Fierce

Chapter 31

E I G H T E E N   M O N T H S   L A T E R 

As soon as Linc opened in the door, he knew that something was wrong. 

The lights to the apartment weren't on, her jacket was tossed onto the couch – not hanging on her hook –  her vanilla candle wasn't burning, and there was no smell of cooking or any music or anything. "Georgie?" he called into their deadened apartment.

He was greeted instead by Butternut, who slunk over to him and wound through his legs with a few lazy flicks of his tail. Despite his distraction, he knelt as always to give the cat a rub. "Where's mamma, Butsy?" 

But Butsy was no help to him today – perhaps resenting the half-hearted rub effort. 

Lincoln moved further into the apartment, flicking on every single light that was within reach. He threw his briefcase onto the table and walked purposefully through to their bedroom; shrugging off his jacket and jerking loose his tie as he went. 

He stopped just short of the doorway. She was sitting in the dark on their bed, and he experienced a sort of out-of-body dread: a sprawling mix of confusion and fear that felt like it was floating just out of his reach. "Georgie?" 

"Yeah." 

Her tiny voice pinned him where he was standing. "What's going on?" 

"Can you go into the kitchen please? I'll be out in a minute."

He asked her if she was okay, but the words were useless. 'The kitchen,' she repeated. When she started to shake though, he moved to her side. "Talk to me Georgie, are you alright sweetheart? Is everything okay?" When he tried to touch her, she shrugged away from him. 'Kitchen please,' was all she said. 

So he stood, and left the room. He leaned against the wall and heard the crying that she was trying – and failing – to muffle. Those awful hiccoughs took his mind to the worst possible places. 

When he couldn't listen any longer, he went to the kitchen. 

It felt like hours later when he looked up from his tea-making preparations to see Georgiana hovering nearby – hunched over herself, arms folded, and not looking at him. She hadn't been this distant since their first fight (their worst fight), and her skittishness was a shock. He'd forgotten this closed off version of his girlfriend... and it scared him. 

He extended a hand to her as calmly as he could – and felt his knees wobble in relief when she took his hand, and allowed him to gather her into his chest. His hands ran across her back, her head, her hips. "Talk to me."

She didn't reply for a long time, and when she did, it was halting and unsure. "I'm sorry Linc; I didn't want you to see that. I, I wanted to tell you differently."

He didn't know if he wanted to know, but he asked her anyway. "Tell me what?"

"Tea first please?" 

He clung to patience, nodded wordlessly, and ushered her to the couch with a frown he didn't notice. When he came back with the tea, she reached for his hands and took them in her own; stroking his palm with her thumb. Unlike usual, it didn't do anything to calm him. He waited and waited, but she just stared at their entwined hands. 

"Georgie, what's happening," he murmured, trying to conceal his urgency.

"You're not going to like this."

"Go on."

She let go of his hands and cleared her throat – trying to get rid of the fragility in her voice. "I'm pregnant. Six weeks in."