FIC: Nobody Is Perfect
man i missed you guys.
Title: Nobody is Perfect
Pairing: Greg/Jen
Rating: 17+ sex and swearing and shouting and all that jazz
Feedback: = <3
Word Count: 6,481
Disclaimer: The people are real, but what happens is unlikely. Also, no money was made doing this, though i am open to the idea :P
Summary: Nobody is perfect, that's for sure. Sometimes these imperfections have a bigger impact than others.
“Bye Greg, see you later!” She calls brightly, giving her husband a wave down their neat drive as he heads to a taping of TJVP filming for the day. He smiles, blowing her a kiss, and she remembers what he said that morning.
“Jennifer...I’ve been thinking…isn’t our life just about perfect?” And she’d looked at him, puzzled. “Well, I mean, as perfect as imperfect can get…there’s no such thing as perfect really…” he scowled playfully as Jennifer tried to hide her chuckle, exclaiming “You know what I mean!” and she’d thrown a pillow at him, laughing, but had agreed with him. He’d leant over, kissing her tenderly, breathing gentle words of affection in her ear before sliding out of bed to shower and dress for work.
Jennifer sighs, making sure he’s definitely left before turning and heading straight to the bathroom of their little old 2 bedroom villa. She smiles as she passes the portrait in the hallway of Greg that she’d painted for his 50th birthday only last year. He’d immediately hung it up on the wall. She laughs as she remembers he had bruised his thumb with the hammer while holding the nail against the crisp white stucco, how he’d whined and she’d taken care of him, kissing it better, all the while still teasing that he was hardly the most macho of D.I.Y men
“But you love me right?” he‘d said, dark chocolate puppy eyes gazing up at her from the sofa. She‘d nodded and kissed him, assuring him she loved him just as he was, happy to nurse him better. They’d always taken care of each other like that.
Locking the door (in case Greg did come back) Jennifer slides the rectangular box out of her pants pocket, eyeing it with nervous hazel eyes. She slowly and carefully opens the fragile cardboard, deliberate and gradual so not to damage its contents. Unfolding the instructions tentatively with her slender fingers she reads them thrice before finally carrying them out, praying that the result of the pregnancy test will be negative.
She’d weighed up all the options in her mind; flu, low blood sugar, exhaustion, before finally considering the unlikely event, the minute chance, she was pregnant. It was possible she knew, condoms can snap without either of them noticing. It didn’t even have to snap all the way, they were only ninety-nine percent effective. She could be that unlucky one percent. But that was one of those things that happened in soaps, those recyclable story lines as she had called them, making Greg laugh at her scorn. Now the pregnancy scare story was happening to her. Taking her time to wash her hands in the vain hope they’d stop shaking the cleaner they were Jennifer closes her eyes, willing the negative result.
Slowly, gingerly she lifts the test off the countertop, heart falling, and world crumbling at the sight of the tiny blue plus sign. Sinking to the floor Jennifer cries quietly, not even noticing hitting her side on the porcelain white of the sink. This could not be happening, simply couldn’t. The ‘scare’ was now a full blown fact, staring her in the face, unable to be ignored any longer. Suddenly she begins to retch, leaning over the toilet bowl. Morning sickness. It had happened yesterday too, and the day before that. Greg had heard, and immediately panicked. Jennifer spent most of the morning then reassuring him as much as herself it was all going to be fine.
Jennifer falls back, bitter vile taste in her mouth, still crying, head pounding. This would ruin everything, Greg’s words from that morning ringing loud in her ears again. Shuffling to her feet, rinsing out her mouth and washing her face Jennifer makes her way back to their bedroom to tidy up, calmly and quietly smoothing down their duvet, folding Greg’s pyjamas and slipping them under his pillow, the very one she tossed at him earlier, all the while knowing what she’ll have to do: she’ll have to get rid of it.
****
Greg smiles at Jennifer, cuddling into his wife happily, sipping at his red wine, soft music in the background - Jennifer’s Nick Drake record, he could see she was stressing over something. Mentally he wonders why Jennifer declined a glass, but deciding not to pressure her, maybe she just didn’t want any tonight.
“Thank you for a delicious dinner honey” he says, kissing her forehead. Jennifer smiles, pleased. Cooking was one of her refuges from troubled thoughts, always had been and always will. Mixing ingredients in a hot kitchen, creating something exciting and enticing, always left her calmer and happier. Especially when Greg joined in, then she could tease him about his lesser cooking skills, winding him up purposely on how to chop up vegetables or herbs, how to drain pasta more efficiently and how to flip the fish when it’s being grilled in such a way it doesn’t break up.
