fic: all the simple things you are (ai rpf; dcook/carrie; au)
Title: all the simple things you are
Author: empressearwig
Pairing/Fandom: David Cook/Carrie Underwood; American Idol RPF
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1480
Disclaimer: I own nothing, this is all for fun. This hasn't happened. Yet. Etc.
Summary: Lions and tigers and Our Lady Peace posters, oh my.
Author's Notes: Written for the prompt "baby - setting up nursery " for schmoop_bingo, and because I'm officially crazy. Alternate universe fic that is a prequel to No song that I could sing.
Carrie loves her husband. She loves him for his quirks and eccentricities, the way that he considers beer and cheetos their own food group, how loyal he is to everything and everyone he loves, the way that he's incapable of telling an even halfway decent joke. She loves all these things about him.
She does not love his taste in interior decorating. Or rather, his lack of taste.
When they moved in together, she gave him a room. A room that he could do anything he wanted with and she wouldn't say a word. After having seen the inside of his tour bus up close and personal, she considered it a worthwhile sacrifice. And the system worked. She got to do what she wanted with the rest of the house, and David got his room. She never expected that the system would break down over decorating the baby's nursery.
And yet somehow it did.
She knows that David is going to find a way to blame it on Kyle. It's what he does. She won't try and stop him. It won't change the fact that she and everyone else knows that it's entirely David's fault.
***
Not long after Carrie found out she was pregnant, they decided together that they didn't want to know if the baby was a boy or a girl. It wasn't until she was five months pregnant and staring at the room she wanted to turn into the baby's nursery that she realized just how inconvenient not knowing was going to be. Not knowing if the baby was a boy or girl meant green and yellow and animals, and it's not that Carrie doesn't like any of those things, she's just really fond of pink and tutus and tiaras, and if she knew she was having a girl, she'd be able to indulge herself. And okay, if she knew it was a boy, she'd be able to paint the nursery Royals blue and help start the baby down the path of heartbreaking pain and disappointment that she knows David is planning on anyway.
She believes firmly in picking her battles. And in making her husband grateful enough to sit up and beg.
But animals it was going to have to be. She brought in an interior decorator and they planned it all out, a mural on one wall, the rest of the walls painted a soft, restful yellow. The crib that David's mom saved, and the cradle that was hers. They bring in a local artist to do the mural, and when the room is finished, it's a room fit for a tiny prince or princess. It's perfect, everyone agrees.
Everyone, apparently, except David.
Carrie's mom is in town and they go out to lunch and to shop for "just one more" thing that her mom insists she's going to need for the baby, and when she gets back to the house, laden down with shopping bags she's exhausted. She wants a nap and David to rub her feet, not necessarily in that order.
She walks in the front door and calls out, "Hello?"
There's no answer and her face falls into a pout. If he's not home, she's going to be very cranky. She's pregnant, she's allowed. She decides to take the bags up to the nursery and drop them off before she collapses in bed, figuring it'll be easier to deal with them later if they're already where they're supposed to be, and as she climbs the stairs, that's when she hears it. The sound of a nail being pounded into a wall.
That noise scares Carrie a great deal.
"David?" she calls out, walking as fast as she can, which these days isn't particularly fast. "Hello?"
His head pops out of the nursery, a wide smile on his face. "Hey, you," he says, stepping out into the hall. He spots the bags in her hands and rushes forward to take them. "Why didn't you call me? I would have carried all this up for you," he scolds her as he snatches them out of her hands. "You're not supposed to --"
She rolls her eyes. "I'm pregnant, David, not an invalid. I think I can carry a few bags up the stairs without breaking."
"Well, sure," he says, as they walk down the hall to the nursery. "But why should you have to?"
She rolls her eyes again, but with a smile on her face. She can't really be mad at him for babying her, not when he's so incredibly earnest about it. She could let herself get distracted by how cute he is, but she's more worried about that hammering noise she heard. David with a hammer, there's all sorts of potential for things to have gone horribly wrong there. She just hopes it's something that can be fixed. "David," she says. "I thought I heard --"
She doesn't finish her question, because she follows him into the nursery and sees exactly what he's done. In the middle of the nursery, where there once was an adorable, baby appropriate animal print hanging on the wall, there's now a framed Our Lady Peace tour poster, and she can't quite stop the sound of shock and dismay that slips past her lips.
David's oblivious to the thoughts of horror going through her head as he dumps the bags in the crib, which has become their place to put everything they don't know what to do with. Carrie's started to wonder where exactly they're going to put the baby if they don't clean it out soon, but right now, she can't worry about that, because she has to find a way to deal with that thing on the wall without breaking her husband's heart. She has no idea how she's going to do that.
