It's A BAMF (5/?)
Title: It's A BAMF
Character/Pairing: Taylor/Wash
Word Count: 1,246 for this chapter
Genre: Romance, Humor
Rating: T
Spoiler Alert: Season 1
Summary: She wasn't pregnant. There was no way. She didn't care how many knowing looks her husband gave her, forty year olds Didn't have babies.
Author's Note: THIS. This is pure, sugary, cavity-inducing sweetness. Like seriously. I think I need a filling or two just from writing it. And I FINALLY made myself a twitter! So if you've got any story suggestions or you feel like reading about my fangirling or my love of Bruce Lee and Mozart, follow me @TheMightyBeeBee. I follow back :) Enjoy!
OH! And I don't own Terra Nova. On with the fic.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
She realizes she's showing two weeks later.
Her day had been longer than most, with Nathaniel being OTG and her having to endure her weekly visit with Elizabeth and a day in the Command Center with Shannon (who refused to stop calling himself Uncle Jim whenever he was around her) without him.
Fortunately for her, her husband was due back that night, and the walk from the Command Center to her home hadn't been slowed down by any congratulating colonists (the amount of hugs she's received has gone down considerably since the week before, when a certain heavyset bar owner got an elbow to the gut for getting a tad too friendly with his well wishes).
Alicia stepped into her and Nathaniel's quarters and beelined it to the bathroom, planning on showering before she began her ritual of waiting for him to come home; she could never sleep when he was outside the gates anyway.
Upon entering the bathroom, she immediately goes to the shower and turns the hot water to full blast, and then moves to undress while the water heats up. A heavy sigh escapes her as she takes off her jacket, feeling every bit of the day's aggravation. She removes her boots and socks quickly, almost itching to get under the hot spray and allow it to sooth away her tension.
She unbuckles her belt and smirks inwardly at the loose fit of her fatigues. She'd taken to wearing her pants a few sizes larger since finding out about her pregnancy; there was no way she was going to wake up one morning and find herself fighting to get her pants on. She'd be damned if she gave Nathaniel the pleasure of witnessing that particular scenario. She pulls off her fatigues, her panties in tow, and kicks them over to rest with her boots.
She tugs her tank over her head and tosses it onto the pile as well, thankful that she wasn't wearing a bra. Her breasts had grown extremely tender over the past few weeks and were painfully sensitive, so her bras lay forgotten in her dresser, and her breasts were deemed off limits until further notice, much to Nathaniel's dismay.
She reaches up to release her hair from its ponytail and sighs again, closing her eyes, when she does; she shakes her head and allows her black tresses to fall over her back and shoulders.
She moves to place her hair tie on the counter, looks up and finds herself staring at herself in the mirror, captivated.
It's nothing she hasn't done before, she's often found herself staring at her reflection, fingers brushing over the three tell-tale scars on her torso, reliving Somalia through her mind's eye with a grim feeling of reverence over the fact that she was still alive, but that certainly isn't what's caught her interest this time.
The scars are still there, but it's the small bump in her abdomen that has her rooted to the tiles beneath her feet, her mouth slightly agape.
One of her hands automatically moves down to rest over her womb, and she swears she can feel a faint flutter of life beneath her fingers.
Her child has existed for 17 weeks, she's known of its existence for the past 7, and the colony has known for the past 2. She's seen images of her child on sonograms every week for 7 weeks, and she's heard it's heartbeat with her own two ears, but nothing compares to this.
Physical evidence of the child growing inside her, of the life she and Nathaniel created, that she can see and touch with her own two hands instead of through a monitor or a sonogram printout makes it all feel so much more concrete.
It feels real now.
Her fingertips lightly brush over the scar of the wound that was supposed to render her infertile, and she laughs to herself at the irony. Of course the child of Alicia Washington and Nathaniel Taylor would be the one to defy odds and logistics with its conception alone.
She expects her fears from the beginning to come crashing down on her again, to remind her of all the reasons why she can't do this, why she's crazy for ever entertaining the possibility that she could, but they don't come.
After the initial shock wears off, all she feels is joy; an all-encompassing feeling of happiness that sets her smiling a wide, watery, un-Wash like smile, tears stinging behind her eyes.