Now, after all that, they sit together quietly in their warm lounge, fire crackling in the antique black fire place, terracotta tiles glinting from their fresh polish - cleaning is another stress reliever for Jennifer, who isn’t naturally neat. Greg strokes her hair gently in an absent minded manner, affectionate as always, enjoying the calm stillness that falls over them. Jennifer bites her lip, looking down suddenly, thinking ‘if there were a baby here there would be no quiet, no still moments like this.’ She quickly pushes the concept from her mind, huddling into Greg, breathing in his comforting smell and hearing his slow steady heartbeat through his ribs as she rests her head on his chest.
“You ok honey? You’ve been acting strange all evening.” Jennifer nods, swallowing the lump in her throat.
“Fine. Just daydreaming.” Greg chuckles,
“You’re such a funny little thing, my dreamer wife” he says fondly, “So what did you do today besides cook wonderful food my love?” he asks, playing with her silky hair. Jennifer flushes, panicking for a moment before remembering
“I went to check on the progress of your new album” she says, “its sounding good, and looking it too I might add”
“That’s because you designed it baby, no wonder!” he grins, “What would I do without my beautiful organised wife to see over everything huh?” He beams, but the compliment does not detract from her obvious blush. He frowns slightly, but lets it go. “You sure it was me you were listening to, number one critic?” he jokes. Jennifer laughs and relaxes back into him again, feeling safer, ignoring tomorrows task looming over her, as Greg will again be out filming, she’ll be left to take care of this herself.
“Yes, it was definitely you” she says softly.
“Well it wouldn’t have happened without you Jennifer, you’re perfect.” He breathes in her ear.
“I thought there was no such thing as perfect Mr Proops?” she challenges, raising an eyebrow. Greg blinks, floored for a moment.
“Well, your imperfections make you perfect to me.” He says with a triumphant grin, sipping his wine again. Jennifer sighs, nuzzling into him contentedly.
Greg kisses her softly, hands running down her body slowly and tenderly,
“Bedtime pookie” he breathes, grinning at her. Jennifer gazes at him apprehensively, small knot in her stomach at that knowing smile. She looked it up earlier; she can still have sex, but what if Greg feels it? Surely he’s bound to notice something different. Yet she takes his hand, following him upstairs, returning each gentle kiss with equal love, making her shiver with pleasure. Greg scoops her up, noting she feels slightly heavier but doesn’t look it, of course not really considering a reason other than his own ineptitude, ‘Gym time for you Proops’ he reasons, laying her gently on the bed, angling his kisses down her neck, over all the sweet spots set to make her moan, nipping affectionately. Slowly, reluctantly she slides her hands through his hair, tugging in a way she knows he loves with a happy moan. Peeling her blouse off Greg pauses, eye caught by the bruise over her side,
“Baby how’d you get that?” he asks, kissing it softly as she lies back.
“Oh, I slipped in the bathroom this morning. Its ok Greg, don’t worry” she smiles slightly, stroking his cheek.
“You sure darling? You’ve been acting off for a few days now” he tucks a stray coil of hair behind her ear, gazing down at her, soft chocolate eyes full of concern for her.
“I’m alright, just been feeling a bit…under the weather you could say.” Jennifer replies quietly but firmly. Greg nods, taking her words, trusting her as he kisses over her slender body, pushing the thought of her hiding something out of his head.
“Have you been doing sit ups baby? Your stomach is like a rock” he comments, gazing up at her. Jennifer blushes once more,
“Yeah, just a few” she says jokingly, not giving the real explanation.
“I like it” Greg growls softly, pressing himself to her. Jennifer whimpers slightly but shakes her head, the fear he’ll notice a change, or feel something different completely overwhelming. Greg stops, worried look in his dark eyes,
“Jennifer…?”
“Maybe I’m not feeling so good.” She says quietly. Greg groans lightly,
“How ‘bout I go real slow baby? Please?” He gazes at her needily, “I love you” She nods tentatively, lying back again,
“Ok, let’s try that” she says quietly, nerves growing,
“I’d never force you honey, you sure?” he asks, feeling guilty now. Jennifer nods, mind made up, kissing him softly. A refusal would attract more attention to her health.
As he slips slowly into her she gasps, forgetting momentarily the baby in favour of pure pleasure, grateful of having such a slow, gentle lover like Greg with his gradual thrusts, treating her like a china doll made of porcelain. Greg gazes at her worriedly, one hand trailing the curve of her slender body, the other brushing her long hair from her damp forehead as they rock slowly together in Greg’s tender rhythm.
“I’m not hurting am I baby? You still ok?” he queries, concerned. Jennifer nods, smiling and moaning lightly at the slowly stimulating pleasure.
“Oh Greg…” Greg nods, groaning loudly as he approaches his peak, waiting for his wife. As she climaxes Greg lets himself go too, shuddering with pleasure. Jennifer falls back, panting and slowly recovering. No screaming agony, no Spanish inquisition like she’d feared, Greg didn’t notice a thing. She simply feels the same intense pleasure running through her, the same starry vision and tingling ecstasy Greg always gives her, and at the end, the same loving kiss from him. Greg cuddles into her, lying beside her.
