11. Your muse disrupts mine while they’re trying to study.
She hides in the furthest corner of the library. Normally she would prefer the silence of her own four walls of her room, but that is not always a luxury that she can get. She finds the spot furthest from anyone else and sits, bag tossed carelessly over the table with her books spread in varies positions and page sections. Despite herself, despite the trouble she finds herself in. There’s no reason for her to disappoint her foster parents more than necessary. Her grades will remain high, if she has any say on the matter. So Irene pours over the text books, jotting down notes and reminders. Cross referencing with another text before returning to the first. She only barely notices the footsteps approaching before it’s too late. She’s surprised to see him. Not as surprised as he appears to see her.
“I didn’t think you ever studied.” It’s out of his mouth before he can stop it. She can’t help but laugh. The look ( and the flush ) that flashes over his face is more than enough to keep her from making a snide comment in return.
“Some of us actually have to work at being in the top of the class.”
Her hair is tied back, unceremoniously. Like everything from the moment she found out she was pregnant, she is rarely given enough warning before her body reacts. The morning sickness being the first in ( what she suspects, bitterly ) long serious of things that she will no longer be able to control. Godfrey had tried to humor her, tried to rub her back the first time he had witnessed her head first in a toilet. It hadn’t had much of an effect. Her doctor had assured her that this was as natural as it came. It doesn’t lessen the humiliation that comes with having vomited up most of the contents of her stomach. Irene is silent cursing the grouping of cells that is currently growing in her abdomen.
It would be her kind of luck that Cecilia would decide that this was the best time to appear in her home. “Irene! Hey, Nate left a book or something, wanted me to grab it -” Her voice stops abruptly. No doubt seeing Irene with her head half in a toilet bowl as her stomach decides that it no longer wants any of the tea she had drank this morning. Irene sits back on her heals, wash cloth in hand and passing over her mouth.
She walks the length of the Fairchild property whenever she wants to be alone. Or doesn’t want to feel like she’s an extra in a family still plagued by a funeral. She clears her throat, makes her excuses, turns down offers from Wyatt and Kari to join her. Irene thinks they might be worried about her and her reasons for her walks. She drags a stick in the dirt, humming faintly as she keeps an eye on the horses in the distance. There’s no reason for them to worry. Her voice echos off the trees and the open landscape, she doesn’t suspect that she might not be alone.
“You aren’t half bad.” Irene almost jumps, turning quickly, stick in hand and poised to attack. Thomas’s hands are half raised, his lips curled up in amusement. It’s not the Godfrey sibling that she would have expected to see. “I come in peace, I swear.” He chuckles, hands still raised even after Irene finally lowers her make shift weapon.
2. Your muse walks in on mine taking a home pregnancy test.
He was supposed to be home by six. Like always. And if there was one thing, one god damn thing, that Nathan Godfrey was. It was reliable. It was four thirty and Irene had been certain that she could at least be alone for this. She had wanted to be alone in it. For just a few more hours, if only to be sure. If she was wrong ( and some small part of her hoped she was ) then there was no reason for him to even know. If she was right - she would deal with it when it happened. He supposed to be home at six. He arrives home at four forty. And Irene has been staring, breathless, at the test in her hand for the last seven minutes.
“IRENE?” He calls out to her and all she can manage is silence. Her voice feels trapped in her chest, she can’t understand her own feelings. Surprise. Excitement? Anxiety that seems to be turning her stomach ( or is that the baby? ). “Irene?” his voice is quieter, laced with concern as he finally finds her. His face falls as he takes in the scene of his wife with a pregnancy test box on the sink counter. She can only barely meet his gaze. “A-are you….?” She doesn’t think it’s occurred to him that she wouldn’t have told him if she wasn’t. Irene can barely breath as she offers the test to him, can’t form the words to confirm a thing.
Their voices never really raised even though it was quite obvious that the Lord of Imladris and the Lord of Lothlorien were disagreeing strongly. Celeborn’s whole body was straightened, as if by his height he intented to tower the other, as to make him recoil or step back. Usually the elven lord seemed quite calm, but he was at that moment not so gentle, not so friendly. He was angry and though his voice remained under control, the emotion was easily readable in his tone and in the way he was standing.
If Elrond was not usually the kind to recoil, their conversation seemed to take its toll and soon enough, only Celeborn was talking, his elvish almost violent until he sensed someone else and spun around.
"Arwen…" He acknowledged quite brutally though his features seemed to softened.
