Your Green Baby and You
Title: Your Green Baby and You
Rating: Teen - some swearing (it’s Rissa) and a bit of body talk
Spoilers: None
Characters: Clarissa Chandler, Robert Austen
Length: 950 words
Summary: Robbie has a pre-natal panic attack and goes to exactly the wrong person for advice.
Author’s Notes: Happy baby shower to Cait! This was supposed to be a little fun cracky drabble that got wildly out of hand (of course) and turned kind of melancholic, but happy. Ish. I hope it turns out as silly and sweet as I intended, and not insensitive or trite.
It’s been a while since I’ve written for these guys, so apologies especially to Cait if Robbie is hideously out of character. Set somewhere in the middle of the last chapter; Rissa’s pregnant with the twins and Robbie hasn’t had Clover yet.
oOo
“No, really, Clarissa, I insist.” Robbie swatted Rissa’s hands away from the teapot. “You never get this right.”
“Thank the fucking gods.” Rissa collapsed down into her chair. “I know I’m s’posed to be all hostess-ish, but screw your freaky tea to kingdom come and back, Robster. Smells like horse piss.”
“It’s camomile,” Robbie said, scandalised. “It’s supposed to be soothing.”
“So’s a shot or two of vodka, but the lump here doesn’t take too kindly to that sort of thing, apparently. Or so Theo tells me.” Rissa poked idly at a teacup. “Can’t even have much coffee. Being pregnant sucks.”
“Yes. Well.” Robbie picked up the cup and turned it idly in his hands, tracing the pattern with a finger. “That really is the crux of why I asked to come over.”
“What, we having a complaint session? You need me to call Bee, ask her about her puffy ankles and weird cravings too? Oh, we could compare stretch marks, because that never gets old.” Rissa sighed and rolled her eyes to the ceiling in disgust. “I swear, Theo’s carryin’ the next one, because holy hell the stretch marks. Lissie’s been joinin’ them up with a Sharpie to make pictures. Did a pretty good giraffe yesterday.”
Robbie glared at Rissa. “We are not having a complaint session, Clarissa. We are having a Robbie is having a mental breakdown session.”
Rissa raised a sceptical eyebrow. “You look fine to me.”
“I am anything but fine.” Robbie delicately set the teacup aside, surreptitiously checked the tabletop for crumbs, and laid his forehead on the cool surface. “I don’t know how this works,” he moaned, voice becoming suspiciously watery.
Rissa immediately leaped out of her seat and regretted it when her ankles protested. “Oh, no. Not a chance, Robbie, you are not going to do this to me, y’hear? Sit up, drink your tea, do anythin’ but fuckin’ freak out.”
Robbie choked on a sniffle that was most definitely not turning into a sob. “I’m a man, Rissa. I have male parts. I shouldn’t be in this situation.”
“Ah, shit. That’s just the hormones talkin’, Robbie. Hell, I was cryin’ over a bowl of cereal this morning and I still have no freakin’ idea why.” Awkwardly, Rissa reached out and patted Robbie’s hand. “Uh, there there?”
“Not helping,” Robbie mumbled damply into the table.
“Look, Renaissance Boy…”
“Regency.”
“Whatever. You want a shoulder to cry on, you go bug Bee or Cee or someone else who uses a letter for their first name. You want to get your butt kicked, you’re in the right place.” Rissa stood and glowered at Robbie, arms akimbo. “You need to get your useless ass to the clinic in the city and get yourself a fucking pamphlet.”
This startling statement seemed to yank Robbie out of his miserable reverie. “A what?” he choked.
“Haven’t you ever seen them? Bright, colourful, cheery titles like Your Green Baby and You, and What To Do When You’re Up The Duff Without An Exit Strategy. See, the ‘exit strategy’ being a euphemism for a woman’s…”
“I can guess what it is a euphemism for, Clarissa,” Robbie said very swiftly.
“Yeah, well if you can’t handle talking about va-jay-jays and such, then how the fuck was I supposed to?” Rissa smacked the back of Robbie’s head. “Ass.”
“I must admit I panicked. Am panicking.” Robbie sighed and raised his head from the table. “And what do I do when I actually have a child?”
