in your hair, kissing down the side of your face from temple to jaw, breathing in your fruity shampoo and floral perfume. His cap bumped against you but it didn’t matter while his lips peppered your skin in warmth.
“Still got two months to go, we’ll still be a two-for-one special when you get back.”
At least you got him to crack a smile, flashing his pearly-whites for a moment before he squatted with a grunt, hands coming to rest on your belly.
“Alright squirt, better behave while I’m gone, be nice to your Mumma or there’ll be hell to pay when you come out, y’hear?” You watched as he cocked his ear slightly as if he were listening for the baby’s response. “Good kid, I love you.”
He rose with another grunt, bag in hand, to tuck stray hair behind your ear. The simple action was enough for hormones to push you off the deep end, he was surprised you’d managed to hold back tears during the car ride, only clutched onto his hand not on the steering wheel. Your eyes welled up, nose crinkled.
“And I love you too.”
“I love you more. Stay safe.”
Again, he presses his lips to yours in a soft final kiss.
He kept turning around to wave as he made his way towards the revolving terminal door. Neither of you knew whether the action was to reassure you or him. Either way, you waited until you couldn’t see his cap in the crowd, got back in the truck and drove away.
——————————
Frankie, 11:38 AM - miss you already
——————————
It’s difficult to stay distracted for ten days straight despite the busy schedule you’d put together.
Until this point, Frankie had been heavily involved in the pregnancy. He was there for every check-up, scan and signed the two of you up for as many classes as possible. His copy of What To Expect When You’re Expecting was battered and dog-eared with the number of times he’d read it, unimpressed when you’d joke that he’d do a better job at delivering the baby than a trained midwife.
In his absence, friends took turns to take over Frankie’s responsibilities and attended the classes with you instead. None of your friends had children of their own just yet and found sitting with you between their legs bouncing slightly on a large purple yoga ball surrounded by other pregnant couples both entertaining and educational.
At least your baby shower was something to look forward to. A few hours of being fawned over and being able to prop up your aching feet and swollen ankles. Practical presents were handed out first, breast pump, changing bags, nipple creams and baby slings were quickly pushed aside for the cuter gifts. The Tiger Who Came To Tea, The Very Hungry Caterpillar and Room on the Broom followed a set of Beatrix Potter’s animal stories and Dr Seuss’ adventures. Familiar patterns were revealed under copious amounts of brightly coloured tissue paper, someone had found baby-sized replicas of clothes you owned, and not just your clothes either. Tears threatened to spill down your cheeks as you pulled out small flannel shirts and a baseball cap. Even if your emotions weren’t as sensitive, you still would have sniffled over the new copies of your favourite bedtime stories and tiny versions of yours and Frankie’s clothes. The party-goers cooed at the gifts, indulging in the nostalgia while indulging themselves in the cake.
Evenings were spent attempting to pamper yourself. Keyword: attempt. It was difficult to massage the knots in your spine when they didn’t want to appear in places you could reach. Instead, you focused on aromatherapy and music therapy. Frankie had researched extensively which essential oils would be safe to use before letting you anywhere near the diffuser. Cardamom for morning sickness nausea and lavender for relaxation and a good night’s sleep. You quickly found no amount of lavender would allow a full night’s sleep when your paranoia set in about the safety of your unborn child’s father. You’d also purchased headphones for you and the baby-bump early on in the pregnancy. It was a small gadget, two sticky patches on wires for the baby that plugged into your phone with a set of headphones for you to listen to as well. On more than one occasion you’d woken from a nap to find Frankie using them himself, enjoying being able to bond with the baby.
While you were able to get through most of your activities without him, going to bed without Frankie by your side was downright painful. Both emotionally and physically. You’d never had to rely upon another person to take care of you as much as you had while growing another human being inside of you and he’d never treated it like a chore. He enjoyed massaging your aches and kissing you better despite how uncomfortable you were all the time. You missed the quiet comfort he provided.
——————————
Frankie, 05:54 AM - can’t wait to see yoh
Frankie, 05:55 AM - *you
——————————
You were so glad to already be on the toilet when Frankie’s texts came through.
