Unsettled

Battle Lines

The thing that helped the most regarding your ability to tolerate the presence of Tom? His son. The miniature version of the man you used to think the world of. The man who you just can't bring yourself to forgive.

It doesn't stop him from asking. Asking for forgiveness every damned chance he got. Not only that, but asking to be allowed to attend parenting classes with you - that got him a FUCK NO in reply. It wasn't like he was going to be the one undergoing the birthing process.

"Stock up on parenting books, if you want. You're not attending the classes with me."

"This is - you're being impossible. We agreed that we would both be in -" he looks down at your swelling form. You only have to endure his presence a few minutes more, and then you'll be free of him until the next appointment. "-the child's life. I need to be prepared, too."

You don't yet know the gender of the little being that you're carrying inside you. Tom keeps waffling back and forth between wanting to know and not wanting to know. The forever-angry-at-him part of you wants to learn the gender soon so you can tell him, not caring a thing for his waffling back and forth.

"I'm being impossible? I'm being...." You're about this close to telling him he can forget it, that you don't want his philandering ass anywhere near your child. You bite down on your anger, resorting to the silent treatment.

If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all.

Surely the pair of you can manage one prenatal session without it spiraling into yet another argument. Surely, just one.

Tom, ever bullheaded when he wants to be, won't let it go. "Someone needs to go with you. To be there with you."

You keep your eyes straight ahead. You'd glare a hole through the metal doors of the lift, if you could. "That's for me to figure out. Just so long as it isn't you everything will be just dandy."

"Oh that's a great attitude. You realize I'm his - her - I'm the father! I have rights!"

"Please. Please push the issue." You're watching his reflection in the metal doors. The result of the confined space is that he can't pace to let out this frustration you're amplifying. Right now he's just about pulling his hair out, the long curls a complete mess from his repeated tugs. "You're not going to be in the room when it's time, anyway."

He's sputtering even worse than before. "Now. Now wait one minute."

The elevator doors ding open to reveal the lobby and you walk out, leaving Tom to shake himself into motion. If he doesn't hurry he'll end up going right back up. You almost wish the shock would render him immobile. It would allow you to get to your car in peace.

"You can't just make that decision."

"Uh - yes I can."

"What the fuck did I d-"

You stop, not caring that the pair of you are in the middle of the lobby floor with onlookers peering over their newspapers, phones, and the like to watch the pregnant woman shout at the tall gorgeous man, "Think very carefully before you finish that sentence, Hiddleston."

"How the fuck long are you going to punish me for that?! I don't know how many times I can apologize."

"Good! Stop! I'm tired of hearing it!" Oh goody, snapshots are being taken. You can add them to your collection. And because it is the way between the pair of you now, you add another sniped comment, "Or maybe just go fuck someone else. Go with them to all their..."

"I. Don't. Want. To. Christ! Can we not do this here? Not again."

It never worked. The pair of you always ended up arguing and leaving each other fuming. Even after Max was born - and you were true to your word. You were saved from formally being the bad guy for not wanting Tom in the room. The hospital refused to allow him in, despite the fact that he rushed over to the hospital upon hearing you were in labor and from what you heard threw a spectacular tantrum in the hallways.

He'd calmed himself by the time you saw him, and you were too exhausted to hurl any verbal barbs at him. But now, as was practice, the peace between the pair of you didn't last long.