Simple Math - part twenty two

This part was originally Simon POV but I missed Bun so I switched it up. Mostly edited.

“But we have to be very quiet.”

Penny nods studiously, little hand in yours, toddling along at your hip towards the couch. Even in the short time you’ve been away she’s grown, physically and mentally, more words added to her repertoire than you thought possible.

Your palm slides over your belly. Kids grow so fast.

“Baby?” You help her onto the couch and then plop down beside her. She was up before the sun this morning, and somehow managed to slink into your room without a sound. You rolled over to find her staring at you in the dark, whispering your name.

“Yes Penny, that’s the baby.” You sigh and heave your ankles onto the ottoman. It’s getting harder and harder to live, to exist, to bend over or walk up the stairs, or stay awake for longer than six hours without needing a nap.

“My baby.” Pen announces just as she does everyday, like she’s getting a baby doll instead of a sibling. Sometimes it makes your nose sting with the threat of tears, and others it makes you laugh. It’s a toss up. “Cules?” She signs for strong, and you ruffle her hair.

“We can watch Hercules for a bit but then you have to have breakfast.”

A throat clears from the kitchen, and your heart leaps out of your chest.

“Good morning.” Simon’s voice is rough. Tired. Like he’s not getting any sleep. Like he’s staying awake on the other side of the wall, staring at the ceiling just like you are for half the night.

There’s sympathy. There’s anger. And it’s all wrapped up in hurt.

Penny claps her hands, slides off the couch to run towards her dad, who scoops her up like she’s as light as a leaf.

“She came into my room…” you trail off, and she snuggles into his chest, his arms tightening around her, his nose skimming through her hair. It’s a stolen moment, one you’re outside of, and you can’t help but think about how he’ll hold the baby-

“Have you had breakfast?” He interrupts your thoughts, and you shake your head.

“We were going to watch a bit of a movie and then… yeah. Do breakfast.”

“I’ll take care of it,” he deposits Penny back over the couch, plopping her down at your side. “You girls hang out.” You want to go back upstairs, retreat, but you can’t make yourself move. It’s a simple reprieve from the weight of your pain, and you’ll take it.

Even if it is only for this moment.

“I made tea.” Simon’s standing awkwardly where your feet hang off the edge of the outdoor loveseat on the patio, two steaming mugs in his hands.

Two.

You blink. “Oh.” He looks so… unsure. Sad and twisted up, so hesitant he can’t tell whether he should take a step forward or backward.

Sometimes you wish he’d just take the step forward.

Sometimes you wish he’d take enough steps backward until he’s outside the house.

“D’ya want…”

“Yeah, sure.” You push up onto your elbows to roll to your side, panting as you heave yourself up afterwards. He’s watching you like a hawk, one mug now sitting on the table, free hand out in front of you like he’s afraid you’ll fall. “I’m okay.” You reassure him, shocked at how it comes to immediately, so naturally. Like you actually want him to be reassured.

Weeks ago, you wanted him to go play in traffic.

There’s another chair out here, a few scattered around a larger table, and he pulls one over, positions himself across from you, not too close.

He keeps his distance because he thinks you fear him, but he’s wrong.

It’s not fear. You know deep down, they’d never hurt you or the baby. It was hard to grapple with at first, the truth. The knowledge that they’re killers, everything you read in those documents, the sick and twisted tangled web that’s connected the three of you for so long without you ever knowing it.

They’re killers.

But for some reason, even after everything, you know.

They’d never hurt you.

That doesn’t mean everything else goes away. It doesn’t mean the trauma they’ve inflicted, the pain they’ve caused you is gone. The hurt. The pain. The sadness. It’s all still there.

But it’s in him too.

“Thanks for the tea.” It’s like sticking a toe in the water. Carefully calculating, testing the boundary of when it will be too much, when to stop before the cold envelopes you.

“It’s raspberry leaf.” His cheeks pink, just barely. “I uh, read online it’s safe.” Safe for putting you into labor maybe.

The thought hits you like a truck.

Labor.

Will they be there? Will you want them?

“What’s wrong?” He’s still so attuned to you, picks up on every fidget, ever micro movement, every single tick.

“Nothing.” Your finger traces the rim of the mug and he watches like he’s hypnotized, clearing his throat after a slow blink.

“I wanted to tell you-”

“Don’t.” You can’t listen to it again. The sorry, the guilt, the explanations. You’ve heard them so many times, they’re ceasing to matter. They mean little in the face of your pain.

“Bun-”

“Simon.” You slam the mug down on the table and struggle to your feet. “I said don’t! I don’t want to hear it, I don’t care. You can’t just apologize and think everything will be okay, this is not okay. What you did is not okay!” You’re yelling now, loud enough the neighbors can probably hear, loud enough it’s cracking your voice, your stalwart anger started to blister and crack, wound bursting open at the immense pressure of what’s building inside of you. “You should have tried to explain-”

“You wouldn’t have listened.” You explode. The rage is so acrid it sours in the back of your throat.

