FIC: Life of Oyster II
(The first part can be found in the archives)
Title: Life of Oyster II
Author: Bernie Laraemie
Pairing: Gil/Paul
Rating: R-ish (maybe a bit of language, sort of MPreg, I guess)
Archive: Yeah, sure, whatever
Email: bernie_laraemie@yahoo.co.uk
Dammit. He hated hiding, he hated sneaking around and he hated lying to his friends. Thankfully it wasn’t a dire emergency, but Gil wanted to get there as quickly as possible.
‘There’ happened to be a motel in Blue Diamond, a little south and a little west of Vegas. The reason happened to be Paul, which was a little alarming. It wasn’t meeting him that was alarming-he’d been doing so every four or five days for the past month since he’d been told about the pregnancy-it was the shaken tone Paul had had when he’d called coupled with the fact Gil had seen him just two days before. He asked if Paul thought he was going to go into labour-no. He asked if Paul was in trouble-not exactly. Not exactly. That was trouble.
It was on the way there that Gil reasoned Blue Diamond an odd meeting place. The first time Paul had contacted him they’d met on the outskirts of Vegas, and that had been the only time they were anywhere near Gil’s jurisdiction. Not only was Blue Diamond within the pervue of the LVPD (not officially, but they were often called to help with cases in the area) but it was south of Vegas-not north, like every other time Paul had called.
Still, Paul and the baby didn’t seem in immediate danger, and Gil hoped to his core that it stayed that way.
Taking more precautions than he had on other visits, Gil parked his vehicle and walked to the specified room. Tedious precautions, perhaps, but necessary. He found it, knocked on the door, and it soon opened.
Suddenly Paul’s habit of undereating wasn’t the most dire thing on Gil’s mind.
“What happened?” Gil said, now fully alarmed and walking in the room.
Paul, somewhat lazily, somewhat startled, took a step back. “It’s-I . . ..” Another step backwards followed, and he started shaking a little.
“Sit down, sit down,” Gil commanded, helping Paul to sit on the bed before he fell over. “What happened?” Gil pushed some stray hair out of Paul’s face, revealing bruising on his eyes and cheek. Bruising that was definitely getting darker.
“I-I was in Barstow,” Paul managed. “I was at a truck stop, walking . . .w-walking back to my car.”
Barstow? That explained why Paul was in Blue Diamond, then. No explanation as to why he was in Barstow to begin with, but that could wait. “And?”
Paul shook his head slowly as Gil looked over the bruises forming on his face. “Someone . . .someone came up behind me,” Paul winced as Gil touched his face. “I c-can’t remember everything-I was pushed-”
Gil’s concern increased one hundred fold. “You’re cold,” he said, taking one of Paul’s shaking hands in his own. “Are you bleeding?”
Paul took a minute to look back up at Gil, the hair back in his face and some of the broken tone leaving his voice. “Not that I know of.”
“Take off your shirt,” Gil said, helping him to do so. “Did he hit you?”
Paul complied, starting to look distant. “Yes.” He waved his hand over his face. “Here,” he said, “and here,” he finished, indicating his chest. “But nothing near the baby.”
Gil frowned, noting bruising on Paul’s chest and rounded stomach. Lighter bruises, but still serious. He carefully and firmly pushed his fingertips at various points, checking for any sign of broken ribs or internal bleeding. To the naked touch, nothing was apparent. “You stay here,” he said, standing.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Gil returned to the room shortly, bringing the first aid kit from his trunk. His kit had been known to borrow from the first aid equipment in the past, so he brought that along too. He took his temperature, checked for cuts or any scrapes. Finding none, he pulled a stethoscope from his kit.
Paul looked surprised. “You carry a stethoscope?”
Gil warmed the cold steel. “It’s useful for hearing into walls, breaking into some locks, things like that.” He touched it to Paul’s belly, first hearing one then two pulses. He sighed in relief. “And it hears heartbeats, and I hear two.”
“I wasn’t worried about the baby.”
Putting his toys away, Gil inspected the brusing again, running probing fingers through Paul’s hair, finding no real hint of congeled blood. “You probably just have a concussion, the daze triggered when you stood to answer the door,” he said. “You’d be getting worse, not better, if you were haemorraging. You should see a doctor.”
“I did manage to drive here,” Paul said in his defense.
“Which you shouldn’t have,” Gil replied, helping Paul do his shirt back up. “You should have stayed in Barstow, or gone to a hospital ideally.”
“I’m fine,” Paul insisted.