She's perfectly aware that this is not like her at all, standing naked in front of a mirror, grinning like mad with tears in her eyes, but she blames it on the hormones and gives herself permission to enjoy the moment.
Alicia's so wrapped up in her euphoria that she doesn't hear her front door open, nor does she hear the booted footsteps approaching the bathroom. Only when she sees a figure leaning in the doorway in the corner of her eye does she notice her husband's presence.
She turns to look at him, finds him staring at her with folded arms and smiling eyes, and nearly blushes, instantly taming her smile. Being bare to his gaze is nothing new, but her almost goofy grin and misty eyes are new to both of them. She feels more than a little embarrassed at being caught looking so blissfully girly.
"You're home early." She starts softly, not moving from her place in front of the mirror but automatically eyeing him from head to toe, checking for any visible injuries. She mentally sighs in relief when she finds none.
Nathaniel shrugs before he answers, "We got the job done early." He pushes himself off the doorframe and takes quick, fluid strides toward her. She feels his eyes roving over her, but there's no hunger in his gaze. Desire, yes, but not the heat she usually finds there when she's in such a state of undress.
"What?" She questions after a few moments of being under his silent scrutiny.
His eyes land on hers and fix themselves there, a faint smile tugging at his lips, adoration clear in his eyes.
"You're glowing, Wash." His voice is soft, almost a whisper, and that warm, fuzzy feeling floods her insides again at the words. She welcomes it this time and allows the goofy grin to slowly return to her face without a fight.
He pulls her into his arms, her completely naked, him still fully clothed and covered in filth, and she lets him; buries her face into the crook of his neck before he can see her eyes growing misty again.
She's completely aware of the fact that this is out of character for her, that under normal circumstances, she'd roll her eyes at the cheesiness of his words and order him to shower before he made any attempts to embrace her. She knows that the grin on her face and tears in her eyes are completely out of the ordinary, and she should at least make an attempt to school her expression into something less disgustingly girly.
But she doesn't. She clings to her husband, relishes in the feeling of his strong arms around her smaller frame, despite the grime he's covered in. Allows the damnable smile to stay on her face, and closes her eyes against the happy tears that are threatening to spill.
Again, she blames it on the hormones and allows herself to enjoy the moment.
Character/Pairing: Taylor/Wash
Word Count: 1,246 for this chapter
Genre: Romance, Humor
Rating: T
Spoiler Alert: Season 1
Summary: She wasn't pregnant. There was no way. She didn't care how many knowing looks her husband gave her, forty year olds Didn't have babies.
Author's Note: THIS. This is pure, sugary, cavity-inducing sweetness. Like seriously. I think I need a filling or two just from writing it. And I FINALLY made myself a twitter! So if you've got any story suggestions or you feel like reading about my fangirling or my love of Bruce Lee and Mozart, follow me @TheMightyBeeBee. I follow back :) Enjoy!
OH! And I don't own Terra Nova. On with the fic.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
She realizes she's showing two weeks later.
Her day had been longer than most, with Nathaniel being OTG and her having to endure her weekly visit with Elizabeth and a day in the Command Center with Shannon (who refused to stop calling himself Uncle Jim whenever he was around her) without him.
Fortunately for her, her husband was due back that night, and the walk from the Command Center to her home hadn't been slowed down by any congratulating colonists (the amount of hugs she's received has gone down considerably since the week before, when a certain heavyset bar owner got an elbow to the gut for getting a tad too friendly with his well wishes).
Alicia stepped into her and Nathaniel's quarters and beelined it to the bathroom, planning on showering before she began her ritual of waiting for him to come home; she could never sleep when he was outside the gates anyway.
Upon entering the bathroom, she immediately goes to the shower and turns the hot water to full blast, and then moves to undress while the water heats up. A heavy sigh escapes her as she takes off her jacket, feeling every bit of the day's aggravation. She removes her boots and socks quickly, almost itching to get under the hot spray and allow it to sooth away her tension.
She unbuckles her belt and smirks inwardly at the loose fit of her fatigues. She'd taken to wearing her pants a few sizes larger since finding out about her pregnancy; there was no way she was going to wake up one morning and find herself fighting to get her pants on. She'd be damned if she gave Nathaniel the pleasure of witnessing that particular scenario. She pulls off her fatigues, her panties in tow, and kicks them over to rest with her boots.