“I love you so much” he breathes softly for what seems like the thousandth time. “I could never stand to lose you.” Jennifer buries her head in his chest suddenly, eyes prickling with tears.
“You promise?” she croaks, hazel eyes wide and watery as she blinks up at him.
“Hey baby…shh…” he breathes, wrapping his arms tight around her “of course I promise that, you’re my entire world Jennifer” he soothes gently, “You wanna tell me what’s eating you?”
“N-nothing Greg, just being silly” Jennifer mumbles into his shoulder. Greg sighs worriedly, stroking her hair and breathing comforting things in her ear until she falls asleep.
“I just want to make it better darling” he whispers in her ear, and she winds herself nearer to him in her sleep, other hand clutched over her stomach, as Greg drifts to sleep himself.
****
Jennifer tentatively steps into the pharmacy, casual as she can manage. She’d spent the entire morning ‘psyching herself up’ as Greg would say, trying to will herself into it, finally making it out the house and down the street. ‘No turning back now’ she thinks to herself, pushing her sunglasses onto her forehead. Originally Jennifer had contemplated wearing baggy clothes, arranging her hair differently, but had changed her mind almost immediately; sometimes the best disguise was none at all. So she was wearing her favourite leather jacket, and skinny jeans, coupled with the boots Greg bought her as a gift on their anniversary. She hadn’t wanted to wear them, feeling it was a betrayal to wear a gift of his when committing such a devious act. Now here, nonchalantly as she can, Jennifer reads the back of a box she’d seen recommended as the best, ‘up to 24 days!’ and ‘low risk guaranteed!’ plastered in red over the gaudy label with a scary, alien sounding name. Yet when flipping over and inspecting the label Jennifer sees the whole host of risks included that the cover didn’t mention. Finally she picks one, hastily approaching the counter with it. She never thought she’d be doing this. She can’t quite meet the cashier’s eyes, every movement feeling disgusting and deceitful. She hands over her money with shaking fingers, walking out of the store, jamming the box into her bag before the label can be read.
As she walks home Jennifer slips her sunglasses back down, wiping away her tears as they slip past the safety of the tinted glass. Glancing up she meets the eye of a mother with a little, denim clad toddler at her side, laughing in the soft sunshine of a California day.
“A baby in LA” she hears Greg’s voice scoff, “Nobody raises children in LA; they just abandon them in the arms of the European nanny while they hammer themselves on booze and wreck cars, their shiny credit card covering all but the damage to the child, who will, ultimately, turn into the same.” At the time she’d nodded and laughed with him, and she still agreed really, it just hit home rather more now. There was no way for them to care for a young child, give it the attention it deserves. They are flying to New York in two weeks, then back to England again, it was ridiculous to expect to cart a baby with them. And besides that, they’d simply not have the energy or patience for it. Greg was already tired, she couldn’t ask of him to then stay up at night with a small child (although he would because he’d insist Jennifer sleep). Jennifer shakes her head, knowing the pill in her handbag is the only real option. She gulps, ducking her head out of sight of the young woman, her eyes feeling like lasers beaming right through Jennifer, sussing her out.
“Don’t tell Greg!” she wants to shout, “Don’t let him know!”
The bright rays of sunshine seem dim to her; fragile and weak, the bustle of the streets more like a roar, angry and harsh; all car horns and sirens. It wasn’t the lively LA she and Greg had become accustomed to and accepted (a little reluctantly) as their home. Now it is a vicious and cruel city, judging her every move as she tries to walk home. Running the last block, heels not stopping her pace, Jennifer rips off her sunglasses, throwing them on the hall table, not noticing them skid along, throwing her handbag too as she gives up restraining her tears. Curling up on the sofa she sobs into the soft fabric, the smell of Greg from that morning lingering; strong coffee and faint cigarettes, and her favourite aftershave. She holds the cushion tight to her chest, beyond tears, sinking into a fitful sleep.
****
Greg opens the door as the sun fades into a surprisingly still and calm LA evening, beam on his face: Largo tonight.
“Jennifer honey?” he calls into the quiet, curious, seeing the sunglasses and handbag, knowing his wife is at home. “…Honey?” his smile falters as her enters their lounge, seeing Jennifer curled up tight on the sofa, cushion gripped tight, the fabric bunching around her thin fingers. Running over he kneels down in front of her,
“Baby…are you alright…?” he breathes softly, sweeping her long, tangled hair back and seeing the tear tracks falling down her cheeks from under closed eyelids. Greg gazes at her, sinking back on his heels, shiny shoes squeaking slightly on the polished wood, utterly at a loss for what could be wrong.