Sceptically, Gil shot him a look. “You’ve been hurt, possibly seriously. You could have had injuries endangering yourself and the baby. You might still have,” he said gravely.
“I wanted to leave as quickly as I could. I got in my c-car and started driving.”
“You should be in a hospital,” he repeated.
Paul looked away from Gil. “I can’t remember what h-happened, exactly. I remember being jumped, and f-fighting back. I remember falling; he pushed me,” he recalled. “I was by a maintenance area, for trucks. I remember grabbing something, hitting him w-with it.” He shook his head, trying to shake out the cobweb feeling. “He fell, I ran.” Paul gestured with his hands, making a running motion. “I don’t even remember g-getting in my car, I just remember driving. I almost drove into Vegas before I remembered not to,” he finished. “I remember it, just not as though it happened to me.”
“What were you doing in Barstow?”
“Pit stop,” he answered. “Got something to eat; gased up.”
“Coming from where?”
“Santa Ynez,” he replied, suddenly pushing fingers to his temple and cringing.
“Are you all right?”
“Just a light headache, I think.” Paul exhaled deeply and sat up. “Yes, I’m fine,” he affirmed.
“So, what were you doing-”
“-in Santa Ynez?” Paul finished. “Always investigating,” he chided with a laugh. “I was visiting my wife.” He stopped, and shrugged. “Ex-wife,” he corrected.
Gil was only a little surprised to learn he wasn’t the only person Paul kept in touch with. And then he remembered. “You visited your ex-wife? Like . . .this?”
Paul looked down at himself shortly, and frowned. “It’s what I went there to tell her.”
“All of it?”
He shook his head. “Most of it.”
There was a lot Paul could conveniently leave out of his life story, Gil knew. “But you told her about the baby.”
He paused, then nodded. “I told her.”
“How did she take it?”
Paul sighed heavily, looking at his feet as he continued. “She told me she wasn’t as s-surprised as she felt s-she should be. We were married thirteen years, so s-she had a lot of time to compile reasons we weren’t sleeping together. She might have known all along. To some degree, anyway.”
“You said you told her you had a genetic disorder, didn’t you?” Gil said, recalling.
“I never embellished.”
“What else did you tell her?”
Paul sighed, fidgeting his hands as he often did when he wasn’t comfortable with subject matter. “That I was in trouble. That my . . .my p-past was catching up with me. That I was s-sorry. She’s doing well, with her new job and Craig’s settled in his new school. She sold the house and with that money she ensured that she didn’t have to pay a mortgage.”
“She sounds like she’s doing well for herself.” Gil watched Paul’s hands settle and his lucidity clear. Thankful for the signs of health, he was still concerned.
“She deserves it,” Paul replied. “They moved a short while after I ‘died’. Her father lives in that area, so it’s good for her.”
“Are you feeling better?”
“Still have a headache,” Paul said. “It’s not bad, though.”
“You have to go to a hospital sometime.”
“What? I’m fine. The baby is fine. It’s probably just a minor concussion, like you said.”
“Even beyond that, I don’t know where you plan to have the baby otherwise.”
Paul inhaled deeply. “Not at Desert Palms, for s-sure.” He noted Gil’s worried look, and put a hand on his arm. “I will go to a hospital. But only then. I’ve being seeing the doctor for check ups, having ultrasounds, that sort of thing.”
“Call me,” Gil implored. “I want to be there.”
“Even if it’s a four or five hour drive?”
“Even if.” Gil noted a small, matted area of Paul’s hair. “Even if I don’t get there until after the birth, I want to see the baby, and I want to make sure you’re doing all right.” With his comb, Gil gently worked out the flakes of dried blood. One of the tugs caused a short gasp from Paul. “You hit your head on something,” he said.
“Probably something on the ground. I’m fine,” he nearly snapped.
“All right,” Gil said, calm. “I’m just going to get this blood out of your hair, then.”
Paul winced as a few hair strands were pulled out, but allowed it.
“You might have a concussion.”
“I drove all the way here well enough,” he countered.
Gil frowned. “You should go to a hospital.”
“It’s not worth the risk.”
“What risk?” Gil asked. “You’re supposed to be dead. No one’s looking for you.”
“I don’t need a hospital,” Paul insisted. “I’m fine.”
“Then why did you call me so urgently?” Gil teased out the last of the visible blood flakes that weren’t close to the skull. “If you’re fine?”
Paul sighed before replying. “I don’t know. I was in trouble and you were the first person I thought to call.”
