Fic: RPF: Say Goodbye (22/26).
Feb. 24th, 2009 09:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
x_moonshine_xTitle: Say Goodbye (22/26).
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
x_moonshine_x
Pairing: Rupert/Emma with slight Dan/Bonnie.
Rating: R.
Warnings: Real person fiction.
Word count: 1,992.
Summary: For some, coming to the end means having to say goodbye. For others, the end is only just the beginning.
Previous Chapters: Here.
Say Goodbye
Chapter 22 – The Daddy Issue
Date: Wednesday 2nd August 2011
Location: The Portland Hospital, London, England
Looking up at the building in front of him, Rupert swallowed down the lump in his throat and wiped his sweaty palms down on his jeans, his nerves slowly beginning to get the better of him. He had been stood there for ten minutes now and so far, couldn’t bring himself to step into the cheery and well lit reception area, no matter how many stony glares he received from Aimée’s mother.
Already branded as the bastard of a boyfriend who had left, he didn’t need anyone, especially not her, to rub it in anymore.
‘I can go with you if you like,’ Emma had told him last night, gazing at him from the end of the bed as she idly plaited her hair. ‘That’s what I am now, the supportive girlfriend.’
He’d laughed her off at the time, curling up and wrapping his arms around her as she settled beside him. But then, she had only been wearing one of his t-shirts at the time and taking her seriously had been beyond him.
Good luck. I love you. Em xxx
The text he received half an hour ago. Which had been followed up with a voicemail that he’d missed at some point this morning, Emma rambling and asking him if he wanted her to bring him dinner that night and maybe a DVD or two, anything to relax him. He considered calling her back, but decided that whatever he may suggest would not be appropriate for being said in a maternity clinic. He wanted to relax, but wasn’t really convinced a Chinese and a romcom would do it.
Bracing himself, Rupert took a deep breath and forced himself to walk toward the entrance, each step that little bit more confident than the last. Apparently he hadn’t forgotten how to walk after all, which as far as he was concerned, could only be good news.
‘Oh, at last he decides to come inside!’
Sylvia – Aimée’s mother, borderline narcotic and prone to wearing too much Chanel No. 5 – flung herself in his direction. The plump, blonde receptionist looked up from her computer screen to see what all the commotion was about, cocking her head to the left and not bothering to hide the smirk on her face.
‘Can we just--’
‘No. Whatever you’re about to say, no, there’s no time,’ she interjected before he even managed to get his words out.
Rupert was whisked along a corridor, Sylvia prattling on to him and wagging her finger incessantly. Within seconds he faced a tormented looking Aimée, a pale imitation of her former self, her dark hair scraped back and dressed in black jeans and an oversized jumper, her gaze fixed to the limonium flooring.
‘Aims…’ he said quietly, prompting her to look up, eyes wide as saucers.
Beside him, Sylvia tutted and crossed her arms as she moved to take a seat, picking up a battered copy of Woman’s Weekly.
‘Hi.’
Aimée didn’t offer him anything more and went back to staring at her hands, absently picking at her chipped nail varnish.
Deciding standing there like a lemon wouldn’t do anyone any good, he sat down on the opposite side of the corridor, glancing over at the table beside him and the stack of old magazines. A picture of Emma at the Deathly Hallows Part 2 premiere stared up at him and he instantly felt naucous. She looked so perfect, exactly as he remembered her, right before he made her cry anyway. Sometimes it hurt too much to care about people.
Sensing that someone was looking at him, Rupert glanced up and found Aimée’s eyes upon him. Even though they’d broken up, it crushed him to see her this way, his fault or not. She forced a smile onto her face and whispered, ‘We have ten minutes, can we talk?’
In no mood to argue and feeling Sylvia’s eyes burning a hole into the back of his head, he jumped at the chance and followed her a little further down the corridor, propping up the wall by the door as he let her speak.
‘Do you want this baby?’ she started. ‘I mean, if you had a--’
Feeling a sudden surge of confidence, he cut her off before she finished, his voice firm, ‘You shouldn’t even have to ask me that, Aims.’