“And that would have been my choice!” You shout, and he takes it. He doesn’t move a muscle. “But you took that away. You took my choice away, and you know who used to take all my choices away? You know who took them for himself?” He flinches this time, agony drawing his brows together, dragging the wells of his eyes deeper. “Don’t look at me like that.” It feels good, to yell at him. The silent treatment and scathing looks haven’t been enough, and you need the blood letting. “What you did… what you did is so beyond-”

“We did what we had to.” He snaps, stopping you in your tracks. “We didn’t have time to spend weeks trying to get you to listen to us, trying to pin you down. We knew if we tried to talk to you, you’d run, and considering how good you are at it, we worried we’d lose you again. We couldn’t risk you being out in the world alone, unprotected when we have no idea where he is. So yeah, what we did was wrong. We took away your choice but we did it for you, because we love you, because we want to protect you.”

“Don’t-”

“I was scared. I was fuckin’ terrified.” You look up from your tea and find his eyes, pits of devastation that don’t seem to end, defeat sinking down into his shoulders. “I was scared that if we didn’t… if we didn’t get you home right away, that if you didn’t listen to us and ran, we might lose you.” Your heart twists violently in your chest and skips a beat. Scared. You think about him, the loss of his family, how he almost lost Johnny, all he’s been through. Seeing the world through his eyes is fucking terrifying.

You physically feel yourself soften. A brittle, hardened piece of your anger falling away.

“Everythin’ okay?” Johnny’s stepped onto the patio, wary and worried, eyeing you like he always does now. Like you’re an animal caught in a trap.

“Yeah. Everything is fine.” You take a long look at them, your two broken men. Maybe just as broken as you. There’s a part of you who wants to give up, wants to give in, lay down and let them fuss, let them whisper sweet apologies to you in the night and make promises. That part of you is growing, and you don’t know how to process it. You gather up your blanket and your tea, eager to run. Escape. “I need a nap.” Simon nods stoically, and Johnny wilts.

“Alright then.”

You brave dinner.

You don’t know why.

You wash your hands, exchange your sweats for different ones, stare at yourself in the mirror-

And laugh.

Going downstairs for dinner, like you’ve been sulking upstairs, a child after a time out, a teenager after a slammed door? Like any of this is normal?

Like you’re starting to accept it all.

That’s the worst of it. Your heart remembers. It remembers everything, the nights in their bed, the way the three of you fit together so naturally, perfectly, like it was intended to be all along. Simon’s arms around you during a nightmare, his careful coaxing when he could tell you needed to talk but couldn’t find the words, Johnny’s heartbeat under your ear, the plush of his lips against yours. There was so much hope, so much anticipation for the future. For your family.

You had a heart full of trust, a heart that was full of love.

Stupidity, the girl in the mirror reminds you. A heart that was full of stupidity.

Sunbeam kicks like they disagree. Two sides of a war, stating their positions.

Simon is the first one to spot you. His head whips around so fast his neck cracks, but he doesn’t wince. He doesn’t move a muscle. He just stares, the two of you frozen in time for a long second before anyone else notices. The vulnerability in his eyes is like a knife to the heart.

“Bunny!” Pen holds her arms up in her high chair, carrots hiding in her chubby little fists, and you smile at her.

“What’s for dinner?” She squeezes and soft carrot oozes between her fingers. Simon sighs, ruffles her hair, but stays focused on you with a question in his eyes as you hover at the threshold.

“Chicken and vegetables.” You can smell it, sweet scent of caramelized carrots, garlic and rosemary roasted together, Johnny’s bread rolls, his mum’s recipe. It smells like family dinner, inevitable, and you take a step forward, pulled in by the warm gravity of Johnny’s cooking.

When Johnny comes around the corner into view, he’s just as surprised as his husband. “Bun.”

“Hey.” The table is set for three, and as soon as he realizes, he trips over himself to get another set of silverware.

“Ye hungry?” Dinner, just dinner. It should be, but it’s not. You know it’s not. You can feel the rising tide, the soft wave of hope, of forgiveness, the one that clashes against an angry tide, trying to drag you into the ocean and anchor you to the sea floor.

“Yeah.”

Sunbeam jams an appendage into your side, insistent.

Guess you are.

“I have an appointment tomorrow.” You announce it casually, and they both freeze. Here goes nothing. “You can come if you want.” The truth is, a part of you wants them there. It’s been a slow revelation. They’re not forgiven, but something about carrying their baby makes you crave their support, and holding them at a distance during this pregnancy hurts. They’ve never even felt Sunbeam move inside you.

“Yeah.”

“Aye.” They speak at the same time, and then Johnny follows up with gentle reassurance, as always. “O’ course we want to come.”

You changed midwives.

You couldn’t go back to the hospital, your hospital, not with everything that’s happened, everything weighing on you. The idea of possibly running into someone made you incredibly anxious. The web is already tangled enough, you don’t want to have cinch it tighter trying to come up with ideas and excuses to explain where you went.

