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Heather swallowed. Now or never, she thought to herself. Trust him.
“I got...” she began haltingly, “I got pregnant a few years ago.”
She could see Robby nodding his head. As if that explained everything. Well, you’re in for a surprise then.
“Ah,” was his articulate response.
“I wasn’t ready to be a mom then. I wasn’t even sure about the relationship.” Here Heather couldn’t help herself and glanced at him. “I never... told him,” she finished.
Robby’s smile fell and his eyes widened as he searched her face for... something. Confirmation?
He knew.
She had half a feeling someone would jump out of the bushes and yell, Surprise, you WERE the father!
And Heather was glad that he understood what she was implying but she might have underestimated the toll this confession would have on her. She thought she was done with crying.
So she decided to put it all out there really fast. “I was afraid. I was afraid of, um... all of it. But mostly... I was afraid he’d hate me for being selfish.”
“Not selfish. Heather.” Robby ducked his head to meet her eyes, the same thing he did when he wanted to chew somebody out in the ER. The gesture was at odds with what he was saying. Or maybe Heather had just forgotten what Rob— Michael was like. “Not selfish.” Never you, was left unsaid.
She sniffed. “Do you think he’d forgive me if he knew?” Can you forgive me?
He paused. For an eternity it felt like. “Yes. And more importantly, I know he would want you to forgive yourself.” I do.
Oh, honey.
And what about yourself?
Then Heather did something she had missed doing so in the last few years. She scooted closer to Michael and laid her head on his shoulder. If you couldn’t cuddle with your emotionally complex ex that you weren’t quite over on the day you had another miscarriage and this time during work, then when?
Michael froze when she made contact but only for a second. Then he relaxed and dropped his head onto her own.
“Physician, heal thyself,” she muttered into his stupidly soft zip-up hoodie.
She felt him chuckle wryly in response. “Heather—“
She put a hand on his arm and squeezed it in warning. “I mean it, Robby.”
And she might be mistaken but she could swear that Michael pressed a kiss onto her hair.
“Always appreciate your feedback,” was his murmured reply.
Was he purposefully quoting their conversation from just a few hours ago back to her? Dork. Heather could feel a smile playing along her lips.
“Uh-huh. Feedback’s there to be implemented,” she chided him softly, turning her face just a bit more into his shoulder. No, she was not rubbing her face on it. After all she was not a cat.
Hesitantly, he put his hand on top of hers. “I’ll get right on that.”
His skin was so warm. “But, let me guess, not today?”
She didn’t move her hand. Neither did he.
His head shook in reply. “Think I could negotiate tomorrow with you?”
She leaned into his side more firmly. “Tomorrow’s... also acceptable. But only barely.”
“That’s good enough for me,” he said. “Looking forward to it.”
Heather hummed in reply. “Me too.”
With one last stroke of his thumb over the back of her hand, Michael softly patted his thighs and motioned for her to stand up. “Go home, Heather.”
She only moved when he offered her his hand. “Okay.” She didn’t let go. Neither did he. Now it was her turn to softly move her thumb. “Take care of yourself, Robby.” If not for yourself then for me.
“Right back at you.” He grinned at her.
Their hands were still touching. She should let go but did she want to?
It would be so easy to fall in love with him again.
Michael’s thoughts had wandered a bit further ahead than hers. “You good to get home or do you want me to call you an Uber?”
Heather snorted. “I don’t know if home’s even the right place for me right now.”
“Why?” He was staring intensely into her eyes again.
“There are... things.” Tiny green socks she impulsively bought a week ago. Space made on her fridge for future ultrasound pictures.
He chuckled. “Well, I would hope so.”
The humour on his face died quickly when her eyes started to water once more. “God, I have to cancel the stroller I ordered today.”
Michael’s hand left hers for a moment and returned very quickly to press something into her hand. “Okay, how about this? Today, you sleep at mine.”
