A Series of Clato One Shots and Short Stories

We Can Do This

3rd person POV

                    Clove was lying on the sofa, watching Cato from across the living room. He was relaxing in a recliner, his and Clove's niece Lana, perched on his legs. He was reading her a story, just as she had requested. She was giggling hysterically as Cato did the 'silly' voices. Clove understood that Cato didn't dislike doing the voices of rulers and the noises of beasts, he enjoyed acting as a father would.

                    Clove told herself this over and over again, almost as if it would be a reassurance to her.

                    No one could discern the weight she'd gained below the oversized t-shirts she would wear. Cato didn't notice when she'd creep into the bathroom in the morning to clear the contents of her stomach. Maybe, he'd noticed her mood, but also perhaps not, because she had previously been moderately bipolar.

                     Clove discreetly slipped her fingers beneath Cato's old Red Sox t-shirt, (which she had worn because only Cato's large shirts could conceal her bump), and began to stroke her stomach. It wouldn't be long before Cato guessed what was up, so why didn't Clove just notify him that he was to be a father in only six months? The truth was, she was scared.

Later that night...

                       Clove threw on a pair of bike shorts and one of Cato's Patriots t-shirts, before retreating into her bedroom and launching herself onto the mattress. Shortly after, Cato accompanied her, rolling onto his side to confront his wife.

                     "So..." He began, reaching over to sweep her tresses behind her ear.

                    "Yes?" Clove acknowledged, slightly taken aback by the edge in her voice.

                    Cato raised his eyebrows, his questioning movement soon converting into a concerned furrow. "Are you alright Clo...? You've been acting...weird...for a while now."

                   "I'm fine." She insisted, staring back at him with her unyielding green eyes.

                    "I don't believe you," Cato told her.

                   "I'm fine!" She turned over to face the wall, unquestionably not satisfied with Cato's response to her reply.

                    Cato sighed, scooting closer to her and encircling his arms around her middle. 

                    She stirred stiffly in his arms. "Cato...can you just, get your damn hands off of me...?!"

                   "You are not alright...Clo, I'm your husband, you can tell me anything."

                   "I told you, I. Am. Fine!" Her voice began to crack, and no matter how hard she tried to cover it, Cato discerned her obvious uneasiness in the imposition of her tone. She began to cry, her shoulders trembling slightly with each stifled sob.

                 "Oh Clo, why are you crying?" Cato appeared perplexed but began to rub her back nevertheless. "Baby...can you please talk to me?"

                   Clove shook her head persistently, her shoulders tensing at Cato's touch.

                  "Then can you come here?" Cato invited tenderly, displacing his hand to caress his wife's arm. Clove conceded, shifting to face Cato. Cato brought her close, drawing her across his chest so she was laying on top of him. She inhaled deep, placing her head on his chest.

                  "Can you tell me why you've been so distant lately?" Cato murmured, stroking Clove's hair.

                   "I'm not ready yet." She muttered back, as Cato laced his fingers with hers.

                   "I'm here for you when you are ready," Cato assured her, setting his hands on her back and pulling her even closer to him. They simply laid there, ten minutes passed, then twenty, and just when Cato was certain that Clove was asleep, she spoke up.

                   "Cato...I..." She began, her voice shuddering. "I've got something to tell you."

                   "What is it, Clo?" Cato whispered, his voice soft and gentle.

                    She caught a breath. "Cato, you're going to be a dad."

                    "You're kidding me..." He stared up at her as she propped herself up to observe his expression.

                    "Does this look like I'm kidding?" She challenged him, dragging up her shirt to expose her bump.

                   "Oh my God..." Cato beamed, drawing her close again. "Clo, we're having a baby!"

                    "Yes, Cato, we are..." Clove smiled, binding her arms around his neck as he pressed her close.

                    "I'm...I'm going to be a father...oh wow..." Cato began to murmur, sounding astonished.

                    "Are you mad at me Cato?" Clove whispered, her eyes dimming with apprehension as she sat up, allowing her shirt to hang over her stomach again.

                    Cato caught her hands, shaking his head firmly. "Why would I be mad at you?"

                   "I...I don't know..." Clove stuttered, a stubborn tear slipping down her cheek.

                   "Clove Sienna Kentwell Hadley, I swear to you, that I am not upset with you in any way. I am truly honored to be the father of your baby."

                     Clove smiled. "And I am honored to be carrying Cato Edward Hadley's child."

                     Cato sat up so that Clove was sitting on his lap, leaning forward to place a tender kiss on her lips. When they both pulled away, Cato caressed Clove's cheek.

                    "What's bothering you, Clo?" Cato asked her softly, noticing her anxiety.

                     "What if we can't do this Cato? What if we're terrible parents...or I do something wrong...or what if I'm not strong enough to do this..."

                      "Shh...no Clover. We can do this. You can do this. You are so strong and so amazing, and I know that we'll be great parents." Cato reassured her.

                     "Are you sure?" She asked him in a trembling voice.

                     "I've never been so sure of anything in my life." Cato smiled at her. Clove beamed back at him as he raised up her shirt to press a kiss over the spot where their infant was developing.

                      They both settled down beside each other, Cato's arms encompassing Clove's waist, Clove's hands pressed to Cato's chest.

                      "We can do this Clove," Cato murmured as his wife began to doze off. "We can do this."