A Difference In Weight
Title: A Difference In Weight
Summary: "I can't do this." "I'm not asking you to."
Pairing: Ben/Ilana
Rating: R
Notes: Sequel to Right To My Heart
It's been months since he killed a man, he realizes. Almost a year. He brings this up to her, like she might find it funny, but instead it makes her angry. Why do you do that? He shrugs. The most honest gestures he can give her sometimes are the simplest. She shakes her head and leaves the table, her food half-eaten. The dog jumps into her plate and scarfs it down. Ben doesn't move. Eventually the mutt wanders to his side and eats his food, too, then settles lazily in his lap. She has taken her car someplace. And for some reason, he thinks that maybe she might not come back.
But she does. It's late, after one in the morning, but she comes back. Pulls off her clothes and crawls between the sheets and cries against him. I'm sorry, he whispers. But she can't blame him anymore. She's in love with him now. She's invested in this now. A house, a dog, a bed. A child.
I'm pregnant. And this time, it is his turn to get up and leave. She stays there, sobbing into a pillow, terrified of what they might have done. If they should have ever done it at all. He doesn't take the truck or start walking down the road. He steps outside and heaves into the grass, remembering the last baby he took from an innocent woman. And all the ones that died because he wasn't fast enough or smart enough or focused enough. He remembers the last child he raised, the only child he raised. He killed her. And he won't forgive himself for it.
He won't be a father again.
In the morning, they are silent and still. He eats quickly and moves to get up, to leave her alone at the table. Where are you going? She turns around in her chair and stares at his retreating back, eyes tearing into his skin.
I can't do this.
I'm not asking you to. And he realizes that there is no choice, really. That to leave her is to kill them both, cut them off from whatever feeds and protects them. She grips his hand and holds it to her stomach where a baby will be someday soon. And you're not alone.
They make love again and again that night. Ilana... He whispers her name like a mantra. She nods and kisses him and takes him and holds him close. Later he runs his fingers along the curve of her stomach and between her legs, up and around her side, settling at her neck. He can do this. He has to do this. She's all he has now. And he has to take care of her.
Time passes quickly, and when he thinks about it, nine months to create life is not long at all. To grow arms and legs and a brain and everything that goes on inside. A person. A human being. He is still so quiet when they go out. He knows people in town think he might be crazy. Think he might be a bit off. A man like him with a woman like her. Unnatural, they say. Not right. She's too lovely for someone like him. Someone who has seen so much it's made him silent. If they knew who he used to be, they'd be grateful for his quiet words and soft-spoken demeanor. They'd wish they'd never even known who he once was.
He is constantly afraid that the baby will die. That somehow, he will find a way to kill it. And it will be his doing. Ilana chides him for these thoughts, angry that he thinks he can't become someone different than who he used to be. You're so afraid of the past. This is what's real. She kisses him and he knows she's right. He just can't shake the thought that it's all going to fall apart.
But she keeps him steady. Forces him into feeling better. And it works. What was your mother's name? she asks.
Emily.
I don't remember my mother.
Neither do I. He shifts on their bed and looks at her. Why do you think it's a girl?
I just think she will be.
What if she's a boy? Ilana laughs and buries her face in his neck. Hmm? What if?
Then we'll name him Jacob, she says quietly. He grows very still. Then nods.
It's a good name.
It is.
Summary: "I can't do this." "I'm not asking you to."
Pairing: Ben/Ilana
Rating: R
Notes: Sequel to Right To My Heart
It's been months since he killed a man, he realizes. Almost a year. He brings this up to her, like she might find it funny, but instead it makes her angry. Why do you do that? He shrugs. The most honest gestures he can give her sometimes are the simplest. She shakes her head and leaves the table, her food half-eaten. The dog jumps into her plate and scarfs it down. Ben doesn't move. Eventually the mutt wanders to his side and eats his food, too, then settles lazily in his lap. She has taken her car someplace. And for some reason, he thinks that maybe she might not come back.
But she does. It's late, after one in the morning, but she comes back. Pulls off her clothes and crawls between the sheets and cries against him. I'm sorry, he whispers. But she can't blame him anymore. She's in love with him now. She's invested in this now. A house, a dog, a bed. A child.
I'm pregnant. And this time, it is his turn to get up and leave. She stays there, sobbing into a pillow, terrified of what they might have done. If they should have ever done it at all. He doesn't take the truck or start walking down the road. He steps outside and heaves into the grass, remembering the last baby he took from an innocent woman. And all the ones that died because he wasn't fast enough or smart enough or focused enough. He remembers the last child he raised, the only child he raised. He killed her. And he won't forgive himself for it.
He won't be a father again.
In the morning, they are silent and still. He eats quickly and moves to get up, to leave her alone at the table. Where are you going? She turns around in her chair and stares at his retreating back, eyes tearing into his skin.
I can't do this.
I'm not asking you to. And he realizes that there is no choice, really. That to leave her is to kill them both, cut them off from whatever feeds and protects them. She grips his hand and holds it to her stomach where a baby will be someday soon. And you're not alone.
They make love again and again that night. Ilana... He whispers her name like a mantra. She nods and kisses him and takes him and holds him close. Later he runs his fingers along the curve of her stomach and between her legs, up and around her side, settling at her neck. He can do this. He has to do this. She's all he has now. And he has to take care of her.
Time passes quickly, and when he thinks about it, nine months to create life is not long at all. To grow arms and legs and a brain and everything that goes on inside. A person. A human being. He is still so quiet when they go out. He knows people in town think he might be crazy. Think he might be a bit off. A man like him with a woman like her. Unnatural, they say. Not right. She's too lovely for someone like him. Someone who has seen so much it's made him silent. If they knew who he used to be, they'd be grateful for his quiet words and soft-spoken demeanor. They'd wish they'd never even known who he once was.
He is constantly afraid that the baby will die. That somehow, he will find a way to kill it. And it will be his doing. Ilana chides him for these thoughts, angry that he thinks he can't become someone different than who he used to be. You're so afraid of the past. This is what's real. She kisses him and he knows she's right. He just can't shake the thought that it's all going to fall apart.
But she keeps him steady. Forces him into feeling better. And it works. What was your mother's name? she asks.
Emily.
I don't remember my mother.
Neither do I. He shifts on their bed and looks at her. Why do you think it's a girl?
I just think she will be.
What if she's a boy? Ilana laughs and buries her face in his neck. Hmm? What if?
Then we'll name him Jacob, she says quietly. He grows very still. Then nods.
It's a good name.
It is.