Gil paused, then smiled slightly. “I’m glad you did.”
Title: Life of Oyster II
Author: Bernie Laraemie
Pairing: Gil/Paul
Rating: R-ish (maybe a bit of language, sort of MPreg, I guess)
Archive: Yeah, sure, whatever
Email: bernie_laraemie@yahoo.co.uk
Dammit. He hated hiding, he hated sneaking around and he hated lying to his friends. Thankfully it wasn’t a dire emergency, but Gil wanted to get there as quickly as possible.
‘There’ happened to be a motel in Blue Diamond, a little south and a little west of Vegas. The reason happened to be Paul, which was a little alarming. It wasn’t meeting him that was alarming-he’d been doing so every four or five days for the past month since he’d been told about the pregnancy-it was the shaken tone Paul had had when he’d called coupled with the fact Gil had seen him just two days before. He asked if Paul thought he was going to go into labour-no. He asked if Paul was in trouble-not exactly. Not exactly. That was trouble.
It was on the way there that Gil reasoned Blue Diamond an odd meeting place. The first time Paul had contacted him they’d met on the outskirts of Vegas, and that had been the only time they were anywhere near Gil’s jurisdiction. Not only was Blue Diamond within the pervue of the LVPD (not officially, but they were often called to help with cases in the area) but it was south of Vegas-not north, like every other time Paul had called.
Still, Paul and the baby didn’t seem in immediate danger, and Gil hoped to his core that it stayed that way.
Taking more precautions than he had on other visits, Gil parked his vehicle and walked to the specified room. Tedious precautions, perhaps, but necessary. He found it, knocked on the door, and it soon opened.
Suddenly Paul’s habit of undereating wasn’t the most dire thing on Gil’s mind.
“What happened?” Gil said, now fully alarmed and walking in the room.
Paul, somewhat lazily, somewhat startled, took a step back. “It’s-I . . ..” Another step backwards followed, and he started shaking a little.
“Sit down, sit down,” Gil commanded, helping Paul to sit on the bed before he fell over. “What happened?” Gil pushed some stray hair out of Paul’s face, revealing bruising on his eyes and cheek. Bruising that was definitely getting darker.
“I-I was in Barstow,” Paul managed. “I was at a truck stop, walking . . .w-walking back to my car.”
Barstow? That explained why Paul was in Blue Diamond, then. No explanation as to why he was in Barstow to begin with, but that could wait. “And?”
Paul shook his head slowly as Gil looked over the bruises forming on his face. “Someone . . .someone came up behind me,” Paul winced as Gil touched his face. “I c-can’t remember everything-I was pushed-”
Gil’s concern increased one hundred fold. “You’re cold,” he said, taking one of Paul’s shaking hands in his own. “Are you bleeding?”
Paul took a minute to look back up at Gil, the hair back in his face and some of the broken tone leaving his voice. “Not that I know of.”
“Take off your shirt,” Gil said, helping him to do so. “Did he hit you?”
Paul complied, starting to look distant. “Yes.” He waved his hand over his face. “Here,” he said, “and here,” he finished, indicating his chest. “But nothing near the baby.”
Gil frowned, noting bruising on Paul’s chest and rounded stomach. Lighter bruises, but still serious. He carefully and firmly pushed his fingertips at various points, checking for any sign of broken ribs or internal bleeding. To the naked touch, nothing was apparent. “You stay here,” he said, standing.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Gil returned to the room shortly, bringing the first aid kit from his trunk. His kit had been known to borrow from the first aid equipment in the past, so he brought that along too. He took his temperature, checked for cuts or any scrapes. Finding none, he pulled a stethoscope from his kit.
Paul looked surprised. “You carry a stethoscope?”
Gil warmed the cold steel. “It’s useful for hearing into walls, breaking into some locks, things like that.” He touched it to Paul’s belly, first hearing one then two pulses. He sighed in relief. “And it hears heartbeats, and I hear two.”
“I wasn’t worried about the baby.”
Putting his toys away, Gil inspected the brusing again, running probing fingers through Paul’s hair, finding no real hint of congeled blood. “You probably just have a concussion, the daze triggered when you stood to answer the door,” he said. “You’d be getting worse, not better, if you were haemorraging. You should see a doctor.”
“I did manage to drive here,” Paul said in his defense.
“Which you shouldn’t have,” Gil replied, helping Paul do his shirt back up. “You should have stayed in Barstow, or gone to a hospital ideally.”
“I’m fine,” Paul insisted.