He gave her his keys.
“Robby, I can’t—“
“You can. It’s just a question of do you want to. Fair warning, there might just be a dirty sock or two flying around.”
Against her will, she laughed a little bit. “I think I can I deal with your dirty laundry.”
“Hey, I said a sock or two! No one said anything about entire laundry.”
“Mmh, so if I find a third sock then I’m totally right, huh?”
“Then I’ll gladly admit defeat.” He squeezed her hand. “Don’t think I have food to your liking though. Feel free to order something.”
“Okay.” Heather pulled him closer and laid her head against him. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” For you? Always.
Stepping out of her uber, she pulled out his keys, walked up the steps and opened the front door. Then, Heather speedily walked towards the elevator in the lobby. She’s pretty sure no neighbour would remember an ex-girlfriend from years ago but she didn’t plan on finding that out.
She pressed the button for the third floor and waited. Everything is fine. This is not weird. He offered.
With a small ding, the elevator opened and she was right in front of Michael’s apartment door. Heather put the key inside the lock and turned it.
Everything’s fine. This isn’t weird.
But now, standing inside his hallway? It might just be a little weird. But she could also feel some of the tension leaving her shoulders when she saw that his apartment was basically the same as she remembered.
She slipped out of her shoes, dropped her backpack near the couch and hung her jacket on the hanger.
Heather fixed herself a glass of water in the kitchen (the wine could come later) and went back into the living room.
He had said “turn off the TV” but he wouldn’t have anything against her closing her eyes and listening to Mulder and Scully yapping about vampires. She put in the disc (he had not thrown away the one season of the X-Files he had only bought because it included her favourite episode) into the DVD-player and pressed play.
While that pizza delivery guy with the fake vampire teeth was getting staked by Mulder, Heather leaned her head back and sighed.
What a day.
What a fucking day.
Taking Michael by his word, and therefore not even checking his fridge and cabinets, she pulled out her phone, muted her notifications and looked up the menu of a vegan Vietnamese restaurant she remembered being nearby.
Dumplings and some green papaya salad sounded absolutely heavenly right now. She scrolled further down and hesitated at the soup section. Should she order something for him as well?
The rice noodle soup did look good.
Heather included it in her order and put her phone away as soon as she confirmed her credit card information. She then wrapped herself in a blanket and watched as Scully was dragged to another autopsy and Mulder stole her vibrating motel bed.
She must have nodded off because when the doorbell rang, she was lying on her side, with the blanket being half on her and half on the floor.
She got up, not caring that she was dragging the blanket all over the floor, and opened the door. She exchanged a twenty (their tip) for her meal and pushed the door close again with her foot. Heather placed the containers on the kitchen counter.
First things first. She opened every lid to see which one was Michael’s soup and then put that one in the fridge. Before grabbing a fork for herself, she also wrote him a quick note about the food.
Then it was time to plop herself down onto the couch again and eat dumplings while Mulder improvised a crucifix with bread sticks.
Unfortunately, neither the dumplings, the salad nor the episode had kept her occupied for much longer (seeing as she had missed half of it by falling asleep and therefore had to contend herself for the majority of eating with watching the credits roll by). So, after washing the dishes (one fork) and cleaning everything up (throwing the boxes into the trash), Heather decided to listen to another of Michael’s suggestions and take a bath.
She turned on the faucet in the bathroom and spent several moments trying to find the perfect temperature. Then she searched through his stuff for something that makes bubbles.
Well, the selection wasn’t very big (two) so the choice was really between a “self-care bubble bath” dubbed “Muscles & Warmth” that was “body-warming and relaxing” and smelled like orange, and a shower gel that supposedly smelled like eucalyptus and yet had the picture of a rhododendron on it.
The choice was very easy.
Standing up in the water that was slowly running down the drain, Heather quickly rinsed herself off with the detachable showerhead. Then she grabbed a large fluffy towel, dried herself off perfunctorily and then wrapped it around her chest.
