attitude | take care of yourself

Every time that Faye thought she'd finally learned to accept her pregnancy in full, something came about to prove her wrong. In some ways, it felt like taking regular steps towards some blurred and as of yet uncertain destination. Telling Dean had been the first big step, one that left her feeling exposed and shaky at best, to learn that someone else was much more prepared for the changes to come than she was herself. Recognizing each symptom thereafter had been an almost painful process, one which drew out a sense of lingering paranoia. Were her aches caused by the pregnancy? Was she losing sleep because of anxiety? Was she, could she, had she— an endless myriad that never seemed to solve for itself, because some answers simply couldn't be had no matter how great the effort to root them out.

And that morning, she'd come across yet another problem: the clothes that she'd picked out for herself at the beginning of the month, skin-tight and every bit as capable of exuding confidence as the bright yellow she used to wear, were somehow too small around the waist.

Naturally, Faye knew that the changes had taken place since day one. But in some way, the baby was still a distant notion at the start. Fatigue, she could blame on the mental stress. Nausea, she could blame on poor eating habits. But a thickening of her waist felt somehow undeniable, because Faye Valentine was not one to let herself go to any extent, and her size had remained constant since she woke up in that chamber those few years ago.

Something else was changing, and still Faye felt like she was digging her heel stubbornly against all of it.

For the time being, her solution was to snag a shirt out of the several that Dean sometimes left at her place, before slipping on the loosest pair of jeans she had. Maybe she didn't look like much, but at least it masked the constant thrum of her chest as she took a deep breath, setting out for the common dining room, even if she had the lingering suspicion that her nausea would make it hard to keep anything down.

[ Dated April 20th, this is the post for anyone who knows Faye and wants to hear about baby stuff first-hand from her! ST/LT welcome, no limit, go wild. (Sorry for being slow enough to require backdating.) ]

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I can't hear heartbeats, but there are other ways I've grown to recognize friends from a distance. The unique way they walk, a whiff of a perfume. Guided by the tap-tap-tap of my cane, I turn a corner, following a familiar set of footsteps.

"Faye?"

I hear Matt approach before I hear his voice, and that steady tapping against the ground actually sets me at ease. If there's anyone I know who I think probably won't judge beyond reason, it's Matt. (Not that I have much of a reason to expect everyone else to judge, but you never know. I guess I just expect Matt to be able to react calmly to everything. Not for the first time, I wish I knew more about him.)

"That'd be me," I reply airily, hoping I don't stink overly much. I've been staying out of the sun, but the porcelain god's seen me once or twice today.

"Where were you headed?" I ask, wondering if I won't have company for supper. With the change in the environment and the unique challenges it brings, it's been easier to dine with the general population the past few weeks, rather than learn how to operate period appliances on my own.

"I was just going to eat, if you'd like to join me."

"That was exactly where I was headed," I reply, offering a slight grin that he'll never see. I wonder, vaguely, if that's the sort of thing that you can hear in a voice. Whether or not people are smiling, when indeed it isn't all that bright of a smile to begin with. How many emotions can you detect in a person when you remove one of your senses?

Something I probably never want to learn.

"My apologies in advance if I find myself needing to ditch halfway through," I warn him, stepping close to hook my arm around his, just make the process easier. "Uneasy stomach."

Only when she's close do I catch a whiff of her breath. It's work to not turn away, but I can't manage to stop my nose from folding in on itself, wrinkling.

"I can tell," I mutter, clearing my throat before I reply in more audible tones: "Should you be eating at all?"

Way to bolster a girl's confidence. Spotting that wrinkle of his nose, I carefully pull away and walk a few paces off to the side, because really, the last thing I want is to put him through my breath for however long we'll be chatting today. Not for the first time, I wish we had an endless supply of gum laying around.

"I should be trying even harder than usual to eat," I reply, wondering if he'll catch the hint. "But it's a gamble as to what stays down these days."

"Morning sickness?" I guess, my mouth apparently a few steps ahead of my brain. (This isn't all that unusual for me. Foggy was always the one who had to plan an argument. I could always be compelling just going by my gut instinct.) I catch myself short when the implication hits me, however, my cane skidding across the ground as I stop walking.

"Wait, are you...?"

He stops walking. Way to be dramatic, Murdock. And not that it really matters, but I feel a little better when I set my hands on my hips, almost as though I'm confident, able to let the details slide off my back. (Far from the truth, I'll point out.) I pause, but somehow I feel like the longer the silence stretches on, the more obvious it becomes. And I'm not exactly about to lie. Not about this.

"You could say that I'm that way," I reply, tone wry.

I don't understand the impulse to start a family here. I barely understood at home, and my situation was only marginally more stable. (And that dream died years ago, short-lived as it had been.) My first thought (and the one I suspect is on the mark) is that the pregnancy was unplanned.

"You sound thrilled."

I shoot him a look. Again, I know that he won't see it. Might not even sense it. But really, what good is sarcasm going to do me right now? All it does is remind me of that guy. He'd probably react in the same way. Slight interest wrapped in a glib remark.

"I'm working on it," I tell him, crossing my arms tightly around my chest. Suddenly, I don't feel much like elaborating.

"I'm just trying to figure out whether congratulations or condolences are in order," I reply, holding my free hand in front of me in a gesture of peace only one of us can see.

"Forgive me for saying it, but I never pegged you for the family type. If you're happy, I'm happy for you, if you're not... Well, I'm acquainted with a few dangerous men who can pay the father a visit."

I relax a little when he raises his hand, backtracking a bit. I feel like I've been just about ready to jump down everyone's throats, but truth be told, right now it's just a reflection of my own insecurity. I don't know what I want, but it's a lot easier to follow the gut sense surrounding what I don't. I don't want pity, I don't really want congratulations either. I wish there was something in between, like sage wisdom or advice that I could take in by osmosis.

"Maybe what's in order is a 'good luck,'" I say, continuing on the way to the cafeteria. "I'm not ready to have a family of my own, but I don't plan on leaving the father, and I don't want any visits paid. I just have to learn in a few months how to turn the table. As much as I can."

take care of yourself

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