The question surprises him: no one's asked him that. Not since he fell back into the bar this far from being dead, and he's not quite sure exactly what she's asking. She could be asking if his ribs are okay. She could be asking if he still loves her. She could be asking if he's okay having a baby around. She could be asking a million different things. Turning to face her, he takes her hands in his before glancing up at her, almost shy.
And then he glances to baby Beth, sleeping so soundly it looks like she'll sleep right through the night but he knows that's not going to happen. Her question is a good one and it deserves a little thought before answering.
It's been kind of a hell of a week and they never did see the end of their movie -- not like he cares -- and life's pretty much been turned on its ass but that doesn't bother him. Squeezing her hands, he looks up at her again; he doesn't want her to think his silence means something's wrong.
"Yeah," he says finally. "Tired, but okay."
And then it grabs him. All the shit of the past week just grabs him, right in his gut, right in his throat, right in his eyes and so he closes his eyes and turns away, swallowing hard.
He has no fucking idea what he's doing. He looked and looked, but Beth Junior didn't come with an instruction manual; he has no way of telling if what he's doing is right or wrong, or if she'll ever let him call the baby his daughter, or if she's going to stick around. He has no fucking idea what's going to happen.
Maybe all new parents feel this way.
It really is a few minutes before he can open his eyes again and when he does, he searches Beth's face. Hell, suddenly he's a dad, but suddenly she's a mom; it has to be terrifying as hell for her, too... doesn't it?
For the first time he can remember, hope and fear are so tightly intertwined he can't seem to separate them and that... well, it's a first. He'd much rather be in control, even a little bit.
A small sound escapes his mouth; it's not a laugh and it's not a cry and it's not a sigh. It's something in between all those things and he lets the air in the room just carry it away, carry it up and away. Then he leans forward and cups Beth's face in his hands and kisses her. It's more of a reassurance than a seduction. It's more an I need you right now than an I want you right now.
It sure as hell makes him feel better: he rests his forehead against hers.
no subject
The question surprises him: no one's asked him that. Not since he fell back into the bar this far from being dead, and he's not quite sure exactly what she's asking. She could be asking if his ribs are okay. She could be asking if he still loves her. She could be asking if he's okay having a baby around. She could be asking a million different things. Turning to face her, he takes her hands in his before glancing up at her, almost shy.
And then he glances to baby Beth, sleeping so soundly it looks like she'll sleep right through the night but he knows that's not going to happen. Her question is a good one and it deserves a little thought before answering.
It's been kind of a hell of a week and they never did see the end of their movie -- not like he cares -- and life's pretty much been turned on its ass but that doesn't bother him. Squeezing her hands, he looks up at her again; he doesn't want her to think his silence means something's wrong.
"Yeah," he says finally. "Tired, but okay."
And then it grabs him. All the shit of the past week just grabs him, right in his gut, right in his throat, right in his eyes and so he closes his eyes and turns away, swallowing hard.
He has no fucking idea what he's doing. He looked and looked, but Beth Junior didn't come with an instruction manual; he has no way of telling if what he's doing is right or wrong, or if she'll ever let him call the baby his daughter, or if she's going to stick around. He has no fucking idea what's going to happen.
Maybe all new parents feel this way.
It really is a few minutes before he can open his eyes again and when he does, he searches Beth's face. Hell, suddenly he's a dad, but suddenly she's a mom; it has to be terrifying as hell for her, too... doesn't it?
For the first time he can remember, hope and fear are so tightly intertwined he can't seem to separate them and that... well, it's a first. He'd much rather be in control, even a little bit.
A small sound escapes his mouth; it's not a laugh and it's not a cry and it's not a sigh. It's something in between all those things and he lets the air in the room just carry it away, carry it up and away. Then he leans forward and cups Beth's face in his hands and kisses her. It's more of a reassurance than a seduction. It's more an I need you right now than an I want you right now.
It sure as hell makes him feel better: he rests his forehead against hers.
"Yeah, I'm okay." Now. "How about you?"