The baby had been pushing against your bladder again and had woken you up with just enough time to get to the bathroom. You were sure the excitement about Frankie coming home would have made you pee yourself otherwise.
In anticipation of his return home, you decided to get to the airport an hour before his flight was due. It was already dark outside when you found a seat with a perfect view of the arrivals gate and watched as couples and families reunited just as yours was about to be. You took out the baby headphones, the music calming you enough for your knee to stop bouncing rapidly. Rubbing your tummy, you got as comfortable as you could on the airport’s wooden bench and practised one of the breathing exercises you’d been given by your midwife.
Frankie spotted you before you could find him in the new crowd of people flooding from the doors. You couldn’t even get to your feet, only pull the headphones to fall around your neck and sit up slightly, before he threw down his bag, got down on his knees and held you. His cheek pressed against your chest, you all but ripped off his cap and ran your fingers through his hair, craning your head to kiss his head.
“I missed you.” His voice was raspy. “I missed you so much.”
“Let’s go home.”
You know he’s tired but he slings both your bags over the same shoulder, his free arm pulling you up from your seat before wrapping around your shoulders. The kiss he gives you then is like the last one he gave you, gentle. Although, unlike the last one, it’s filled with pent up longing and the promise of many more to follow.
The drive is quiet.
The kind of quiet that happens when something is weighing on his chest. You’d seen the sadness in his eyes flash at each stoplight but knew better than to ask before he was ready to talk about it. He knew you’d noticed and had already started to form the conversation in his head in a way that wouldn’t set you off in a hormone-induced hysteria.
He waited until you’d gotten home. He helped you take off your shoes and change into pyjamas. He returned from his quick shower to find your legs dangling off the end of the bed, propped up on your elbows. The diffuser sat on your bedside table, softly pumping out the smell of rosewood. He put pyjamas on, noticing the top he’d put on you was one of his old ones, each breath pulled the fabric farther up the bump, and climbed onto the bed, you sat up enough for him to get a leg on either side and got to work kneading the tensions in your back. You told him about the baby shower, groaning softly when his hands got to a particularly sore spot, promising to show him the mini-version of his baseball cap tomorrow.
“Sweetheart?” You’d sensed he was ready to talk and had let the conversation lull. His breath fanned against the back of your neck. “I killed people last week.”
“How many?”
“I can’t remember, I think it was less than ten.”
“Do you feel guilty?”
“Some of them, yeah. Most of them were working for a real piece of work.”
“There’s something you’re not telling me.”
“Mission kept going wrong, I had to crash land in some backwater coke-farm,” Frankie’s usually smooth voice is replaced by sombre bitterness. “One of the villagers made a pass at Pope so I shot him. Redfly took out the other.”
He moves forward to press his body flush with yours, pressing his face into your neck, his arms awkwardly wrap around your middle. You place your hands over him, lacing your fingers with his. Deep, calming breaths indicate his story isn’t over just yet, but it will be soon.
“One of the village kids followed us up into the mountains and killed him. Tom is gone.”
Eventually, Frankie stops crying as he falls asleep. You’d been crying as well, but not nearly half as much as the man who witnessed the death of one of his closest friends. At some point the room becomes dark and silent, you each find solace in the other, spooning for comfort.
You slept better that night than you had in the last ten days. Even the baby had decided to give you a break. No hiccups, only got into a position where they had the least pressure on your bladder, but it didn’t stop you from waking twice in the night to pee. A few moments were taken each time you crawled back into bed to admire the way the moonlight illuminated your boyfriend’s features.
Sun peaked through shutters when you woke for the third time, exposed limbs bathed in soft, golden light. You turned onto your back to get a better view of the man sleeping next to you. He wouldn’t complain about the pins and needles he was sure to have in the arm you’d been lying on. He was usually a lighter sleeper than this, he must have been exhausted. Redfly’s passing had done a number on him. Frankie’s fingers started to flex as he stirred from his slumber, the side of his thumb gently swiped against your belly.
“How long have you been up?” His morning voice was no more than a grouchy, hot-mess of a growl.
“Not long.” He made a content hum when your lips met his forehead. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“Things are going to suck for a while but it will get better.”
“Promise?”
“Pinky promise.”