“It’s me…” he sighs, heart sinking, unable to come up with another reason for what could possibly make her so unhappy. “I’m sorry darling for whatever I’ve done…” he whispers, smiling slightly as she curls towards him in her sleep. He kisses her forehead gently, lifting her up into his arms carefully and carrying his wife upstairs with him. Placing her on their bed he eases off her heels, chuckling slightly that she’d forgotten to do that herself ‘Typical Jennifer’, pulling the freshly changed sheets over her.
Whistling to himself Greg changes alone, knowing he’ll have to wait for Jennifer to give him the approval on his combination before they can leave the house. He glances at her every so often, mind still in turmoil at what could make her behave like this, wanting to fix it.
“Jennifer…” he says softly, “honey time to get up again” he shakes her gently, rubbing her arms. Jennifer’s eyes flutter open, gazing around, “hey honey” he says, stroking her hair soothingly. Jennifer jerks and blinks, moment of grace long gone as she remembers everything.
“Oh…sorry I must’ve fallen asleep…oh fuck, dinner. We’ll be late for Largo, I’m so sorry” she tries to jump off the bed but Greg holds her steady, lifting her onto his lap instead and taking her cold hands in his, warming them.
“Jennifer, slow down, we’ve got plenty of time left darling.” He says calmly, “I thought it might be nice to go out for dinner before we go down to the club, what do you think? You look as though you deserve a treat” He suggests, gazing worriedly at her pale little face, tucking a stray tangle of hair behind her ear. She nods slowly,
“Yeah…I’d like that” she says, blushing and feeling foolish. Greg kisses her pink cheeks, relieved to see colour still in her body somewhere.
“What’s wrong Jennifer?” he asks pleadingly, chocolate eyes melting into her hazel ones with their panda black smudged makeup outline, full of concern. “Are you coming down with something honey? I can cancel Largo, it’s not too late.” Jennifer looks at him worriedly, the last thing she wants is to attract attention and get in the way of what he loves doing most; comedy.
“It’s nothing Greg, just hormones, you know.” He places his hand on her forehead, before nodding, accepting her excuse, though still looking very doubtful.
“Ok baby, why don’t you get yourself freshened up then we can head out, yeah?” he says, kissing his wife lovingly. Jennifer smiles and nods, shuffling to her feet and towards the bathroom, leaving Greg to worry in her wake.
****
Jennifer gazes around the quiet restaurant, her favourite one with the soft lighting and authentic cuisine. Yet she pushes her half eaten food around her plate, simply unable to finish it, feeling sick and guilty, knowing intrinsically that Greg is blaming himself for how she’s acting.
“Not hungry?” Greg asks. Jennifer smiles apologetically,
“Sorry…I don’t know what’s come over me today” she says, trying to keep her voice light.
“Don’t be sorry honey, I just worry about you” he says, slipping his hand into hers across the table. Jennifer squeezes his hand tight, lacing her fingers through his, gazing up at him and trying to keep any guilt from her eyes.
“I love you Greg” she says softly, seeing Greg beam brightly.
“I love you Jennifer.” He replies, gazing back, eyes shining in adoration at her, making Jennifer squirm.
****
Greg paces back and forth onstage, in control and on form, pent up frustration released in bursts of acerbic, dry humour as he escapes his fears and problems. Greg usually has an ability to separate reality with stage life, but not today.
“I wanna ask y’all something, something that’s been playing on my mind. How many people know what its like to be cheated on?” Jennifer’s eyes snap up from her glass of water, heart in her throat. There is a soft murmur of bitterness that ripples through the crowd, a consensus of betrayal. “Ah, we’re on the same page, good. Why do they? Are people bad? Are you bad? Was it not meant to be?” He takes a gulp of his drink, resuming pacing. “Why do you forgive them?” He pauses, considering himself for a moment, as the audience hum with reflection. “Because they mean the world to you…” he says softly, forgetting the crowds, talking to himself now.
And as quickly as it had begun, Greg’s worries submerge again. His tangent ceases, heading back to his usual hunting ground, reciting the jokes his wife helped him write, her elegant scrawl of annotations in bright red on his sheet. The ‘home runs’ he’d called them, making her blush and deny it, even though he’d told her so, and keeps telling her so. Because in his mind, Jennifer is as perfect as imperfect can get.
The ride home is quiet, Jennifer’s heart pounding with fear, lost in panicked thought. Greg doesn’t look at her; sure he’s figured it out disbelieving still that she would do such a thing. He knows he’s an asshole, he says it more than her, but never in that sense. He swallows, unsure whether to be angry or hurt, instead going with numb; it’s safer. Yet still he opens the car door for her, laces his fingers in hers as they walk inside. It’s like when you know a storm is coming, the clouds gather and the sky darkens, everything seems grey and cold. That last little ray of sunlight, that ‘Maybe I’m wrong’ fades into the shadows as they walk slowly upstairs. Greg watches as she sinks onto the bed, pale and withdrawn, kneeling in front of her and taking her hands in his.