He turns around grinning at her and she forces a smile onto her face. "So what do you think?" he asks, nodding his head toward the poster. "It's great, right? I've had it since I was a kid and I thought it would be nice for the baby to have."
She doesn't say anything. She doesn't know what to say.
His eyes narrow and the smile on his face falls. "You hate it, don't you?" he asks in the crestfallen voice she hates. He sounds like a kicked puppy when he uses that voice, and she swears that's why he does it. He's wilier than he looks.
"I don't hate it," she hedges. How can she hate it completely when there's all that sentiment behind it? She just doesn't want it hanging in her baby's nursery where she's going to have to see it every time she walks in the room.
"But you don't like it," he says with a sigh. "I knew I should have talked to you about it first, but I just found it in one of those boxes that my mom sent when she emptied out her garage and --"
"David," she says, laying a hand on his arm. "Take a breath."
He smiles ruefully. "Shouldn't that be my line? You're the one that's pregnant."
She touches his cheek. "And that means I can do just about anything. You're the one that sounds like they're about to hyperventilate."
"Point," he says. He sinks down into the rocking chair next to the window and tugs her onto his lap. "You hate it."
She hesitates. "I don't think that it belongs in the nursery," she says finally. "But I don't hate it. Why don't you save it for when the baby actually knows who Our Lady Peace are? Wouldn't that be better?"
He rests his chin on her shoulder and looks up at the poster. "Probably. I just --"
"You just wanted to do something nice for the baby, to share something you love," she interrupts, drawing his hand around her so that it rests on the curve of her stomach. "That's not wrong, David."
She feels his lips curve into a smile against her shoulder as he presses a kiss to the bare skin there. "You're incredibly diplomatic, you know that?"
"I try," she says, pushing herself to her feet. She pulls on his hands and he stands. They kiss gently, the mid-afternoon light through the windows shining down on them like a benediction. When they draw apart, there are smiles on both of their faces. He pushes a strand of hair back behind her ear, his hand lingering on her cheek.
"How about we take a nap," he suggests, trying (and failing) to keep most of the innuendo out of the word.
She raises her eyebrows at him. "A nap or a nap?"
He grins then, and presses a kiss to the top of her head. "Either. Both." He steers her towards the door. "Your wish is my command."
"Well in that case," she says. "I have some demands."
***
The poster comes down that night.
Author: empressearwig
Pairing/Fandom: David Cook/Carrie Underwood; American Idol RPF
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1480
Disclaimer: I own nothing, this is all for fun. This hasn't happened. Yet. Etc.
Summary: Lions and tigers and Our Lady Peace posters, oh my.
Author's Notes: Written for the prompt "baby - setting up nursery " for schmoop_bingo, and because I'm officially crazy. Alternate universe fic that is a prequel to No song that I could sing.
Carrie loves her husband. She loves him for his quirks and eccentricities, the way that he considers beer and cheetos their own food group, how loyal he is to everything and everyone he loves, the way that he's incapable of telling an even halfway decent joke. She loves all these things about him.
She does not love his taste in interior decorating. Or rather, his lack of taste.
When they moved in together, she gave him a room. A room that he could do anything he wanted with and she wouldn't say a word. After having seen the inside of his tour bus up close and personal, she considered it a worthwhile sacrifice. And the system worked. She got to do what she wanted with the rest of the house, and David got his room. She never expected that the system would break down over decorating the baby's nursery.
And yet somehow it did.
She knows that David is going to find a way to blame it on Kyle. It's what he does. She won't try and stop him. It won't change the fact that she and everyone else knows that it's entirely David's fault.
***
Not long after Carrie found out she was pregnant, they decided together that they didn't want to know if the baby was a boy or a girl. It wasn't until she was five months pregnant and staring at the room she wanted to turn into the baby's nursery that she realized just how inconvenient not knowing was going to be. Not knowing if the baby was a boy or girl meant green and yellow and animals, and it's not that Carrie doesn't like any of those things, she's just really fond of pink and tutus and tiaras, and if she knew she was having a girl, she'd be able to indulge herself. And okay, if she knew it was a boy, she'd be able to paint the nursery Royals blue and help start the baby down the path of heartbreaking pain and disappointment that she knows David is planning on anyway.
She believes firmly in picking her battles. And in making her husband grateful enough to sit up and beg.
But animals it was going to have to be. She brought in an interior decorator and they planned it all out, a mural on one wall, the rest of the walls painted a soft, restful yellow. The crib that David's mom saved, and the cradle that was hers. They bring in a local artist to do the mural, and when the room is finished, it's a room fit for a tiny prince or princess. It's perfect, everyone agrees.