Aimée sighed, leaning back against the wall opposite him and pulling the sleeves of her jumper over her hands anxiously. ‘So you’re OK with this?’’ she continued weakly. ‘Even after – you’re going to stand by me, right? To the end? I’m talking dirty nappies, fights at school, bad grades, first--’
‘I said I would,’ he responded, desperate to cut off her rambling.
‘Sorry, it’s just--’ She shook her head. ‘I never meant for this to happen, you have to believe that. But I can’t do this on my own. I’m not strong enough for any of it.’
He frowned, casting a glance down the corridor and to her mother who was now watching them intently from over the top of her magazine. ‘If this is your way of trying to get me back, Aims, it’s not going to work.’ With a shrug of his shoulders, he turned his attention back to her. ‘Things weren’t – you know that they were--’
‘No, no it’s not. All I want is someone other than my mum to say they’re willing to help out,’ she told him and he supposed he understood where she was coming from. ‘You know what she’s like. She’ll back off if she knows that you’re going to be around – even if it is only for a couple of hours a week.’
The expression on her face told him that she wanted more than that, yet she’d come to accept this was all they ever would be now. They’d drifted apart. Things had gone wrong. No one could ever call them loves young dream, especially not now.
‘Aimée Jenkins?’
Rupert snapped back to reality and to the young nurse stood in the doorway of a nearby examination room, clutching a clipboard and with a Hello Kitty pen stuck behind her ear.
‘We’re ready for you now,’ she added with a bright smile.
They shared another quick glance and then he followed Aimée down the corridor, hands shoved into his pockets as they bypassed Sylvia completely and stepped into the room. Once the nurse had closed the door, Rupert was directed to a chair and he sat obediently, clasping his hands in his lap and biting down hard on his lip as she chatted away to Aimée.
‘Are you excited?’
It took him several moments to realise he was the one being spoken to and as he looked up he saw the nurse’s smiling face, her hand poised to pull the curtain around as Aimée tugged her jumper off and tossed it to him.
‘Well… I, umm, it’s a lot to come to terms with,’ was all he managed to offer.
Aimée laughed softly, a playful retort escaping her as she hopped up onto the table. ‘And that’s an understatement,’ she said.
The nurse, whose name was Marie according to her name badge, glanced back and forth between them, clearly bewildered, but said no more and continued on with her job.
Rupert tentatively leant forwards to see what was going on, watching Aimée’s face screw up in disgust as Marie squeezed gel onto her stomach. Several long minutes passed and then she said, ‘OK, here we go, can you see anything from over there?’ She chuckled.
Pretty sure he couldn’t see a damn thing; he leant further still, rising out of his seat to get a decent view.
Aimée laughed again. ‘Oh for Gods sake, come and sit here,’ she exclaimed, pointing to the chair beside her.
He didn’t take much convincing and hopped chairs immediately, his elbows resting on the table as he gazed at numerous fuzzy blobs on the screen. He honestly had no clue what he was supposed to be looking at here. And if one of those blobs were supposed to be his baby, then he was a monkey’s Uncle.
Marie stayed quiet at first, obviously checking everything before she began to point things out to them. It took him a moment to realise that Aimée couldn’t actually see the screen at all from where she lay. Time passed by slowly and then Marie frowned, turning the screen away rather suddenly, deep-set worry lines crossing her forehead. ‘Just excuse me for one moment,’ she said softly, glancing up at them anxiously before rushing out of the door.
Almost as soon as she was out of earshot, Aimée’s tears began to fall, her bottom lip trembling as she cried out in distress, ‘Something’s wrong! There’s something wrong with my baby!’
Unsure of what to do, Rupert reached out to grip her hand and murmured, ‘It’s going to be fine, Aims…’
Of course, this was a lie, whatever it was, he was pretty sure it wasn’t fine. The nurse wouldn’t have done a bunk if that were so. But for now he could play that part, if she needed him to be strong, he could just pretend. She’d given him the ultimatum already today; he was in it until the very end now.