“You’re gonna love its little green soul to tiny bits, that’s what you’ll do. Put it in pantaloons and call it Forsyth or Heliotrope and adore it to pieces.” Rissa sat back down, nodding sagely. “That’s kind of the best bit, but if you ever repeat it to anyone I am going to hunt you down and rip off your…”
“Thank you, Clarissa.”
“Whatever. Sure, I bitch about swollen ankles and stretchmarks, same as any other walking talking gestation room, but when you actually have the kid…” Rissa glanced upwards towards Lisbeth’s room. “They’re kind of the be-all and end-all.”
“I see. And the fact that my child will be green…?”
Baffled, Rissa stared blankly at Robbie. “Does that matter?”
“It will to some,” Robbie fretted, twisting his hands fretfully.
“Then you send them to the kid’s Auntie Rissa and she will kick them to kingdom come, provided she isn’t knocked up again,” Rissa said firmly. “Kids’ve got enough worrying to do about life without idiots quibbling over what colour they are.” She reached over and took Robbie’s hands. “Yeah, you’re gonna keep worrying about everything ever for the rest of your life. Hell, I’m still having fucking kittens over the fact that Lissie hasn’t opened her damn mouth yet, but maybe that’s just her. I don’t know. But the worrying’s worth it, Robbie.”
“You’re sure.” It wasn’t exactly a question, but Rissa answered it anyway.
“Would I ever lie to you, Robbie? Dye your hair pink, sure, but lie? Not my thing.” Rissa cracked a smile. “So, you go to the clinic, you get a nice, scary doctor who uses big words to help you get your shit sorted, and you have this baby. And you deal.”
“You make it sound so easy,” Robbie mumbled, finally letting a small, fond smile of his own peek through.
“I have a way with breaking things down into idiot-speak,” Rissa said cheerfully. “Now, come on. Your camembert stew’s getting cold.”
“It’s camomile,” Robbie said tiredly.
Rissa, of course, just shrugged. “But I was close, right? See, I’m learning.”
Robbie let out a snort that might have almost been a laugh and drank his tea. It was getting cold.
Rating: Teen - some swearing (it’s Rissa) and a bit of body talk
Spoilers: None
Characters: Clarissa Chandler, Robert Austen
Length: 950 words
Summary: Robbie has a pre-natal panic attack and goes to exactly the wrong person for advice.
Author’s Notes: Happy baby shower to Cait! This was supposed to be a little fun cracky drabble that got wildly out of hand (of course) and turned kind of melancholic, but happy. Ish. I hope it turns out as silly and sweet as I intended, and not insensitive or trite.
It’s been a while since I’ve written for these guys, so apologies especially to Cait if Robbie is hideously out of character. Set somewhere in the middle of the last chapter; Rissa’s pregnant with the twins and Robbie hasn’t had Clover yet.
oOo
“No, really, Clarissa, I insist.” Robbie swatted Rissa’s hands away from the teapot. “You never get this right.”
“Thank the fucking gods.” Rissa collapsed down into her chair. “I know I’m s’posed to be all hostess-ish, but screw your freaky tea to kingdom come and back, Robster. Smells like horse piss.”
“It’s camomile,” Robbie said, scandalised. “It’s supposed to be soothing.”
“So’s a shot or two of vodka, but the lump here doesn’t take too kindly to that sort of thing, apparently. Or so Theo tells me.” Rissa poked idly at a teacup. “Can’t even have much coffee. Being pregnant sucks.”
“Yes. Well.” Robbie picked up the cup and turned it idly in his hands, tracing the pattern with a finger. “That really is the crux of why I asked to come over.”
“What, we having a complaint session? You need me to call Bee, ask her about her puffy ankles and weird cravings too? Oh, we could compare stretch marks, because that never gets old.” Rissa sighed and rolled her eyes to the ceiling in disgust. “I swear, Theo’s carryin’ the next one, because holy hell the stretch marks. Lissie’s been joinin’ them up with a Sharpie to make pictures. Did a pretty good giraffe yesterday.”
Robbie glared at Rissa. “We are not having a complaint session, Clarissa. We are having a Robbie is having a mental breakdown session.”
