All The Things I've Said - Ghost x Reader x Soap
Content Warnings - Pregnancy, pregnancy complications, c-section mentioned, therapy, fem afab reader
Series Masterlist
Main Masterlist
A/N - one of seven done.
You tap your foot against the linoleum of the hospital floor as you pick at the skin beside your fingernails. You ignore the weight of Simon’s stare as he watches you fidget. From the moment you had gotten the appointment reminder late yesterday you had been anxious.
He had been able to keep you sitting for long because suddenly you wanted to clean the entire nursery and bathroom again. He had only conceded when you promised not to use any chemicals. The waiting room chair was beyond uncomfortable although everything was uncomfortable this late into the pregnancy.
It was like the first trimester had come back to haunt you. Nausea, hot flashes and being overly emotional at everything. You had nearly broken down into tears when one of those dog adoption commercials came on this morning. You were in the last stretch of your pregnancy or that's what you told yourself to keep going. Therapy at least has been helping untangle some of the emotions you’ve been tangled in since… since Johnny passed.
The thought was still sour in your mind, it still twists the knife in your heart whenever you think about it but it’s lessened just a little. A nurse pops out from the door and calls your name, Simon helps you get up from the chair. A new development, someone having to help you stand after you’ve sunk into a chair or the couch. You follow the nurse and pass posters on the wall filled with facts and warnings about babies and pregnancy. As well as ones about adoption.
You looked at the pamphlet the on base doctor had given you. A mother is holding a baby as it sleeps against her chest. In big letters the word ‘Adoption’ is pasted onto the cover. “Just for your consideration.” The doctor said when she handed it to you. You rested a hand on your stomach, not even big enough to be noticable and the baby wasn’t big enough to kick yet. But the thought that they were in there, Johnny’s last gift to you, was enough for you to seek it out constantly. You opened the pamphlet and flipped through the pages but the longer you looked through it, the worse that feeling in your gut got.
The ultrasound technician rolls in the machine and rubs the gel over your stomach, even now you aren’t used to the coldness of it. She’s able to find the baby easily and looks for things you don’t know to look for. The only thing you notice is that they’re still sideways and rather big. That explains the rib pain at least. The doctor walks in only a few moments later and looks at the ultrasound with the technician and nods when she points something out. “Well, your baby is still very healthy.” The doctor smiles and some worry lessens. “But they are very big.”
“I noticed.” You say as you look behind them at the big baby in your body. They’re moving slightly and you can feel the echoes of it in you. It seems like they’re dreaming.
“Is that concerning?” Simon asks which brings you back to focus on the doctor.
“Not necessarily but with their position,” Doctor takes a pause and waits for you to reach your own conclusion, when you don’t answer he continues, “I’m recommending you to seek out a c-section for delivery.”
You bite the inside of your cheek. It's not like you had some kind of complex about natural or c-section births but you’ve heard the recovery process is hell. Cut open and expected to be walking the next day, not even soldiers are expected to walk the next day when they get shot in the leg. “I’ll consider it.”
You sit on the couch in the therapists office. It smells different today, usually he stuck to a soft laundry smell. Nothing abrasive or really notable, just fresh laundry. Today it was vanilla, almost too much. Like you had stuck a vanilla bean up your nose or the extract had gone up your nose. On the verge of too much. “How was the doctor appointment yesterday?” Dr. Miller asks.
You blink and furrow your brows at the question. “It was fine.”
“Anything new?” You purse your lips, thin them into a straight line. You know therapists are meant to do this, reword a question until they find the right combination of words that would get you to spill whatever happened. Still, that doesn't mean you like it.
“The doctor said the baby was big.” You say and rub some of the fabric of your shirt between your thumb and index finger. “He said that I should consider a c-section since the baby isn’t in the proper position and they’re so big.” You add on, knowing he would only press for the reason. Although gently.
“And are you considering it?” He asks, his eyes flicker to your fidgetting and you stop, now that you’ve been caught.
“I don’t really have a choice but to consider it.”
Dr. Miller hums, “And how does that make you feel?”
Out of control. Like your choices are being stripped away faster than you can handle. You can’t choose who you want to support you, you can’t choose your birth method, you can’t choose to go back to field duty after the baby is born, you can’t you can’t you can’t- “Upset.”
“Have you updated Mrs. MacTavish on this?” Dr. Miller asks and you shake your head. Of course you haven’t. You haven’t sent her text or anything to update the grandmother of your baby about anything. “I think you should consider it.”
You stand outside of the therapist office and stare at your phone with her contact pulled up. Your thumb overs it for a moment and you bite the inside of your cheek before forcing your thumb to press the call button. You press the phone to your ear as it rings and feel your heart try to claw up your throat when she answers.
“Mrs. MacTavish?” You whisper, anxiety doing barrel rolls in your stomach.
“Oh!” She says your name, so fondly it nearly breaks you right then. “I’m glad you’re calling.”
“Um, I have an update on the baby.” You tell her about the size of the baby to which she comments about Johnny being a wee big and being a difficult birth. You say that the baby still hasn’t moved into a proper position yet and that because of those two factors, “I’m probably gonna need a c-section.”
“Oh lassie.” She says, her voice filled with sympathy, “Winnie had tae have a c-section fer all three boys of hers. I’ll give ye her number, she can probably give ye advice fer when it happens.” There’s a pause before she asks, “Do ye wannae meet fer some tea?”
You bite your lip before nodding and saying, “That’d be lovely Mrs. MacTavish.”