“Greg…would you forgive me if I did something really terrible?” Greg winces, the question stinging like a proverbial bullet through the heart.
“I’d forgive you anything baby” he breathes, gazing up at her, meaning it. Jennifer sighs, knowing now she must tell him.
“I hope so” she mumbles.
Greg stands up suddenly, letting go of her hands. Here comes the thunder.
“Jennifer if you don’t love me any more just say!” he exclaims, voice rising rapidly, “If it’s someone else tell me! For the love of God, just be fucking honest with me!” Greg yells, unsure how his voice got so loud, but unable to stop it as Jennifer begins to cry. She knew this was coming.
“No! It’s not like that!” she shouts back, suddenly furious, volume matching Greg’s decibel for decibel.
“Then what the hell is it like?! Is it something I’ve done? Should have done? Give me a fucking clue here!” Jennifer stares at him wide eyed, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“I can’t! I just can’t!” She jumps to her feet, hurt and frustration radiating from her. Greg gazes at her for a moment, breathing hard before turning and storming down the stairs. Jennifer runs to the top of the stairs as she hears the door slam, crying harder. Racing down the stairs she stops in the hallway, hearing the car start. “No…” she mumbles tearfully, crying loudly and unabashedly in the dark hallway, seething with hatred, not for Greg but herself. Lashing out her hand makes contact with the solid stone wall in a punch, the crack of her wrist echoing loudly through the silent house on impact, a scream of pain chasing it. Jennifer pauses to draw breath, finding herself facing the same portrait of Greg. “I love you…” she whispers, hoping Greg can somehow hear her, blinking up at him as quiet descends on the house again, waiting for the real Greg to return.
The stillness is broken when Jennifer contorts in fresh agony, not from her wrist but her abdomen. She gasps, the sensation of being stabbed in the stomach bringing fresh tears to her eyes. Hand reaching down she whimpers softly as she gazes through the gloom at her blood caked hand, the dizziness following overwhelming her ability to stay on her feet almost immediately. Jennifer throws out her hand in an attempt to stay up, bloody prints decorating Greg’s face and the once clean white walls with crimson.
“Oh God…” she breathes, sinking to the floor, into the darkness.
****
Greg breathes heavily as he drives, slamming the gears in frustration and confusion, guilt running through him. How could he make her cry like that? ‘I really am a dick’ he reasons sadly. He glances at the clock, he’d been gone all of half an hour, yet it feels much longer. He sighs sadly. If Jennifer has done something wrong surely they could together look beyond it, make things better. There must be something wrong that they can fix together, as a couple, as they should. He sighs, besides that he should apologise to his wife; his caring, loving, beautiful wife, for shouting and storming off like a coward too afraid to face her properly. He turns, heading back home, nervous of what he’ll find, formulating his apology in earnest.
****
Slowly and quietly he opens the door to their dark hallway,
“Jennifer?” he calls softly, “baby?” He sighs; she must have gone back up to bed. Greg is just about to step forwards when he hears a soft sob.
“G-greg?” Greg blinks through the gloom, guilt filling him as he hears her shaky voice. Clicking on the light his apology dies in his throat as he gazes down at his wife. Jennifer lies, curled on their hallway floor, pale and clammy. And covered in blood.
“Holy shit…what happened honey? Are you hurt? Where’s all this blood coming from?” Greg kneels beside her, panicking and tugging off his thick black overcoat, wrapping her up in it. Jennifer moans quietly, shaking her head and clutching her wrist.
“Shh…its ok, I’m here. We’ll get you over to the ER ok baby?” He soothes gently, tucking her tangled hair behind her ears, mopping carefully at her chalk white face all the while having no clue what has happened.
“I’m sorry” Jennifer mumbles, but Greg hushes her firmly,
“No need to be sorry darling, it’s entirely my fault. Let’s just get you down to the hospital.” He lifts her carefully, carrying her out the house and back to the car, trying to hide his panic as all variety of different reasons fill his thoughts, each worse than the last: ‘She fell down the stairs’; ‘She has some sort of disease’; ‘Someone stabbed her’; ‘She did it herself’. Carefully he buckles her into the seat, making sure the jacket is tight around her, hurrying to the driver’s side.
“Baby, tell me what happened, please.” Greg glances at her with fearful eyes as he reverses out the drive, grateful of the sparse traffic at this late hour. Jennifer swallows hard, finally biting the bullet.