Rissa raised a sceptical eyebrow. “You look fine to me.”
“I am anything but fine.” Robbie delicately set the teacup aside, surreptitiously checked the tabletop for crumbs, and laid his forehead on the cool surface. “I don’t know how this works,” he moaned, voice becoming suspiciously watery.
Rissa immediately leaped out of her seat and regretted it when her ankles protested. “Oh, no. Not a chance, Robbie, you are not going to do this to me, y’hear? Sit up, drink your tea, do anythin’ but fuckin’ freak out.”
Robbie choked on a sniffle that was most definitely not turning into a sob. “I’m a man, Rissa. I have male parts. I shouldn’t be in this situation.”
“Ah, shit. That’s just the hormones talkin’, Robbie. Hell, I was cryin’ over a bowl of cereal this morning and I still have no freakin’ idea why.” Awkwardly, Rissa reached out and patted Robbie’s hand. “Uh, there there?”
“Not helping,” Robbie mumbled damply into the table.
“Look, Renaissance Boy…”
“Regency.”
“Whatever. You want a shoulder to cry on, you go bug Bee or Cee or someone else who uses a letter for their first name. You want to get your butt kicked, you’re in the right place.” Rissa stood and glowered at Robbie, arms akimbo. “You need to get your useless ass to the clinic in the city and get yourself a fucking pamphlet.”
This startling statement seemed to yank Robbie out of his miserable reverie. “A what?” he choked.
“Haven’t you ever seen them? Bright, colourful, cheery titles like Your Green Baby and You, and What To Do When You’re Up The Duff Without An Exit Strategy. See, the ‘exit strategy’ being a euphemism for a woman’s…”
“I can guess what it is a euphemism for, Clarissa,” Robbie said very swiftly.
“Yeah, well if you can’t handle talking about va-jay-jays and such, then how the fuck was I supposed to?” Rissa smacked the back of Robbie’s head. “Ass.”
“I must admit I panicked. Am panicking.” Robbie sighed and raised his head from the table. “And what do I do when I actually have a child?”
“You’re gonna love its little green soul to tiny bits, that’s what you’ll do. Put it in pantaloons and call it Forsyth or Heliotrope and adore it to pieces.” Rissa sat back down, nodding sagely. “That’s kind of the best bit, but if you ever repeat it to anyone I am going to hunt you down and rip off your…”
“Thank you, Clarissa.”
“Whatever. Sure, I bitch about swollen ankles and stretchmarks, same as any other walking talking gestation room, but when you actually have the kid…” Rissa glanced upwards towards Lisbeth’s room. “They’re kind of the be-all and end-all.”
“I see. And the fact that my child will be green…?”
Baffled, Rissa stared blankly at Robbie. “Does that matter?”
“It will to some,” Robbie fretted, twisting his hands fretfully.
“Then you send them to the kid’s Auntie Rissa and she will kick them to kingdom come, provided she isn’t knocked up again,” Rissa said firmly. “Kids’ve got enough worrying to do about life without idiots quibbling over what colour they are.” She reached over and took Robbie’s hands. “Yeah, you’re gonna keep worrying about everything ever for the rest of your life. Hell, I’m still having fucking kittens over the fact that Lissie hasn’t opened her damn mouth yet, but maybe that’s just her. I don’t know. But the worrying’s worth it, Robbie.”
“You’re sure.” It wasn’t exactly a question, but Rissa answered it anyway.
“Would I ever lie to you, Robbie? Dye your hair pink, sure, but lie? Not my thing.” Rissa cracked a smile. “So, you go to the clinic, you get a nice, scary doctor who uses big words to help you get your shit sorted, and you have this baby. And you deal.”
“You make it sound so easy,” Robbie mumbled, finally letting a small, fond smile of his own peek through.
“I have a way with breaking things down into idiot-speak,” Rissa said cheerfully. “Now, come on. Your camembert stew’s getting cold.”
“It’s camomile,” Robbie said tiredly.
Rissa, of course, just shrugged. “But I was close, right? See, I’m learning.”
Robbie let out a snort that might have almost been a laugh and drank his tea. It was getting cold.