inkonstage (inkonstage) wrote in rooms, @ 2015-06-15 21:17:00 |
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Entry tags: | *narrative, marta flores, seven morgan |
Narrative
Who: Marta (guest cameos by sleeping Seven and Bean)
What: In the hospital
Where: Brooklyn Hospital Center (Marvel)
When: After the emergency c-section
Warnings/Rating: Post-delivery/maternal-related sads. Thoughts gone wonky.
She didn't know what had woken her. If it was the beep of a machine, the click of the door as a nurse slipped out and closed it behind herself again, the soft snore of the man sitting in the near-by chair. A combination of everything. Or just because her body said it was time to be awake again.
Everything was foggy at first. The lights were dim, but it was still light enough for her to see. At least the room around her made sense now. Not like it had the first time she'd woken. It had been shaped the wrong way, the bed she was in was too small, the smell was wrong. It was filled with things that were strange and alien to her: a fabric curtain in the middle of the room, a strange cart with a plexiglass box on top with fabric inside, a tv on the wall and things connected to her that she hadn't been able to identify. She'd faded in and out of sleep without really realizing what was going on.
At least now the realization came quicker. A hospital room. She'd had the baby.
The baby.
Her thoughts were still jumbled, but thinking about the baby caused so many of them to rush back on her all at once. Not being awake for very long each time she opened her eyes had allowed her to hide how her thoughts had spun every time. She'd been doing her best to put on a sleepy smile, but it always felt forced as she remembered the pain and all the blood, remembered Tommy driving, remembered being so scared (even though that came at a fuzzy distance now). She remembered wanting Seven there and then him being there, being close. She remembered…
With a blink, she moved her hand, laying it over her belly the way she'd done several times since waking up - so flat compared to what it had been for months - wincing at a sharper pain beneath her fingers.
Another soft snore pulled her attention back to the man in the chair, and even though she'd already known it was him, she registered (so slowly) that it was Seven, that it wasn't a large stomach that was confusing her, but a lump on his chest covered by a tiny blanket. The lump moved, just a little, and it all finally made sense.
The baby.
He was holding the baby. Taking care of the baby. Because she…
She hadn't. She hadn't even been awake. Sleeping.
Sleeping so much after they'd had to take the baby out of her.
Sleeping so much and fighting to return to sleep those few times that awareness had grabbed at her.
She'd only been awake long enough one time for anyone to suggest that she try feeding the baby. That had been part of the bigger plan - that she would breastfeed, because they both agreed it would be good for the baby. And by that point, Seven had already fed it (at least once? She couldn't recall) with formula and a bottle, and everything they'd read before had said that it was important to establish an early routine for the baby's health and well-being. But when they'd put it in her sleep-heavy arms, the baby had turned away from feeding with lost-kitten little cries that Marta couldn't handle and was so glad to fade into sleep again.
She'd known that emergencies could happen, but her OB/GYN had said that everything was fine. He'd said everything was looking good, that the baby was healthy, that she was going to be able to have a normal delivery in a few weeks. He didn't know about the hotel though. About the night where Marta hadn't been pregnant at all - had barely even thought about it until the next morning. She had no idea where the baby had been in those hours, what damage might have been done to it. Had no memory of those brief moments in the OR of seeing a healthy newborn, of reaching out, of being reassured by the nurses and Seven. She only had the memory of not being able to keep the baby inside of herself when pregnant, of not giving birth the way she was supposed to, of not being able to feed it.
Her fingers twitched, wanting to pull back the blanket from Seven's chest. To see what the baby looked like. To remind herself that she hadn't done something awful to it in that single night. Her fingers twitched, but her legs did not. Laying in the bed, unwilling to wake Seven, convinced that sooner or later it would come to light that she'd done something to hurt the baby, she turned her face away. He was taking care of it. She turned away, cheek hot on the pillow, and closed her eyes. If she stayed very still, maybe it would all turn out okay in the end. If she stayed still and ignored the stinging leak of tears from her eyes.