“I’m p-pregnant…” she whispers, eyes tight shut in pain. Greg blinks eyes wide with a mix of shock and relief; she’s not stabbed! But… “I didn’t tell you because I was g-gonna get rid of it today…I couldn’t tell you, let you down…” Greg feels his eyes fill with tears, cold hard realisation dawning: their fight had triggered the miscarriage.
“I’m so sorry Jennifer, I shouldn’t have shouted, accused you of all those terrible things. I knew you’d never do them” he garbles frantically “I can make it up to you. I was sure, deep down, that wasn’t you; that I’d got it wrong somehow…” Jennifer twists whimpering as her wrist moves. Greg pauses, “What happened to your wrist?”
“I…punched the wall…” she admits, feeling faint, world spinning.
“Baby stay awake for me,” Greg tells her gently but firmly as they arrive at the hospital. He jumps out scooping her up, carrying her tiny form into the hospital.
“I love you Jennifer, so much” he whispers. Jennifer blinks, whispering the same in reply as the world slips into black.
Greg stares in absolute horror,
“Help, please…my wife…” He says, holding her tight in his arms. He needn’t have bothered, the blood soaked limp form in his arms attracting all the attention of the ER within seconds. He follows instructions mutely, only speaking when spoken to in monotone, as he lays her on the proffered stretcher, following them at a brisk march down the corridor.
“She’s p-pregnant…dunno how long, two or three weeks I think, she only found out yesterday…Jennifer Canaga…48…A-…um, a-about 45 minutes ago…her wrist, I think she broke it, she said she punched the wall…” Greg answers the barrage of questions as best he can, holding her limp unbroken hand tight, praying silently she will wake up safe and sound, that he’ll see her shining hazel eyes, hear her tinkling laugh and see her dazzling smile.
****
Greg paces like a lion in a cage as he waits, panicked and frightened for Jennifer. He wishes someone would just tell him what is going on. He sighs, tugging at his curls in frustration as he falls back into an uncomfortable plastic chair, looking down and shuddering as he sees Jennifer’s blood over his shirt, closing his eyes in an attempt to think it all out slowly, mind sticky and jerky after a long night.
‘She was scared to tell me…so scared she’d rather go through it alone. Jennifer
couldn’t tell me, what does that say about our relationship? I always thought she
could tell me anything. She put my career over everything…her happiness included
because she was so desperate not to jeopardize it. I gotta apologise for so much,
maybe I can make it up to her somehow. …A baby…fuck…’
He rubs his eyes wearily as the dim light of morning creeps through the bustling hospital, a place where night and day merge to one continuous stream of emergencies and care, where it could be 5am or 5pm, it makes no difference to what goes on around him. Shuffling to his feet he grabs a cup of coffee, gulping at the too hot, tasteless liquid in an attempt to keep himself awake. Glancing at his watch it reads 5:16am. 5 hours and not a word from anyone passing about his wife. Greg sinks down into a cold plastic chair, peeling his glasses from his tired eyes, polishing them slowly with his handkerchief for the thousandth time.
“You’ll turn the glass to sand if you keep that up” Jennifer used to say when she saw him doing it, as he did often on their early dates when he was afraid he’d foul it up, and he’d snort and stare for a moment struck dumb by her wit before retorting
“They’re dirty. How can I admire how beautiful you are with unclean glasses?” the smile from her reward enough and they’d laugh together. Slowly he slides them back up his nose, and carefully folds his silk handkerchief back up, smoothing out all the creases and slipping it back into his pocket.
“Mr Proops?” Greg’s head snaps up, staring around frantically, spotting the doctor and jumping up.
“Is she alright? Is Jennifer ok?” he asks hurriedly, trying to read the doctor’s expression with little success.
“Would you like to see her?-“
“She’s alive!” Greg interrupts, relief flooding through him, about ready to kiss the doctor in gratitude.
“Very much so, she’s lost a lot of blood, and yes she did break her wrist, but she should make a full recovery.” Greg beams, happiness and relief radiating through him.
“Can I see her?” he asks pleadingly, seeing the doctor about to object he jumps in again “I won’t wake her, I promise, I just want to sit with her…” Reluctantly the doctor nods and leads him along the corridor “I can’t thank you enough…I don’t know what I’d do without Jennifer…” he says more to himself than the doctor. The doctor stops outside her room, gesturing him inside. Greg pauses, eyes growing wide as he remembers,
“The baby…I didn’t know she was…is it ok?” the doctor gazes at him solemnly,
“We didn’t manage to save it in time I’m afraid sir…I’m sorry. The heavy blood loss resulted in a full miscarriage. Your wife doesn’t know yet, it’s perhaps best you tell her when she’s feeling better.” Greg nods sadly, heading into her room. He gasps softly sinking down in the chair beside her bed, his eyes taking in her pale, still form, brushing her tangled hair back from her face in a tender action.