“How are you feeling?” What a loaded question.

“Fine, Good. Tired of being pregnant.” You shrug, and she nods sympathetically, pointedly ignoring the two men in the room.

It’s probably weird to them, but you know it’s standard. You’re the priority here.

“Okay, well I got your message. Normally we wouldn’t do another ultrasound unless we suspected something was amiss but I’ll make a special exception.” She smiles as she wheels the cart over, the one with the screen that will be flickering alive in a moment, showing you, and them, the whole human life that’s growing inside you.

You roll your shirt up self consciously, fidgeting on the paper to get comfortable as you lean back. She’s talking, explaining something about fundal height and weeks, but you’re not really listening. You’re watching, waiting for the black and grey image to light up, bracing for the tidal wave emotions you know will flood you.

“And we don’t want to know what we’re having, right?” You lick your lips. Nod. One of life’s only true surprises, you always told yourself every time you wanted to ask. Cold jelly is squirted onto your skin and the wand presses down, galloping hoofbeats, a tiny heartbeat, filling the room. A baby on the screen. “There we are.” You close your eyes. Memories swell, the smell of the offices in Scotland, the way the midwife smiled at you so kindly, squeezed your hand when you told her you were alone, that it would just be the two of you. Sunbeam on the screen, thriving despite it all, despite their mother who had no one, to turn to, to trust, to depend on. No one to help build their crib or paint their room or unpack the baby box except you. Just another statistic, another woman on the run from a man, men, who would hurt her, bruised and scarred and scared, trying to protect the only thing that mattered. Someone living in fear, paranoia, trying to keep calm and keep her head above water. You blink back your tears.

“Bunny.” Johnny breathes, and then his hand is on yours, taking it into his own, warm and firm, reassuring.

It’s all it takes. You begin to cry, a few tears at first before your vision starts to blur and you’re wiping your face frantically, sitting up and blindly reaching for the tissues the midwife is trying to hand you. She’s saying something to the guys about hormones and then they’re asking her to give you a moment.

Next thing you know, it’s just the three of you.

“This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.” You cry, words scratched out and raw. “It was supposed to be… we were supposed to be a family.” It hurts to say. You’re defeated. So, so defeated. Tired and achy and sore all over, wounded, overflowing with pain. You were supposed to give Sunbeam a good life, the best life, and now… now you’re bringing them into a broken family.

“We are a family.” Simon’s at your side now, and Johnny’s half sitting on the exam table in front of you, still holding onto your hand for dear life.

“Ye’re our family pretty girl. Ye’re a part o’ us now. An’ what we did…” his swallow is so loud it reverberates off the walls. “What we did, it was wrong. We though’ it was best, what was safest, but it was wrong. An’ we know that.”

“I d-don’t trust you.” You sob. “How can I trust you? With myself, with this baby, I- I don’t know what to do.” Everything is coming down on top of you, rock cracking and crumbling from a mountain, falling onto your shoulders. The weight of reality is too much to bear.

“Give us a chance, one chance Bun. Please.” Johnny is begging. You can see the desperate pools of blue through your teary vision, his eyes so bright, so earnest they shine. Solid in his conviction. “Give us a chance, an’ I swear, we’ll take care of ye. We’ll keep ye safe. We’ll love ye like ye deserve.”

“Or you can leave.” Johnny flinches. You peer up at Simon through wet lashes. “You don’t have to stay with us. We’re not holding you captive, we never have been.” He makes it sound like you’ve had the chance this whole time, but the truth is you haven’t been able to even think about moving, not being this pregnant, this upset.

“I know that. I’m not exactly in good condition to be finding a place to live-”

“That’s not what I mean. I’m sayin’ if you want to, after the baby is born, whenever you’re ready, you can go.”

“Si-”

“Johnny.” He shuts him down firmly with a tense jaw. “Get a place nearby. We’ll keep you safe, no matter what.” You sniffle.

“You will?” Simon nods. The idea of living on your own with a baby doesn’t scare you, but the fact of the matter, the truth that Phillip is out there somewhere, waiting, maybe even watching, terrifies you. It’s not just you now, it’s you and Sunbeam, you and Penny, you and them. A family. And there’s that piece of your heart, your soul, that never wants to leave. It wants to stay by their side. You’re not sure you could over power it.

“We want ye to stay.” Johnny follows up, glaring at Simon. “We want ye to be at home, w’us.”

“I know.” Of course you know that.

“But we want you to be happy.” Simon doubles down. “And if that’s not with us, we will understand.” Johnny looks pained, and Simon looks steadfast. Two sides of a rope being pulled in opposite directions with you in the middle.

You look at the print out left on the counter, a reminder. What’s best, what’s safest? You know the answer, but the girl in the mirror disagrees, and she hisses at your through clenched teeth.

“I’ll think about it.”