more plotbunnies!
Jun. 6th, 2006 06:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chanter1944to say nothing of the bunnies Mayna and I were giggling over on knot tonight. :) My Luka muse inspired me this morning, now it's Carol's turn. Forgive the subject matter... I promise this isn't anything graphic.
Title: The Third child
Author: chanter
Series: ER
Rating: PG13 for imagery--nothing graphic, but still
Characters/pairings: Carol/Luka, hints of Doug/Carol and faint Luka/Abby
Summary: Carol’s life in Seattle doesn’t hold a candle to her daydreams.
Spoilers for Great Expectations, Such Sweet Sorrow, and incidents in episodes before and between the two. There’s a very faint reference to season 12 here, in that Abby is the one whose baby cries, but that’s it.
370 words
She imagines it quieter than her first, no harsh lighting, no desperate and demanding onlookers and far less horrific than her second, the complete reverse of all the blood and blue, airless silence before the overwhelming relief of the happy ending. Just her, just him, maybe someone else if necessary but just one, someone trained in that sort of thing--he’s a doctor, she’s a nurse but all the same just one, just in case.
She pictures it as a hundred times more intimate than before, sweat-dampened dark hair but no cameras, age-old sensations but no needles, a supportive someone to lean into but no insistent commands and no division between friendship and connection. She dreams of it as unhurried, intense only in quiet ways, sounds only heard by bedroom walls, skin touching skin only when wanted, words only carrying as far as desired as his whispered reassurance reaches her ear.
She daydreams of it being infinitely more fulfilling than the first two, not that the end results weren’t worth the struggle but the getting there could at least be a little more bearable. She fantasizes about the end result of that streetside connection, the seeds that had been planted as he’d stayed with her, carried her, cared for her like no one had flowering in a radiant second, deepening their ever-strengthening bond that much more as she reaches for her child.
She figures they’ll name him something European, call her something pronounceable by both their parents, teach it his language and hers and the one they share between them, and possibly a fourth if interest on anyone’s part permits it. She envisions days dealing with school books and box lunches, nights filled with stories and walks under the stars, holidays marked by midnight mass and both of them trying to sing.
She imagines he’d sing beautifully, if he knew the words.
Alone in the kitchen of a Seattle apartment, Carol Hathaway stares at the reality of her flat stomach and does her best to ignore the presence of the man in the other room, hoping all the while that her tears don’t wake the two seven-year-old girls down the hall.
And somewhere, half a continent away, a baby cries.
Ooh, it's D-Day isn't it! that and... look at the date, it only comes round once in a century and we were here to see it. Woo! :)
Title: The Third child
Author: chanter
Series: ER
Rating: PG13 for imagery--nothing graphic, but still
Characters/pairings: Carol/Luka, hints of Doug/Carol and faint Luka/Abby
Summary: Carol’s life in Seattle doesn’t hold a candle to her daydreams.
Spoilers for Great Expectations, Such Sweet Sorrow, and incidents in episodes before and between the two. There’s a very faint reference to season 12 here, in that Abby is the one whose baby cries, but that’s it.
370 words
She imagines it quieter than her first, no harsh lighting, no desperate and demanding onlookers and far less horrific than her second, the complete reverse of all the blood and blue, airless silence before the overwhelming relief of the happy ending. Just her, just him, maybe someone else if necessary but just one, someone trained in that sort of thing--he’s a doctor, she’s a nurse but all the same just one, just in case.
She pictures it as a hundred times more intimate than before, sweat-dampened dark hair but no cameras, age-old sensations but no needles, a supportive someone to lean into but no insistent commands and no division between friendship and connection. She dreams of it as unhurried, intense only in quiet ways, sounds only heard by bedroom walls, skin touching skin only when wanted, words only carrying as far as desired as his whispered reassurance reaches her ear.
She daydreams of it being infinitely more fulfilling than the first two, not that the end results weren’t worth the struggle but the getting there could at least be a little more bearable. She fantasizes about the end result of that streetside connection, the seeds that had been planted as he’d stayed with her, carried her, cared for her like no one had flowering in a radiant second, deepening their ever-strengthening bond that much more as she reaches for her child.
She figures they’ll name him something European, call her something pronounceable by both their parents, teach it his language and hers and the one they share between them, and possibly a fourth if interest on anyone’s part permits it. She envisions days dealing with school books and box lunches, nights filled with stories and walks under the stars, holidays marked by midnight mass and both of them trying to sing.
She imagines he’d sing beautifully, if he knew the words.
Alone in the kitchen of a Seattle apartment, Carol Hathaway stares at the reality of her flat stomach and does her best to ignore the presence of the man in the other room, hoping all the while that her tears don’t wake the two seven-year-old girls down the hall.
And somewhere, half a continent away, a baby cries.
Ooh, it's D-Day isn't it! that and... look at the date, it only comes round once in a century and we were here to see it. Woo! :)