Everyone, apparently, except David.
Carrie's mom is in town and they go out to lunch and to shop for "just one more" thing that her mom insists she's going to need for the baby, and when she gets back to the house, laden down with shopping bags she's exhausted. She wants a nap and David to rub her feet, not necessarily in that order.
She walks in the front door and calls out, "Hello?"
There's no answer and her face falls into a pout. If he's not home, she's going to be very cranky. She's pregnant, she's allowed. She decides to take the bags up to the nursery and drop them off before she collapses in bed, figuring it'll be easier to deal with them later if they're already where they're supposed to be, and as she climbs the stairs, that's when she hears it. The sound of a nail being pounded into a wall.
That noise scares Carrie a great deal.
"David?" she calls out, walking as fast as she can, which these days isn't particularly fast. "Hello?"
His head pops out of the nursery, a wide smile on his face. "Hey, you," he says, stepping out into the hall. He spots the bags in her hands and rushes forward to take them. "Why didn't you call me? I would have carried all this up for you," he scolds her as he snatches them out of her hands. "You're not supposed to --"
She rolls her eyes. "I'm pregnant, David, not an invalid. I think I can carry a few bags up the stairs without breaking."
"Well, sure," he says, as they walk down the hall to the nursery. "But why should you have to?"
She rolls her eyes again, but with a smile on her face. She can't really be mad at him for babying her, not when he's so incredibly earnest about it. She could let herself get distracted by how cute he is, but she's more worried about that hammering noise she heard. David with a hammer, there's all sorts of potential for things to have gone horribly wrong there. She just hopes it's something that can be fixed. "David," she says. "I thought I heard --"
She doesn't finish her question, because she follows him into the nursery and sees exactly what he's done. In the middle of the nursery, where there once was an adorable, baby appropriate animal print hanging on the wall, there's now a framed Our Lady Peace tour poster, and she can't quite stop the sound of shock and dismay that slips past her lips.
David's oblivious to the thoughts of horror going through her head as he dumps the bags in the crib, which has become their place to put everything they don't know what to do with. Carrie's started to wonder where exactly they're going to put the baby if they don't clean it out soon, but right now, she can't worry about that, because she has to find a way to deal with that thing on the wall without breaking her husband's heart. She has no idea how she's going to do that.
He turns around grinning at her and she forces a smile onto her face. "So what do you think?" he asks, nodding his head toward the poster. "It's great, right? I've had it since I was a kid and I thought it would be nice for the baby to have."
She doesn't say anything. She doesn't know what to say.
His eyes narrow and the smile on his face falls. "You hate it, don't you?" he asks in the crestfallen voice she hates. He sounds like a kicked puppy when he uses that voice, and she swears that's why he does it. He's wilier than he looks.
"I don't hate it," she hedges. How can she hate it completely when there's all that sentiment behind it? She just doesn't want it hanging in her baby's nursery where she's going to have to see it every time she walks in the room.
"But you don't like it," he says with a sigh. "I knew I should have talked to you about it first, but I just found it in one of those boxes that my mom sent when she emptied out her garage and --"
"David," she says, laying a hand on his arm. "Take a breath."
He smiles ruefully. "Shouldn't that be my line? You're the one that's pregnant."
She touches his cheek. "And that means I can do just about anything. You're the one that sounds like they're about to hyperventilate."
"Point," he says. He sinks down into the rocking chair next to the window and tugs her onto his lap. "You hate it."
She hesitates. "I don't think that it belongs in the nursery," she says finally. "But I don't hate it. Why don't you save it for when the baby actually knows who Our Lady Peace are? Wouldn't that be better?"
He rests his chin on her shoulder and looks up at the poster. "Probably. I just --"
"You just wanted to do something nice for the baby, to share something you love," she interrupts, drawing his hand around her so that it rests on the curve of her stomach. "That's not wrong, David."
She feels his lips curve into a smile against her shoulder as he presses a kiss to the bare skin there. "You're incredibly diplomatic, you know that?"
"I try," she says, pushing herself to her feet. She pulls on his hands and he stands. They kiss gently, the mid-afternoon light through the windows shining down on them like a benediction. When they draw apart, there are smiles on both of their faces. He pushes a strand of hair back behind her ear, his hand lingering on her cheek.
"How about we take a nap," he suggests, trying (and failing) to keep most of the innuendo out of the word.
She raises her eyebrows at him. "A nap or a nap?"
He grins then, and presses a kiss to the top of her head. "Either. Both." He steers her towards the door. "Your wish is my command."
"Well in that case," she says. "I have some demands."
***
The poster comes down that night.