She tugs her tank over her head and tosses it onto the pile as well, thankful that she wasn't wearing a bra. Her breasts had grown extremely tender over the past few weeks and were painfully sensitive, so her bras lay forgotten in her dresser, and her breasts were deemed off limits until further notice, much to Nathaniel's dismay.
She reaches up to release her hair from its ponytail and sighs again, closing her eyes, when she does; she shakes her head and allows her black tresses to fall over her back and shoulders.
She moves to place her hair tie on the counter, looks up and finds herself staring at herself in the mirror, captivated.
It's nothing she hasn't done before, she's often found herself staring at her reflection, fingers brushing over the three tell-tale scars on her torso, reliving Somalia through her mind's eye with a grim feeling of reverence over the fact that she was still alive, but that certainly isn't what's caught her interest this time.
The scars are still there, but it's the small bump in her abdomen that has her rooted to the tiles beneath her feet, her mouth slightly agape.
One of her hands automatically moves down to rest over her womb, and she swears she can feel a faint flutter of life beneath her fingers.
Her child has existed for 17 weeks, she's known of its existence for the past 7, and the colony has known for the past 2. She's seen images of her child on sonograms every week for 7 weeks, and she's heard it's heartbeat with her own two ears, but nothing compares to this.
Physical evidence of the child growing inside her, of the life she and Nathaniel created, that she can see and touch with her own two hands instead of through a monitor or a sonogram printout makes it all feel so much more concrete.
It feels real now.
Her fingertips lightly brush over the scar of the wound that was supposed to render her infertile, and she laughs to herself at the irony. Of course the child of Alicia Washington and Nathaniel Taylor would be the one to defy odds and logistics with its conception alone.
She expects her fears from the beginning to come crashing down on her again, to remind her of all the reasons why she can't do this, why she's crazy for ever entertaining the possibility that she could, but they don't come.
After the initial shock wears off, all she feels is joy; an all-encompassing feeling of happiness that sets her smiling a wide, watery, un-Wash like smile, tears stinging behind her eyes.
She's perfectly aware that this is not like her at all, standing naked in front of a mirror, grinning like mad with tears in her eyes, but she blames it on the hormones and gives herself permission to enjoy the moment.
Alicia's so wrapped up in her euphoria that she doesn't hear her front door open, nor does she hear the booted footsteps approaching the bathroom. Only when she sees a figure leaning in the doorway in the corner of her eye does she notice her husband's presence.
She turns to look at him, finds him staring at her with folded arms and smiling eyes, and nearly blushes, instantly taming her smile. Being bare to his gaze is nothing new, but her almost goofy grin and misty eyes are new to both of them. She feels more than a little embarrassed at being caught looking so blissfully girly.
"You're home early." She starts softly, not moving from her place in front of the mirror but automatically eyeing him from head to toe, checking for any visible injuries. She mentally sighs in relief when she finds none.
Nathaniel shrugs before he answers, "We got the job done early." He pushes himself off the doorframe and takes quick, fluid strides toward her. She feels his eyes roving over her, but there's no hunger in his gaze. Desire, yes, but not the heat she usually finds there when she's in such a state of undress.
"What?" She questions after a few moments of being under his silent scrutiny.
His eyes land on hers and fix themselves there, a faint smile tugging at his lips, adoration clear in his eyes.
"You're glowing, Wash." His voice is soft, almost a whisper, and that warm, fuzzy feeling floods her insides again at the words. She welcomes it this time and allows the goofy grin to slowly return to her face without a fight.
He pulls her into his arms, her completely naked, him still fully clothed and covered in filth, and she lets him; buries her face into the crook of his neck before he can see her eyes growing misty again.
She's completely aware of the fact that this is out of character for her, that under normal circumstances, she'd roll her eyes at the cheesiness of his words and order him to shower before he made any attempts to embrace her. She knows that the grin on her face and tears in her eyes are completely out of the ordinary, and she should at least make an attempt to school her expression into something less disgustingly girly.
But she doesn't. She clings to her husband, relishes in the feeling of his strong arms around her smaller frame, despite the grime he's covered in. Allows the damnable smile to stay on her face, and closes her eyes against the happy tears that are threatening to spill.
Again, she blames it on the hormones and allows herself to enjoy the moment.