Victor Frankenstein (doctorf) wrote in thedisplaced, @ 2020-04-29 15:58:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !log/thread, elizabeth swann (cl), victor frankenstein (cl) |
WHO: Victor Frankenstein & Elizabeth Swann
WHERE: Their room
WHEN: March 29th
WHAT: Post-birthing a baby feels
WARNINGS: Nothing really
STATUS: Complete
Victor had made it through the birth cool and calm. His brows may have been furrowed a little, but there was nothing to suggest that this was the first birth that he’d actually gone through. He knew the logistics of it and he’d done some work helping someone through a pregnancy before. So he understood the basics...just not the impact that would come from helping someone give birth. The baby had been so small, seemed so fragile, and it made him think of the fact that he’d eventually experience that with his own children. The fragility of life. Only he didn’t experience it, hadn’t experienced it. He’d probably never experience it and it made him feel a lot of things that he didn’t understand fully. So when he had a second to go, once the family was settled and doing well, he slipped off, promising to be back later. He walked out of the building. He needed to find Elizabeth. The calm exterior was gone and all the confusion of his emotions was apparent on his face. He texted Elizabeth, asking where she was. Though not a friend or family member to those who were expecting, Elizabeth had stayed up through the night awaiting news of the birth. This was brought forth for two fold of reason. The first being an anticipation of when Victor might be back to the suite. The second was out of hope that it had gone smoothly and well for all involved. And she was certain she would regret staying up through the night in this manner once her own children had woken, but that was a concern for several hours ahead. She glanced down at the phone as it lit up, flashing Victor's name, and shifted so her mug of tea was no longer being held between both hands. She'd been situated on the couch of their suite, gazing idly in the direction of the bed where both Abraham and Caroline slept. Taking the phone in hand, she read the message, and responded. » Suite. Shall I come to you? » No. I’m on my way back. Things weren’t exactly fine. Fine with the baby, but there was a bigger, more ridiculous feeling that was hanging over him. It had been a while since he felt like more than the people he could count on his fingers actually trusted him. Trusted him with their lives, with the lives of their child. And things had gone as smoothly as they could, but he’d never been there for a birth before. He’d gone into research at home and he’d only been through part of the adventure of looking after a pregnant woman. Then he suddenly had very adult children. So he’d never experienced the birth part or how it felt to hold something so fragile in your hands. Part of it was also the continuous struggle with trusting himself. When he got back to the ship, he made a beeline for their room. He grabbed for a new set of clothing, moving to get changed before he even went to see Elizabeth. Once he was done, he sat next to her and sighed. “At some point in our lives, that’s what we’d have experienced.” He didn’t say it was what they would experience because that wasn’t exactly their lives anymore. He also doubted they were likely to have any more babies. He could be wrong, but he didn’t think so. But part of him felt more like he’d missed something than he’d ever felt before. “Their hearts just...beat so fast,” he said after a minute. “And they’re so small…” His own heart seemed to be going fast, but he wasn’t sure if he was considering how he even managed to take care of an infant at any part in his life or because he’d just walked from the medical facility on Naboo to their rooms. “I never...It’s…” He didn’t know how to explain what he was experiencing in that moment, the sense of loss for something he’d never actually been sure he wanted was unusual to feel. She breathed out a sigh of relief. While she'd had every faith and trust in Victor, she knew that sometimes, that just wasn't enough. Sometimes the world was cruel, no matter how prepared or knowledgable you were, and she was silently grateful that this had not been the case. Above all, because the new life deserved to be loved and to prosper, but also because this meant there was no weight to be placed upon Victor's shoulders. She understood this wouldn't always be the case, and she had learned how to prepare to be there for him in the moments when things didn't go as hoped, but she was grateful in this moment. She'd straightened when he'd arrived back to their room, knowing the routine would require him to attend to matters first, but she was patient as she waited. Hands had been clasped against her knees as she waited but once he sat, she extended a hand to him to take hold. She drew in a breath at that statement. "Yes, I suppose so." Only, she didn't think it was something they were going to experience any longer. The moment they'd met Abraham and Caroline, fully grown, had changed the trajectory of that future for her and Victor. The fact that they had arrived in their lives once again, albeit smaller, had been a blessing. But she knew they would never experience bringing either child into this world the natural way. Possibly a new child, yes, but she didn't think it very likely. She quirked a smile. "I