calendar challenge response
Oct. 21st, 2005 04:22 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chanter1944Oh man, I haven't done this in a *long* time and tonight the muse just hit me. Forgive me, all the guys on my friends list who don't know what Leah's dealing with here. :)
Title: Lunar Cycle
Author: Chanter
Series: TNG, between First contact and Insurrection
Rating: PG13/R for intimacy and femininity
characters/pairings: Geordi/Leah
Summary: Originally written for the writers_choice calendar challenge but I don’t dare post it. Leah’s marking time. This follows directly after Motherhood.
464 words
She’d almost lost count, in the transitions from environment to environment, setting to setting--ship time to lab time to Earth standard real sunsets and singing birds and gravity... almost.
Fourteen days. No problem. That was how it was supposed to be. She was normal.
Converting hours to working theories to papers for scientific journals, going back and forth to the Enterprise with Geordi and him going back and forth with her to Eutopia Planetia, different nights in different bedclothes in either half-settled home and just about everywhere in between... almost.
Twenty-one days. No problem. That was when to start watching for it the better to not get surprised. She was fine.
Falling into bed at night, ignoring the suitcase as it toppled off the end and trying to remember that tomorrow when a singularly unhurried Sunday morning sent husband and wife, still loathed to be out of contact stumbling, half embracing toward the shower, the jumbled carry-all would be on the floor.
Twenty-eight days. Nothing yet--oh well. Sometimes that happened and being female could be a pain. Natural stuff. She was ok.
Going shuttle to ship to shuttle to shipyard and reverse. And repeat. Time. Could. crawl. by. And sometimes it didn’t, it raced, it danced and she loved every minute of it, living as designer, engineer, working scientist, technical theorist and blissfully happy married woman. She almost forgot about it.
Thirty-five days. OK, any time now.
Almost.
Forty-two days. This was getting ridiculous. Why didn’t she just hurry up and bleed already? Minor annoyances...
Not quite.
Forty-three, forty-four--oh come *on*! Maybe not so minor after all...
Not really.
Forty-five... maybe she should see someone? There was no use terrifying herself with creepy cancer prospects or anything but... maybe she should. Just to be safe. Just as soon as this diagnostic ran...
No way.
Forty-six. Alright, this had gone on long enough and if she had something, better to catch it early. Don’t scare yourself, Leah. Just go. Get it over with. Don’t panic. Oh God...
The day she went, she took a round-about route so as not to let Geordi notice. Out the door from main engineering, up one corridor, down another, finally into the turbolift and the rest was a blurr from voice command to biobed and Beverly’s red hair and bright eyes as she stood back, tricorder in hand and Leah couldn’t take waiting anymore and tumbled out her single question. “What is it?” Stutter, stumble, blurt. “Bad news? I can take it.”
“I wouldn’t call it bad news so much... I guess that depends on how your outlook is on being a mother. Congratulations Leah, you’re pregnant.”
She’d never quite forgotten about it. Forty-six days she’d been trying not to think and now it was... Oh... “What?!”
Title: Lunar Cycle
Author: Chanter
Series: TNG, between First contact and Insurrection
Rating: PG13/R for intimacy and femininity
characters/pairings: Geordi/Leah
Summary: Originally written for the writers_choice calendar challenge but I don’t dare post it. Leah’s marking time. This follows directly after Motherhood.
464 words
She’d almost lost count, in the transitions from environment to environment, setting to setting--ship time to lab time to Earth standard real sunsets and singing birds and gravity... almost.
Fourteen days. No problem. That was how it was supposed to be. She was normal.
Converting hours to working theories to papers for scientific journals, going back and forth to the Enterprise with Geordi and him going back and forth with her to Eutopia Planetia, different nights in different bedclothes in either half-settled home and just about everywhere in between... almost.
Twenty-one days. No problem. That was when to start watching for it the better to not get surprised. She was fine.
Falling into bed at night, ignoring the suitcase as it toppled off the end and trying to remember that tomorrow when a singularly unhurried Sunday morning sent husband and wife, still loathed to be out of contact stumbling, half embracing toward the shower, the jumbled carry-all would be on the floor.
Twenty-eight days. Nothing yet--oh well. Sometimes that happened and being female could be a pain. Natural stuff. She was ok.
Going shuttle to ship to shuttle to shipyard and reverse. And repeat. Time. Could. crawl. by. And sometimes it didn’t, it raced, it danced and she loved every minute of it, living as designer, engineer, working scientist, technical theorist and blissfully happy married woman. She almost forgot about it.
Thirty-five days. OK, any time now.
Almost.
Forty-two days. This was getting ridiculous. Why didn’t she just hurry up and bleed already? Minor annoyances...
Not quite.
Forty-three, forty-four--oh come *on*! Maybe not so minor after all...
Not really.
Forty-five... maybe she should see someone? There was no use terrifying herself with creepy cancer prospects or anything but... maybe she should. Just to be safe. Just as soon as this diagnostic ran...
No way.
Forty-six. Alright, this had gone on long enough and if she had something, better to catch it early. Don’t scare yourself, Leah. Just go. Get it over with. Don’t panic. Oh God...
The day she went, she took a round-about route so as not to let Geordi notice. Out the door from main engineering, up one corridor, down another, finally into the turbolift and the rest was a blurr from voice command to biobed and Beverly’s red hair and bright eyes as she stood back, tricorder in hand and Leah couldn’t take waiting anymore and tumbled out her single question. “What is it?” Stutter, stumble, blurt. “Bad news? I can take it.”
“I wouldn’t call it bad news so much... I guess that depends on how your outlook is on being a mother. Congratulations Leah, you’re pregnant.”
She’d never quite forgotten about it. Forty-six days she’d been trying not to think and now it was... Oh... “What?!”