She squeezed his hand until he had no feeling left in any of his fingers, but he didn’t flinch. He couldn’t let her see him fall apart, he owed her that much at least.
By the time Marie stepped back into the room, accompanied by a doctor, he was feeling suitably queasy, not to mention a little dizzy. He blinked up at them, praying for a miracle, but somehow he already knew that he was asking too much.
The next few minutes were a blur. From the moment the doctor said, ‘I’m so sorry’ to when Aimée cried, ‘Pay them more money, make them say they’re wrong!’ he couldn’t remember a thing. Her words though, kicked him into overdrive, and very suddenly it hit him what both the doctor and nurse were trying to say. Their baby had died and it had been within the last couple of weeks. Everything had been fine when Aimée came in at eight weeks, or so they said. It was only very recently things had gone wrong and more importantly, there was nothing anyone could have done to make any difference.
‘I have to – I need – I can’t--’ Rupert gave up trying to speak and jumped out of his seat, making a run for it. As he fled, he fleetingly glanced in Sylvia’s direction, telling her to go and be with her daughter.
This he did not sign up for. Death and despair were not part of the deal.
Leaning back against the wall in reception, he rubbed his hands over his face and exhaled loudly. The receptionist, once again, looked up over the top of her computer screen and perked an eyebrow curiously. If he’d had the energy he would have told her to piss off, although lucky for her, he was too drained to even open his mouth.
He didn’t want to cry over this, yet the longer he tried to stop himself, the hotter the tears stinging his eyes became.
Shaking his head, Rupert moved to wipe his eyes on his sleeve and pulled out his mobile phone, speed dialling the person he needed the most right now.
She picked up on the second ring, full of enthusiasm, ‘How did it go?’
Her voice alone caused him to crack and as he attempted to stammer out what he wanted to say, a tear slid down his cheek, dripping off his chin and staining his grey t-shirt. So much for trying to stop himself. ‘I need you…’ he finally managed to whisper, although his words were feeble.
Emma didn’t take much convincing and hung up as soon as she said, ‘I’m on my way, OK.’
.x.
Author:
x_moonshine_xPairing: Rupert/Emma with slight Dan/Bonnie.
Rating: R.
Warnings: Real person fiction.
Word count: 1,992.
Summary: For some, coming to the end means having to say goodbye. For others, the end is only just the beginning.
Previous Chapters: Here.
Chapter 22 – The Daddy Issue
Date: Wednesday 2nd August 2011
Location: The Portland Hospital, London, England
Looking up at the building in front of him, Rupert swallowed down the lump in his throat and wiped his sweaty palms down on his jeans, his nerves slowly beginning to get the better of him. He had been stood there for ten minutes now and so far, couldn’t bring himself to step into the cheery and well lit reception area, no matter how many stony glares he received from Aimée’s mother.
Already branded as the bastard of a boyfriend who had left, he didn’t need anyone, especially not her, to rub it in anymore.
‘I can go with you if you like,’ Emma had told him last night, gazing at him from the end of the bed as she idly plaited her hair. ‘That’s what I am now, the supportive girlfriend.’
He’d laughed her off at the time, curling up and wrapping his arms around her as she settled beside him. But then, she had only been wearing one of his t-shirts at the time and taking her seriously had been beyond him.
Good luck. I love you. Em xxx
The text he received half an hour ago. Which had been followed up with a voicemail that he’d missed at some point this morning, Emma rambling and asking him if he wanted her to bring him dinner that night and maybe a DVD or two, anything to relax him. He considered calling her back, but decided that whatever he may suggest would not be appropriate for being said in a maternity clinic. He wanted to relax, but wasn’t really convinced a Chinese and a romcom would do it.
Bracing himself, Rupert took a deep breath and forced himself to walk toward the entrance, each step that little bit more confident than the last. Apparently he hadn’t forgotten how to walk after all, which as far as he was concerned, could only be good news.
‘Oh, at last he decides to come inside!’