Celeborn was... maybe not practicing as he was quite talented already, but simply distracting himself, forcing himself to concentrate on a more sequential activity. Those were steps he had learn so long ago, when Doriath was still. Something had triggered his memory and the rest had come as naturally as if he made those steps every days since. The quick and fluid motion slowly stopped as he felt another presence and Celeborn's turned on himself, ancient eyes falling on... a mortal, a guest.
"You seem to recover well."
He didn't seem embarrassed or annoyed to have been caught and interrupted while dancing, his ancient eyes serene as he studied her.
I feel like this is probably not an uncommon thing and yOU KNOW EXACTLY WHAT WILL HAPPEN WHY BOTHER EVEN WRITING IT you know what I’m not gonna go the most obvious route.
What a long day.
For one whose work schedule usually started beyond 3pm, to spend the entire day with the kids as they trained for the upcoming regionals was, for lack of a better word, exhausting. Maker, how Fae loved her job but even despite her fitness they had eighteen years on her, and a day-long workout had worn on her muscles.
She closed her eyes as the warm water fell on her shoulders, poured down her back on the more powerful setting. Her head fell back and she grimaced slightly as she felt the water soak her hair. Her hands were limp at her sides before on reached up to her neck, fingers flexing at the muscles as her other shoulder rolled slowly, working the muscle of what stiffness it had already accrued. How many minutes passed as she stood there under the stream, she couldn’t count as she relaxed into the back wall, the tile cool against her back but the water warm against her skin.
She was roused from her relaxation by the sound of the door, and eyes pricked open as she pulled herself from the wall, the form of her mage just visible through the glass door of the shower. Silently, Fae cursed herself— how could she have forgotten Marian had been to the doctor’s that day? Not that she’d have been able to accompany her. Still, the rogue immediately shut off the water, slipping out and pulling her old hoodie over her soaked form to combat the sudden chill as she stepped over to the mage where she stood.
Fae knew immediately something was wrong. Marian stood with her head bowed, refusing to meet her eye. Her shoulders hung limply and she leaned heavily against the door, one hand pressed firmly against her stomach. Fae’s lips parted as though dread pulled at her jaw as she stepped forward, a soft breath seemingly the only sound as she tentatively took her mage’s hand in one of her own, the other cupping her chin.
"Marian? Is everything okay?"
Her voice was soft, but not soft enough as Marian finally met her eye, sapphire brimming with tears as her lower lip was claimed between her teeth and she gently, almost imperceptibly shook her head. Her lips parted to speak but all that fell from them was a choked half sob, though little more needed to be said that the rogue couldn’t ascertain herself.
She could feel herself sinking, and her hand clung tighter to Marian’s as though she was all that there was to keep her from falling. The other fell from her chin, wrapped around the woman’s shoulder and pulled her close. Eyelids fluttered as though she begged she be waking from a dream, a nightmare but the shaking body in her arms as Marian finally let loose against her chest wouldn’t let her pretend.
2. Your muse walks in on mine taking a home pregnancy test
BAHAHAHAHAH //never ending snickering
It had been a curiosity, that was all.
She had more sense than some people.
The rare man she took home was told to suit up or go home.
But still, when she realised the box Tara left behind had a second test, well. Hey, it wasn’t like she’d ever get a chance to try something like that out again, was it? Not for free, anyway, and Tara had clearly left in far too much of a panic to claim any value she’d lost out on. Her lips pulled as she lay back on the couch, holding the stick above her and staring intently at the little spot. What was it that said you were pregnant again? One line? And two was not? A quick check on the back of the box tossed lazily on the floor confirmed it and her brow furrowed impatiently as she stared.
Longest three minutes of her life.
She was ready to toss the test in the trash can assuming it faulty as her impatience tugged at her before her eye was caught by a dark line.
Just one.
Shit.
"Fae?"
She sprang from her position, almost fucking flinging the thing across the room in her panic and the surprise at the voice that had poked into her terror. But no, she had the sense to look down again as she stood and thank god, there it was, that second line.
An audible sigh of relief fled her lips before she remembered the man who had entered the sitting room and a rushed explanation spilled.
"This isn’t what it looks like. This is T—"
Wait.
On the one hand, telling Mordred exactly who had been truly in need of such a test would be, well, hilarious for lack of a better word.
On the other hand, Tara would kick her ass. And she was capable of it. On a good day. When Fae was hungover (and Tara was not). Was it worth the risk?
"This is… Oh don’t look at me like that, as if someone you’ve taken home has never had a scare. If you ever stayed long enough to find out."