“My poor baby…” he breathes softly, gazing at her full of guilt. “It’s all my fault…I’m so sorry honey…” he whispers. Jennifer mumbles in her sleep, shifting to his voice. Greg spots the cast over her arm, gingerly stroking her fingers and kissing her forehead, sinking into the creaky plastic chair and stretching his legs out, attempting to sleep now he knows his wife is alright.
****
“Greg…” Greg’s eyes open and he jerks awake at the tiny whisper of his name. He smiles softly, kneeling down by the bed.
“Hey honey, how you feelin’?” he asks, gently smoothing her hair.
“What happened? We fought…and I hit the wall…the baby” Jennifer stops, turning to look up at him. He shakes his head slowly, and Jennifer closes her eyes, fresh tears of confused grief slipping down her white cheeks. Gently Greg envelopes her in his arms, soothing her, his own mixed up feelings shelved for later.
“I’m sorry…” he breathes softly, wiping her tears, “You were too scared to tell me. I never want you to be scared to tell me things honey, you mean everything to me and that’s not fair.” Greg mops her tears carefully with his handkerchief.
“I don’t know how to feel Greg…” she mumbles, “I was going to get rid of it, but now its gone I still feel like I’ve lost someone.” Greg listens silently, unsure what he should be saying to make her feel better. “I mean what if it’d not- if we’d got to discuss maybe keeping it. If I’d come to you sooner this wouldn’t have been so bad. I’ve just been so stupid…I can’t do anything right…” she trails off sadly, curling up small in the cold hospital bed. Greg swallows nervously, completely at a loss for what to do.
“The doctor said you’ll get better” he voices hopefully.
“I don’t care.” Jennifer mutters darkly. Greg runs a hand through his hair worriedly, kissing the top of her head.
“But I do, I need my Jennifer” he says gently. “Talk to me honey, tell me. We’re not having secrets again” he carefully eases her over so he can lie with her on the bed, arms holding her close. Jennifer sighs, resting her head back on his chest, remembering only days before doing this back at home.
“It’s like…I wanted rid of it, you know? We’d never manage to raise a baby, lets face it we’re too old, too impatient and too stuck in our own ways. But if I didn’t want it, how come it still hurts Greg?” she asks sadly.
“I don’t know darling, I don’t know.” He says pained expression on his face “It hurts me too.” She looks up, surprised,
“But you don’t want kids,” she says, confused “Surely this is a good thing?” Greg shakes his head
“No it’s still losing something. I was… coming round to the idea of it” Greg explains softly, “It might’ve been possible. I’ve never thought of myself as a daddy, but I’d never make you do anything you didn’t want.” Jennifer smiles slightly through her tears, feeling oddly comforted that he feels the same way as her.
“Thank you Greg, for telling me that.” She sighs, eyes fluttering closed tiredly. Greg smiles back, stroking her hair.
“We’re going to work it all out together Jennifer, I’ll be right here” he whispers, hugging his wife close, letting her sleep again, strange peace falling over him.
****
Jennifer beams excitedly at the concept of leaving the ugly, impersonal restrictions of her hospital bed, eager to get home, see people and begin her regular life again with her husband. Greg slips his hand into hers, carrying her bag of clothes, her arm still in a cast for several weeks yet. She watches the bright sunshine filled world from the confines of the car as Greg drives them home, wind blowing her shiny hair, taking in all the bright colours and happy sounds that she hadn’t been able to hear for so long, wondering what could have been.
‘What if I’d never got pregnant?
What if I’d told him sooner?
What if we hadn’t fought?
What if the doctors had saved the baby?
What if…’
“There is no point,” Greg says when she voices these thoughts to him as they sit back on the sofa, as they always did, with the fire burning and the soft sunset trickling through the window, making the room glow, “wondering ‘What if’. All you’ll do is torture yourself darling. What happened has happened, and we can only keep going forwards.” She smiles and nods, kissing him softly before gasping.
“Hang on…” she exclaims, jumping up and running to find her handbag, lying forgotten in the hallway. Greg frowns, puzzled as his wife empties the entire contents onto the lounge rug, making him laugh,
“Jesus how much fucking stuff is in there honey?” he grins, teasing. Jennifer smirks, before snatching up the box she purchased from the pharmacy only a week before, still sealed and intact. Greg watches her quietly, immediately nervous for her, not sure what she’ll do now. Jennifer looks up, smiling slightly at his concern,
“It’s ok.” She says gently, taking his hand and pulling him outside. “Greg would you do the honours?” she asks, holding out the box to him and lifting the trashcan lid. Greg nods with a smile, tossing the cardboard into the dark pit. Jennifer slams the lid down defiantly, beaming at him. Greg bites his tongue going to make a joke. Jennifer chuckles slightly, reading his mind; no secrets.
