Work Text:
He's not expecting the question when she asks.
He doesn't know she's been working up to it all week, waiting for the right moment to ask in a delicate and thoughtful manner. He doesn't know that that moment never comes.
So instead he's left startled when she ends up blurting it out at one in the morning when he's driving them home after picking her up from the late shift at the hospital.
"Do you want kids?" she asks, and he glances at her and exhales in faint, surprised laughter.
"What?" he asks, blinking. She sighs and fidgets in her seat, avoiding looking at him.
"Kids," she repeats. "I know you wanted them with Jessica. Is that- do you still want that?"
He looks at her again before his eyes return pensively to the road, and his heart starts up a quickstep beat.
"I feel like there's a right answer here," he says quietly. "But I don't know which one it is."
"Just tell me the truth," she says, and she's giving nothing away, so he has no choice but to speak honestly. He inhales slowly.
"I want kids," he says, his voice soft, and maybe a little afraid. He doesn't know if this is Jessica all over again, if this is heartbreak number three.
She doesn't say anything for a beat and it makes the knot of stress swell in his stomach. He glances at her and he can almost feel the tension radiating from her as he pulls up into the driveway of the place they share and kills the engine.
"Are you going to tell me what this is about?" he says, and he feels like his head is on the block and she's holding the axe.
Wordlessly she gets out of the car and waits for him to walk around the car to her, fishing her keys out and letting them in. She still hasn't said anything and it's making him crazy.
He flips the light switch.
"Claire," he says, reaching out and touching her elbow, and she finally turns to look him in the eye.
"I was pregnant," she finally says, and there's a hard, raw edge to her voice. He feels his stomach drop.
"What?" he says, and he drops his bag with no regard for where it lands so he can reach for her, uncertain hands ghosting down her arms.
She hesitates for a moment before she leans into him.
"I didn't even know. But I miscarried."
He's struggling to catch up, his mind a mess of thoughts, and his eyes are wide as he searches hers, taking in the complex swirl of misery and something else, something darker, playing out in her expression.
It's not like they've been trying, but he knows they haven't always taken every precaution either. It's not beyond the realms of possibility.
"I- Claire, I'm sorry," he says, his mind reeling. He pulls her tight against his chest, and her stiff body finally seems to let go of some of its tension.
"Me too," she says, and he can sense the tears she's keeping locked up. "I realised we'd never even spoken about kids, I didn't even know if you would've wanted..."
"Claire," he cuts in, frowning. "Of course. Of course, if it had happened, I would've."
She nods slightly against him. "No, I know you would, it's not that I ever doubted that you'd be there for me."
"Then what is it?" he asks carefully. "Is it- do you not want kids?"
She looks up at him like the burdens of the world are hanging behind her eyes. She takes a deep breath in, and he tries to keep the tension from his body to keep from adding to her stress, but it's hard when he's forgotten how to breathe.
"I do," she says, barely a whisper, and he almost puffs out in relief, but he stops himself at the tumultuous look on her face that tells him she's not done yet.
"I do want kids, but I am so scared that I'm not the right person to be a mom," she finally confesses.
He can't keep the genuine surprise from flooding his expression.
He can think of a thousand denials, a thousand reasons why her fears are obviously not true, that she's got the most nurturing and selfless heart he's ever encountered, that she's brave and clever and loving, and what does a kid need more than that?
He wants to say all those things, and more, but right now he holds back.
She doesn't need reassurances from him.
She needs a chance to lay all her cards on the table.
"Why?" he says, and it's a heavy moment before she has the words to answer him.
"Because I don't know what a good mom is. I don't know what a normal family feels like. I'm easily hurt, I'm anxious, I'm reckless. I don't know if I could keep myself from passing on all of my screwups to somebody else. Because the truth is, I am always, always waiting for this-" she features between them, and at their house at large, "-to come crashing down. Like it always does." She shakes her head with a bitter laugh. "And maybe me miscarrying was the world's way of letting me know I should never even think of going there. Of asking for more."
"Claire," he says, gently and firmly, once she's fallen silent. He leans back and tilts her chin very carefully, watching her with warm and steady eyes. "You are not your mom."
"A part of me is," she whispers. He smiles, a mix of warm and melancholy.
"Everyone is afraid they'll screw their kid up," he tells her. "Everyone. But your mom did just about everything wrong with you, and look at you now. You're so far from broken, Claire. As long as I've known you I've never had any doubt that if you ever decided to have a family, then it would have all the happiness you didn't get to have in yours."
Her lips part slightly, and he pauses, considering. "And if it so happens that you decide to do it with me, then-" he gives her a lopsided smile. "Then I'd think I was the luckiest guy in the world."
And she exhales a breath he didn't know she was holding.
And she clings to him.
She buries her face in his neck and wraps her arms around him tightly, and he drops his head to her temple to press a ghost of a kiss there.
"It wasn't meant to be this time around," he says quietly. "But some day, when we're ready, we'll figure it out together. I don't ever want you to feel like you have to do any of this on your own."
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner," she says, and the guilt is clear in her voice. "I wanted to. I just- it didn't feel real. I couldn't get my head round it."
"You don't have to explain," he says, and he means it. He can never know fully how the traumas of her past have left their mark, and he never, never asks her to justify that. And though he hates the thought of her suffering alone, he can try and understand, he thinks, even if he can't fully know.
"I do want it with you," she confesses suddenly, her breath light and ghosting against the skin of his neck and making him shiver. "I have never wanted anything more than I want a future with you."
"Good," he says, and he tilts his head to kiss her, slow and deep. "Because I plan to see a lot of you in mine."