Archive of Our Own

~*~

When she runs, she feels strangely heavy. Clumsy, almost, as though the tiny change in her body is already making her second guess herself, the weight of responsibility pushing her closer to the earth.

They’re tucked behind a small building somewhere in the heart of Miami. They’re safe, if only for the next few minutes, but the touch of his hand on her shoulder still makes her jump. “Something you want to tell me?”

She had managed to catch her breath after their latest mile-long sprint, but the expression on his face - hope and fear and disbelief and entreaty - steals it away again.

He knows, she thinks, and wants to rage against the injustice of having yet another moment denied them. Damn you to Hell, Christina.

His hand drops to her stomach, his thumb gently teasing the hollow of her navel, and it suddenly doesn’t matter how he found out. Her gaze locks with his as she covers his hand with hers, cradling it gently between her palm and the new life in her belly.

“You’re going to be a father,” she tells him, her voice not quite steady, and the brilliance of his smile puts the Miami sun to shame, his eyes glittering as the hand on her belly grows still and heavy.

"She told me. Threw it in my face like an insult.” The words are an urgent whisper, as though he can't say them quickly enough, the smile trembling on his lips as he speaks. "For once, I wanted to believe her, but I just -" He breaks off, looking at her with a quiet desperation that twists her heart.

She hesitates, swallowing hard, willing him to understand why she kept her secret for as long as she did, and prays for the right words to explain. The right words, however, refuse to come, leaving her to fall back on the simplest of excuses. "I didn't want you to worry."

It's one of the worst explanations she's ever offered anyone, but before she can say anything more, he's cupping her face in his hands and his mouth is warm and soft on hers and he's kissing her fiercely despite the fact they should have starting moving again at least one minute ago. She tastes the salt on his lips and realises she’s crying, her silent tears vanishing into the heat of his kiss. Maybe he's crying too, she's not sure. All she knows is that he's happy and he wants this as much as she does. He’s saying something now, murmuring the words against her mouth and her skin, and it takes a moment for the words to sink in. I understand. I love you. I'll make it right. It'll be alright.

“I love you too,” she has time to say, then the air is rent by gunshots and they’re running again, his hand tightly gripping hers in a silent promise, and she suddenly feels lighter than she has in a very long time.