And it was in this very moment, when she carefully stepped out of the tub, that she finally found a flaw in Michael’s plan for her early night off. She didn’t have any clean clothes to change into.
Obviously she couldn’t just—
Or. Well. She could. He wouldn’t mind. Probably. He never did before.
But this isn’t before, she reminded herself. No. It will be better.
Still in her towel, Heather determinedly walked towards his bedroom. She pulled out a shirt and boxer shorts out of his dresser. Heather also preferred not to think about how everything was still at the same place. She preferred even more not to think about how she still remembered where everything used to be.
She let the towel drop to ground and pulled his shirt over her head. The burgundy fabric fell halfway to her thighs, with the faded logo of Old Navy stretching across her stomach. She then stepped into the boxers and simply decided not to think about any of the implications.
Such thoughts were for tomorrow. Actually, any thoughts were for tomorrow.
She threw the towel into the hamper and stopped before the bed. He hadn’t specifically said where she should sleep. But if the hand-holding was anything to go off... he wouldn’t mind sharing.
She did a rather a shortened version of her usual pre-sleep stretches (bending down to touch her toes, rotating both arms and then raising them above her head) but she deserved to fall asleep very fast and it was still better than not doing them at all.
I might as well settle in properly, she thought to herself and promptly dropped onto his bed.
Through some complicated wiggling and stretching, Heather managed to shimmy underneath the blanket. She took a deep breath.
It smells like him.
Surrounded by him and comfy blankets and pillows, Heather dozed off rather quickly.
Tomorrow she would think about it. Tomorrow she would think about them. And perhaps she would also think about the irony of her watching The X-Files after a miscarriage. (Well, at least it hadn’t been season seven. That would have been a bit too on the nose and would have probably felt like the universe was mocking her.)
Robby dropped his bag near the door and stumbled mindlessly into the shower. Perfunctorily, he scrubbed his body clean, careful to get the blood out under his nails and when that was done he stepped out, grabbed a towel and went into his bedroom.
And he then proceeded to stop in the doorway when he saw a lump under the blanket. A beautiful, sleeping, Heather-y shaped lump.
Heather.
Beautiful, wonderful, strong Heather, who had a miscarriage today. Because she was trying on her own with IVF.
He rubbed a hand over his chin and let his shoulders sag. He put on a shirt that was lying on a chair plus some sleeping pants and unceremoniously joined her under the covers.
If it was any other day he would be worrying about encroaching on her space and whether it wouldn’t be more gentlemanly of him to just steal a pillow and plant his ass on the couch and stay there for the night.
But it wasn’t any other day. So, Robby allowed himself to be selfish. He didn’t want to talk about his shift. He didn’t want to talk about anything that happened after Heather left. But he still wanted Heather close. What better way to do so than lying right next to her?
He was lying flat on his back and carefully listened to her breathing.
In and out. In and out. In and out. In and— her exhalation stuttered for a moment for it evened out again. In and out.
He now turned his head to observe her better. Clearly his ears weren’t up to the task alone.
In and out. In and out. In a— Heather turned onto her side (away from him) and the rustling of the blanket was too loud and now he couldn’t see her chest move.
He also switched to lying on his side and hesitantly moved closer. He just had to get close enough in order to— her hair was now tickling his nose. But her arm was still too far away. He slotted his knees behind hers and reached over her stomach to measure her pulse on her wrist.
He waited a minute (thank god there was a clock on each night stand) and measured her heart rate. 56 beats-per-minute. Slightly higher than the norm during sleep but studies did show that the sleeping heart rate could be elevated during pregnancy because the fetus was being fed nutrients and oxygen.
Only there was no fetus. Not anymore. Not after the abortion she had years ago and not after today.
He tucked her head under his chin and moved his hand from her wrist to her waist and pulled her even closer.
God, Heather, I’m so sorry.