Sylvia – Aimée’s mother, borderline narcotic and prone to wearing too much Chanel No. 5 – flung herself in his direction. The plump, blonde receptionist looked up from her computer screen to see what all the commotion was about, cocking her head to the left and not bothering to hide the smirk on her face.
‘Can we just--’
‘No. Whatever you’re about to say, no, there’s no time,’ she interjected before he even managed to get his words out.
Rupert was whisked along a corridor, Sylvia prattling on to him and wagging her finger incessantly. Within seconds he faced a tormented looking Aimée, a pale imitation of her former self, her dark hair scraped back and dressed in black jeans and an oversized jumper, her gaze fixed to the limonium flooring.
‘Aims…’ he said quietly, prompting her to look up, eyes wide as saucers.
Beside him, Sylvia tutted and crossed her arms as she moved to take a seat, picking up a battered copy of Woman’s Weekly.
‘Hi.’
Aimée didn’t offer him anything more and went back to staring at her hands, absently picking at her chipped nail varnish.
Deciding standing there like a lemon wouldn’t do anyone any good, he sat down on the opposite side of the corridor, glancing over at the table beside him and the stack of old magazines. A picture of Emma at the Deathly Hallows Part 2 premiere stared up at him and he instantly felt naucous. She looked so perfect, exactly as he remembered her, right before he made her cry anyway. Sometimes it hurt too much to care about people.
Sensing that someone was looking at him, Rupert glanced up and found Aimée’s eyes upon him. Even though they’d broken up, it crushed him to see her this way, his fault or not. She forced a smile onto her face and whispered, ‘We have ten minutes, can we talk?’
In no mood to argue and feeling Sylvia’s eyes burning a hole into the back of his head, he jumped at the chance and followed her a little further down the corridor, propping up the wall by the door as he let her speak.
‘Do you want this baby?’ she started. ‘I mean, if you had a--’
Feeling a sudden surge of confidence, he cut her off before she finished, his voice firm, ‘You shouldn’t even have to ask me that, Aims.’
Aimée sighed, leaning back against the wall opposite him and pulling the sleeves of her jumper over her hands anxiously. ‘So you’re OK with this?’’ she continued weakly. ‘Even after – you’re going to stand by me, right? To the end? I’m talking dirty nappies, fights at school, bad grades, first--’
‘I said I would,’ he responded, desperate to cut off her rambling.
‘Sorry, it’s just--’ She shook her head. ‘I never meant for this to happen, you have to believe that. But I can’t do this on my own. I’m not strong enough for any of it.’
He frowned, casting a glance down the corridor and to her mother who was now watching them intently from over the top of her magazine. ‘If this is your way of trying to get me back, Aims, it’s not going to work.’ With a shrug of his shoulders, he turned his attention back to her. ‘Things weren’t – you know that they were--’
‘No, no it’s not. All I want is someone other than my mum to say they’re willing to help out,’ she told him and he supposed he understood where she was coming from. ‘You know what she’s like. She’ll back off if she knows that you’re going to be around – even if it is only for a couple of hours a week.’
The expression on her face told him that she wanted more than that, yet she’d come to accept this was all they ever would be now. They’d drifted apart. Things had gone wrong. No one could ever call them loves young dream, especially not now.
‘Aimée Jenkins?’
Rupert snapped back to reality and to the young nurse stood in the doorway of a nearby examination room, clutching a clipboard and with a Hello Kitty pen stuck behind her ear.
‘We’re ready for you now,’ she added with a bright smile.
They shared another quick glance and then he followed Aimée down the corridor, hands shoved into his pockets as they bypassed Sylvia completely and stepped into the room. Once the nurse had closed the door, Rupert was directed to a chair and he sat obediently, clasping his hands in his lap and biting down hard on his lip as she chatted away to Aimée.
‘Are you excited?’
It took him several moments to realise he was the one being spoken to and as he looked up he saw the nurse’s smiling face, her hand poised to pull the curtain around as Aimée tugged her jumper off and tossed it to him.
‘Well… I, umm, it’s a lot to come to terms with,’ was all he managed to offer.