recall noting how tiny some of the children in the Community were," she stated, thinking of Killian's granddaughter off the bat. A lifetime ago. And even that was several days after she'd been born. "You never..." she repeated, head quirking to the side, eyebrows raising in question. He took her hand gratefully. If he thought about it too much, he’d focus too much on what wasn’t their life anymore back home. Here was a whole new circumstance. But he didn’t know why it had suddenly changed things or why he felt like it had, but suddenly things seemed much different. There was a weird emptiness he couldn’t really verbalize. “Yes, but those were...I did not help any of them...I wasn’t the doctor when they came out.” He glanced up at Elizabeth’s face. “I was there. And I…” He looked down. “I feel like we missed something. I feel like it’s not something we’re ever going to experience and I don’t think I missed it before, but now I think maybe I do.” He looked back up. “That’s ridiculous, isn’t it? It’s not like I trust myself any more with children than I did before, but we missed so much. Every single thing that led up to who they are now. Before I was grateful, but now...I don’t know.” No, he hadn't been. The life they'd previously led hadn't necessarily allowed him to practice his craft. It was one of the more clear blessings in Tumbleweed's favor. Still, she listened as he tried to verbalize what he was feeling, her thumb gently stroking back and forth against his hand. Her movements stalled and she peered ahead at him, even though he was casting his eyes downward. "We did miss something," she ventured, carefully, because there was no denying it, was there? They'd had things done entirely out of order for one another. She gave his hand a squeeze once again as he looked up. "No, I don't think it's ridiculous, Victor." Her eyes glanced past him then, looking towards the small forms in the bed. She kept her gaze upon them as she tried to figure out what was best to say. "Disappointed, perhaps?" She offered, turning her head now to look back at him. Whether they did ever experience every moment leading up to who another child might be for them, they'd never have it with the two they already had and loved. It was a heavy feeling when one allowed it to sink in. Victor was grateful for Elizabeth and for someone telling him that he wasn’t overthinking or overreacting. He’d never actually expected to feel this way. With the way things went when he was younger, the concept of children just never occurred to him and with everything else he now knew, he wasn’t sure that he’d have allowed anything else. Lily was a mistake. A huge, glaring mistake. And now he had more people he cared about and that was a very real danger for him for the simple fact that it meant he could lose things - people. “Disappointed,” he agreed. He frowned slightly, moving to press his forehead to hers. It was a small gesture of affection. He’d never been great at grand gestures, but the little things. “I don’t know that I want more children. I just wish we could have the memories for ours.” He was quiet for a moment. “I love you.” Because sometimes he felt there was merit in saying it and not just letting it be implied. Her eyes shut with the contact, letting out a gentle sigh. There was contentment from the small gesture. She never doubted his affection for her and didn't need much in the way of the grand gestures. The delicate ones, that only they might recognize as such, were enough. Even still, she didn't move to pull away just yet. She wanted to continue being in close proximity. She felt perhaps it was needed for him just as much was it was being given to her. A reassurance that she understood, she felt much the same, and that it wasn't going to pull her away because of those feelings. "I didn't think you did," she noted. Children had never really been part of their plan, had it? They were a surprise in both timelines for them. "Perhaps one day we may have those memories." It wasn't out of the realm of possibility. But she wondered if that would simply make the ache grow in a way. Pulling in a deep breath, she nodded her head against his. "I love you as well," she reminded him. He couldn’t say if the memories alone would fix the strange emptiness of everything, but he wanted to believe it would. Because otherwise there would be a strange sort of feeling settling into everything. Eventually he’d move past it because it would be ridiculous to hold onto it. It’d be like clinging to Lily and believing anything would change and he knew how that was likely to turn out. Very poorly. He let out a slow breath. “When we are home again, I think we should visit Chicago. Perhaps for an actual vacation that does not involve unusual places and space.” He had things he needed to consider, things he wanted to think through just a little more before bringing them up. “Can we just lie here for a little before we attempt to do anything else?” "An actual vacation," she repeated, because the notion seemed so foreign. With the way this world operated, they'd never actually been able to take a true vacation. Just brief trips that were nothing like the weeks long journey they'd had in a prior reality. "Visiting Chicago would be lovely," she then agreed because it was like visiting a long departed home. She'd never tire of seeing it again, even if they were bound to Texas. Softly, she nodded again. "We can." |