SPNFF - Comfort
May. 14th, 2009 04:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
feliciakwBecause I think we could all use a little comfort going into tonight's ep, yes? Written on the fly, though the beta has given it a pass. No particular spoilers, so just assume there are spoilers for the whole series, yeah?
(Word count clocks in at 398.)
“Mary.”
She knew she was dreaming. She was lying in the shade, her body cradled gently in the hammock John kept promising to put up in the back yard. The air was warm, and the breeze kissed her skin softly.
“Mary.”
She knew she was dreaming. Why would John put a hammock up in January?
“Mary, sweetheart.”
She knew she was dreaming, but it was a nice change. Recently her dreams had been of danger and fear and the inevitability of her child becoming a hunter. She shifted in her hammock, that John put up just for her, and her body swayed lazily. She rubbed a hand over her swollen belly, knowing that it wouldn’t be long now.
“Mary, sweetie, open your eyes.”
She let out a contented sigh. “Mom?” She blinked her eyes open, and the co-mingled joy and sorrow almost took her breath away. “Mommy?”
Deanna Campbell stood beside the hammock, leaning over her daughter, the cheerful sunlight dappling her with the shadows of spring leaves. She smiled softly as she reached out to stroke Mary’s hair, stopping just shy of an actual touch.
“Mom, what’s wrong?” Mary shifted again, trying to sit up, struggling against the give and sway of the hammock and the weight and shape of the baby inside of her.
“Shhh,” her mother said fondly. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s almost time.”
She knew she was dreaming. This was too good to be true, and a sense of dread took hold. “No. It can’t be. It . . . It hasn’t been ten years. It’s not—” Realization struck her, and she wrapped her arms around her belly protectively. “No.” Her voice was low and determined.
“No,” Deanna agreed. “Not this one. Not yet. I just want to tell you, honey.” Deanna’s hand hovered over Mary’s baby, her eyes filled with love for the grandchild she would never know.
“What? Mom? Tell me what?” It had been so long since she’d seen her mother, talked to her mother, confided in her mother. She missed her with an ache so deep it never quite went away.
Deanna shifted her gaze to meet Mary’s. “Don’t be afraid, Mary. Angels are watching over him.”
Mary closed her eyes as a tear spilled down her cheek. She felt a kiss brush gently on her temple.
When the baby kicked and the first contraction came, she knew she wasn’t dreaming.
(Word count clocks in at 398.)
“Mary.”
She knew she was dreaming. She was lying in the shade, her body cradled gently in the hammock John kept promising to put up in the back yard. The air was warm, and the breeze kissed her skin softly.
“Mary.”
She knew she was dreaming. Why would John put a hammock up in January?
“Mary, sweetheart.”
She knew she was dreaming, but it was a nice change. Recently her dreams had been of danger and fear and the inevitability of her child becoming a hunter. She shifted in her hammock, that John put up just for her, and her body swayed lazily. She rubbed a hand over her swollen belly, knowing that it wouldn’t be long now.
“Mary, sweetie, open your eyes.”
She let out a contented sigh. “Mom?” She blinked her eyes open, and the co-mingled joy and sorrow almost took her breath away. “Mommy?”
Deanna Campbell stood beside the hammock, leaning over her daughter, the cheerful sunlight dappling her with the shadows of spring leaves. She smiled softly as she reached out to stroke Mary’s hair, stopping just shy of an actual touch.
“Mom, what’s wrong?” Mary shifted again, trying to sit up, struggling against the give and sway of the hammock and the weight and shape of the baby inside of her.
“Shhh,” her mother said fondly. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s almost time.”
She knew she was dreaming. This was too good to be true, and a sense of dread took hold. “No. It can’t be. It . . . It hasn’t been ten years. It’s not—” Realization struck her, and she wrapped her arms around her belly protectively. “No.” Her voice was low and determined.
“No,” Deanna agreed. “Not this one. Not yet. I just want to tell you, honey.” Deanna’s hand hovered over Mary’s baby, her eyes filled with love for the grandchild she would never know.
“What? Mom? Tell me what?” It had been so long since she’d seen her mother, talked to her mother, confided in her mother. She missed her with an ache so deep it never quite went away.
Deanna shifted her gaze to meet Mary’s. “Don’t be afraid, Mary. Angels are watching over him.”
Mary closed her eyes as a tear spilled down her cheek. She felt a kiss brush gently on her temple.
When the baby kicked and the first contraction came, she knew she wasn’t dreaming.
