Fanfiction 100: #029. Birth.
Fic Number: #029.
Prompt: Birth.
Author: pvtwitt
Rating: General
Length: 283 words
Warnings: None
Author's Notes: N/A
Disclaimer: The characters of Person of Interest are (unfortunately) not mine. This is just for entertainment.
She had always imagined this moment differently. Instead of joy and elation, she felt nothing but fear and disgust, and a bit of disappointment as she looked down at the stick in her hands. The little window had a plus sign. Swallowing hard, she threw it in the bathroom garbage can along with the box and the directions. Then she thought for a moment before taking the whole bag, tying it shut and carrying it outside.
In her robe and bare feet, she ran down the street to a house at the end of the block, then stuffed the bag into the trash bin on the curb. She couldn’t risk Peter finding out yet.
At work, she was distracted, but they were slow, so no one said anything. On break, she found herself in the maternity ward, standing outside the nursery window and peering in at the newborn babies. She had always wanted children, still did.
Just not with Peter, she admitted to herself.
Allowing herself to daydream for a moment, she envisioned a little boy with blue eyes, dark hair, striking features and an infectious laugh. She pictured a younger version of John, and her heart ached.
A sob bubbled up in her throat. She placed a hand protectively over her abdomen. She had always hoped to have children with John. She feared the life a child would have being raised by Peter.
The sudden urge to talk to John almost overwhelmed her. She needed advice. She needed him.
She decided she would call him later. She still had his number, whether it worked, she didn’t know. But if she could just hear his voice, maybe she could decide what to do.
Prompt: Birth.
Author: pvtwitt
Rating: General
Length: 283 words
Warnings: None
Author's Notes: N/A
Disclaimer: The characters of Person of Interest are (unfortunately) not mine. This is just for entertainment.
She had always imagined this moment differently. Instead of joy and elation, she felt nothing but fear and disgust, and a bit of disappointment as she looked down at the stick in her hands. The little window had a plus sign. Swallowing hard, she threw it in the bathroom garbage can along with the box and the directions. Then she thought for a moment before taking the whole bag, tying it shut and carrying it outside.
In her robe and bare feet, she ran down the street to a house at the end of the block, then stuffed the bag into the trash bin on the curb. She couldn’t risk Peter finding out yet.
At work, she was distracted, but they were slow, so no one said anything. On break, she found herself in the maternity ward, standing outside the nursery window and peering in at the newborn babies. She had always wanted children, still did.
Just not with Peter, she admitted to herself.
Allowing herself to daydream for a moment, she envisioned a little boy with blue eyes, dark hair, striking features and an infectious laugh. She pictured a younger version of John, and her heart ached.
A sob bubbled up in her throat. She placed a hand protectively over her abdomen. She had always hoped to have children with John. She feared the life a child would have being raised by Peter.
The sudden urge to talk to John almost overwhelmed her. She needed advice. She needed him.
She decided she would call him later. She still had his number, whether it worked, she didn’t know. But if she could just hear his voice, maybe she could decide what to do.