Aimée laughed softly, a playful retort escaping her as she hopped up onto the table. ‘And that’s an understatement,’ she said.
The nurse, whose name was Marie according to her name badge, glanced back and forth between them, clearly bewildered, but said no more and continued on with her job.
Rupert tentatively leant forwards to see what was going on, watching Aimée’s face screw up in disgust as Marie squeezed gel onto her stomach. Several long minutes passed and then she said, ‘OK, here we go, can you see anything from over there?’ She chuckled.
Pretty sure he couldn’t see a damn thing; he leant further still, rising out of his seat to get a decent view.
Aimée laughed again. ‘Oh for Gods sake, come and sit here,’ she exclaimed, pointing to the chair beside her.
He didn’t take much convincing and hopped chairs immediately, his elbows resting on the table as he gazed at numerous fuzzy blobs on the screen. He honestly had no clue what he was supposed to be looking at here. And if one of those blobs were supposed to be his baby, then he was a monkey’s Uncle.
Marie stayed quiet at first, obviously checking everything before she began to point things out to them. It took him a moment to realise that Aimée couldn’t actually see the screen at all from where she lay. Time passed by slowly and then Marie frowned, turning the screen away rather suddenly, deep-set worry lines crossing her forehead. ‘Just excuse me for one moment,’ she said softly, glancing up at them anxiously before rushing out of the door.
Almost as soon as she was out of earshot, Aimée’s tears began to fall, her bottom lip trembling as she cried out in distress, ‘Something’s wrong! There’s something wrong with my baby!’
Unsure of what to do, Rupert reached out to grip her hand and murmured, ‘It’s going to be fine, Aims…’
Of course, this was a lie, whatever it was, he was pretty sure it wasn’t fine. The nurse wouldn’t have done a bunk if that were so. But for now he could play that part, if she needed him to be strong, he could just pretend. She’d given him the ultimatum already today; he was in it until the very end now.
She squeezed his hand until he had no feeling left in any of his fingers, but he didn’t flinch. He couldn’t let her see him fall apart, he owed her that much at least.
By the time Marie stepped back into the room, accompanied by a doctor, he was feeling suitably queasy, not to mention a little dizzy. He blinked up at them, praying for a miracle, but somehow he already knew that he was asking too much.
The next few minutes were a blur. From the moment the doctor said, ‘I’m so sorry’ to when Aimée cried, ‘Pay them more money, make them say they’re wrong!’ he couldn’t remember a thing. Her words though, kicked him into overdrive, and very suddenly it hit him what both the doctor and nurse were trying to say. Their baby had died and it had been within the last couple of weeks. Everything had been fine when Aimée came in at eight weeks, or so they said. It was only very recently things had gone wrong and more importantly, there was nothing anyone could have done to make any difference.
‘I have to – I need – I can’t--’ Rupert gave up trying to speak and jumped out of his seat, making a run for it. As he fled, he fleetingly glanced in Sylvia’s direction, telling her to go and be with her daughter.
This he did not sign up for. Death and despair were not part of the deal.
Leaning back against the wall in reception, he rubbed his hands over his face and exhaled loudly. The receptionist, once again, looked up over the top of her computer screen and perked an eyebrow curiously. If he’d had the energy he would have told her to piss off, although lucky for her, he was too drained to even open his mouth.
He didn’t want to cry over this, yet the longer he tried to stop himself, the hotter the tears stinging his eyes became.
Shaking his head, Rupert moved to wipe his eyes on his sleeve and pulled out his mobile phone, speed dialling the person he needed the most right now.
She picked up on the second ring, full of enthusiasm, ‘How did it go?’
Her voice alone caused him to crack and as he attempted to stammer out what he wanted to say, a tear slid down his cheek, dripping off his chin and staining his grey t-shirt. So much for trying to stop himself. ‘I need you…’ he finally managed to whisper, although his words were feeble.
Emma didn’t take much convincing and hung up as soon as she said, ‘I’m on my way, OK.’
.x.