Sceptically, Gil shot him a look. “You’ve been hurt, possibly seriously. You could have had injuries endangering yourself and the baby. You might still have,” he said gravely.
“I wanted to leave as quickly as I could. I got in my c-car and started driving.”
“You should be in a hospital,” he repeated.
Paul looked away from Gil. “I can’t remember what h-happened, exactly. I remember being jumped, and f-fighting back. I remember falling; he pushed me,” he recalled. “I was by a maintenance area, for trucks. I remember grabbing something, hitting him w-with it.” He shook his head, trying to shake out the cobweb feeling. “He fell, I ran.” Paul gestured with his hands, making a running motion. “I don’t even remember g-getting in my car, I just remember driving. I almost drove into Vegas before I remembered not to,” he finished. “I remember it, just not as though it happened to me.”
“What were you doing in Barstow?”
“Pit stop,” he answered. “Got something to eat; gased up.”
“Coming from where?”
“Santa Ynez,” he replied, suddenly pushing fingers to his temple and cringing.
“Are you all right?”
“Just a light headache, I think.” Paul exhaled deeply and sat up. “Yes, I’m fine,” he affirmed.
“So, what were you doing-”
“-in Santa Ynez?” Paul finished. “Always investigating,” he chided with a laugh. “I was visiting my wife.” He stopped, and shrugged. “Ex-wife,” he corrected.
Gil was only a little surprised to learn he wasn’t the only person Paul kept in touch with. And then he remembered. “You visited your ex-wife? Like . . .this?”
Paul looked down at himself shortly, and frowned. “It’s what I went there to tell her.”
“All of it?”
He shook his head. “Most of it.”
There was a lot Paul could conveniently leave out of his life story, Gil knew. “But you told her about the baby.”
He paused, then nodded. “I told her.”
“How did she take it?”
Paul sighed heavily, looking at his feet as he continued. “She told me she wasn’t as s-surprised as she felt s-she should be. We were married thirteen years, so s-she had a lot of time to compile reasons we weren’t sleeping together. She might have known all along. To some degree, anyway.”
“You said you told her you had a genetic disorder, didn’t you?” Gil said, recalling.
“I never embellished.”
“What else did you tell her?”
Paul sighed, fidgeting his hands as he often did when he wasn’t comfortable with subject matter. “That I was in trouble. That my . . .my p-past was catching up with me. That I was s-sorry. She’s doing well, with her new job and Craig’s settled in his new school. She sold the house and with that money she ensured that she didn’t have to pay a mortgage.”
“She sounds like she’s doing well for herself.” Gil watched Paul’s hands settle and his lucidity clear. Thankful for the signs of health, he was still concerned.
“She deserves it,” Paul replied. “They moved a short while after I ‘died’. Her father lives in that area, so it’s good for her.”
“Are you feeling better?”
“Still have a headache,” Paul said. “It’s not bad, though.”
“You have to go to a hospital sometime.”
“What? I’m fine. The baby is fine. It’s probably just a minor concussion, like you said.”
“Even beyond that, I don’t know where you plan to have the baby otherwise.”
Paul inhaled deeply. “Not at Desert Palms, for s-sure.” He noted Gil’s worried look, and put a hand on his arm. “I will go to a hospital. But only then. I’ve being seeing the doctor for check ups, having ultrasounds, that sort of thing.”
“Call me,” Gil implored. “I want to be there.”
“Even if it’s a four or five hour drive?”
“Even if.” Gil noted a small, matted area of Paul’s hair. “Even if I don’t get there until after the birth, I want to see the baby, and I want to make sure you’re doing all right.” With his comb, Gil gently worked out the flakes of dried blood. One of the tugs caused a short gasp from Paul. “You hit your head on something,” he said.
“Probably something on the ground. I’m fine,” he nearly snapped.
“All right,” Gil said, calm. “I’m just going to get this blood out of your hair, then.”
Paul winced as a few hair strands were pulled out, but allowed it.
“You might have a concussion.”
“I drove all the way here well enough,” he countered.
Gil frowned. “You should go to a hospital.”
“It’s not worth the risk.”
“What risk?” Gil asked. “You’re supposed to be dead. No one’s looking for you.”
“I don’t need a hospital,” Paul insisted. “I’m fine.”
“Then why did you call me so urgently?” Gil teased out the last of the visible blood flakes that weren’t close to the skull. “If you’re fine?”
Paul sighed before replying. “I don’t know. I was in trouble and you were the first person I thought to call.”
Gil paused, then smiled slightly. “I’m glad you did.”