ibrahim-ziani:
“I’ve left the army for less, now haven’t I?” Ibrahim who had always been one for running away, had remained in the armed forces longer than he did anywhere else. The rules, the obligations, the order of it all had been comforting to him, but the older he got, the more he felt like he was losing his sense of self staying there. His sense of self, that got him out of the army, and once again, it would get him out of the Syndicate, because he knew in his heart that what he had with her, this sense of belonging, was what he needed to make it through the rest of his days without running. But now, one last time, they’d have to get away from a place they called home.
“What I know for certain,” he reached, instinctively, but with a certain amount of apprehension, out to put one of his hands against her belly. Sure, there wasn’t much the jelly bean in here could do. It wouldn’t kick or move under his fingertips, but although paternity wasn’t something he was sure of, there wasn’t anyone else he’d pick to go through that stage with. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t confirm a thing. Maybe he’d find that this was not a good idea, not for them. Maybe he’d find that this was the only thing that made sense now. Retiring from all this. Getting a normal job. A house. A dog house for Beastie. Maybe a Belle for him, at long last. Maybe this would be alright, and they would be happy (and this was not a maybe, but a certainty).
“May I remind you of who bought that cabin in the first place?” Endearment clear in the wrinkle of his eyes, the dimples in his cheeks, he looked at her with sunshine warming up his whole being. “Maybe we can move somewhere warmer,” they could stay in the U.S. although he knew Nora was a traveler, maybe this was their chance to do that together. “We’re Americans, we could go anywhere.”
Only because it had been a sensitive subject for so long, something Nora always had to keep in the back of her mind-- her having to share him with an entire criminal organization, it would take her a while to fully accept this as his final decision-- no wonder she had so many doubts about it, all wary and suspicious. On the other hand, it felt natural to trust him because the felt the same kind of feeling, they shared this sense of belonging and mutual understanding.
Her ears perked up, anticipating the end of his sentence, but words failed him (no surprise with Ibrahim Ziani here). Not to mention, the man had to process it all first. Used to focusing on other senses and forms of communication in those particular moments, Nora’s gaze lowered as she, almost studied, his hands on her stomach. His hands-- bruised, calloused-- had seen war, but as Nora noticed, they felt comforting, gentle, healing-- poetically put (if Ibrahim heard this, he’d be teasing her for days). His thoughts wandered, so did hers, reliving their moments, good and the bad and the glorious-- imagining moments yet to come, with their little family growing. Eventually, she covered his hands with hers, and the tiny bean as well, if only to remind him he would never be alone again.
“Mm,” she hummed softly, biting back a laugh. “I bought this one, lo que significa que tienes que comprar el siguiente,” she told him in bold Spanish, nuzzling the scruffy cheek and couldn’t help leaving a butterfly kiss on it. Nora, however, was willing to compromise and help him figure out the where portion. “We can-- somewhere not too warm though, now that I’ve finally learned how to keep my plants alive,” ... mostly thanks to him and Catherine, but alright, her sense of pride brought a beaming smile to her lips anyway. “Promise we will never be obnoxious Americans?” Nora’s pleading eyes widened before an idea popped into her head.
“South America, pick a place. I have friends all around the continent, I’m sure they would help us out.” A beat later, she spoke in a more decisive voice. “No way they’d be able to resist Beastie.” Only half-jesting, she entertained the idea for a while longer. We could go anywhere-- the idea gave her butterflies, she’d get whenever Ibrahim himself gave her one of those looks or placed a hand upon her. “I could go anywhere in the world with--” and she burst out laughing before uttering the clumsy nickname Ibrahim had coined for her in those earliest, purely physical stages of their relationship. Clumsy and ridiculous, yet fitting, as time had shown. “My fucking soulmate,”