“You know you could recycle that.” Greg says, shaking his head in disgrace at his own humour. “You’ll have to help me with that joke” Jennifer smiles,
“I’d be delighted to.” She breathes.
Greg pulls his wife close, stroking her silk spun hair, her soft hazel eyes catching the sunlight and shining up at him. She smiles at him, cuddling into his chest and seeing the worry fade slowly from his warm eyes, the old twinkle she knows and loves returning, knowing they’ll be alright. Maybe they’ll never get over this, but silently in unison they bridge the gap, kissing each other with renewed and strengthened love, their life once again as perfect as imperfect can be.
Title: Nobody is Perfect
Pairing: Greg/Jen
Rating: 17+ sex and swearing and shouting and all that jazz
Feedback: = <3
Word Count: 6,481
Disclaimer: The people are real, but what happens is unlikely. Also, no money was made doing this, though i am open to the idea :P
Summary: Nobody is perfect, that's for sure. Sometimes these imperfections have a bigger impact than others.
“Bye Greg, see you later!” She calls brightly, giving her husband a wave down their neat drive as he heads to a taping of TJVP filming for the day. He smiles, blowing her a kiss, and she remembers what he said that morning.
“Jennifer...I’ve been thinking…isn’t our life just about perfect?” And she’d looked at him, puzzled. “Well, I mean, as perfect as imperfect can get…there’s no such thing as perfect really…” he scowled playfully as Jennifer tried to hide her chuckle, exclaiming “You know what I mean!” and she’d thrown a pillow at him, laughing, but had agreed with him. He’d leant over, kissing her tenderly, breathing gentle words of affection in her ear before sliding out of bed to shower and dress for work.
Jennifer sighs, making sure he’s definitely left before turning and heading straight to the bathroom of their little old 2 bedroom villa. She smiles as she passes the portrait in the hallway of Greg that she’d painted for his 50th birthday only last year. He’d immediately hung it up on the wall. She laughs as she remembers he had bruised his thumb with the hammer while holding the nail against the crisp white stucco, how he’d whined and she’d taken care of him, kissing it better, all the while still teasing that he was hardly the most macho of D.I.Y men
“But you love me right?” he‘d said, dark chocolate puppy eyes gazing up at her from the sofa. She‘d nodded and kissed him, assuring him she loved him just as he was, happy to nurse him better. They’d always taken care of each other like that.
Locking the door (in case Greg did come back) Jennifer slides the rectangular box out of her pants pocket, eyeing it with nervous hazel eyes. She slowly and carefully opens the fragile cardboard, deliberate and gradual so not to damage its contents. Unfolding the instructions tentatively with her slender fingers she reads them thrice before finally carrying them out, praying that the result of the pregnancy test will be negative.
She’d weighed up all the options in her mind; flu, low blood sugar, exhaustion, before finally considering the unlikely event, the minute chance, she was pregnant. It was possible she knew, condoms can snap without either of them noticing. It didn’t even have to snap all the way, they were only ninety-nine percent effective. She could be that unlucky one percent. But that was one of those things that happened in soaps, those recyclable story lines as she had called them, making Greg laugh at her scorn. Now the pregnancy scare story was happening to her. Taking her time to wash her hands in the vain hope they’d stop shaking the cleaner they were Jennifer closes her eyes, willing the negative result.
Slowly, gingerly she lifts the test off the countertop, heart falling, and world crumbling at the sight of the tiny blue plus sign. Sinking to the floor Jennifer cries quietly, not even noticing hitting her side on the porcelain white of the sink. This could not be happening, simply couldn’t. The ‘scare’ was now a full blown fact, staring her in the face, unable to be ignored any longer. Suddenly she begins to retch, leaning over the toilet bowl. Morning sickness. It had happened yesterday too, and the day before that. Greg had heard, and immediately panicked. Jennifer spent most of the morning then reassuring him as much as herself it was all going to be fine.
Jennifer falls back, bitter vile taste in her mouth, still crying, head pounding. This would ruin everything, Greg’s words from that morning ringing loud in her ears again. Shuffling to her feet, rinsing out her mouth and washing her face Jennifer makes her way back to their bedroom to tidy up, calmly and quietly smoothing down their duvet, folding Greg’s pyjamas and slipping them under his pillow, the very one she tossed at him earlier, all the while knowing what she’ll have to do: she’ll have to get rid of it.
****
Greg smiles at Jennifer, cuddling into his wife happily, sipping at his red wine, soft music in the background - Jennifer’s Nick Drake record, he could see she was stressing over something. Mentally he wonders why Jennifer declined a glass, but deciding not to pressure her, maybe she just didn’t want any tonight.
“Thank you for a delicious dinner honey” he says, kissing her forehead. Jennifer smiles, pleased. Cooking was one of her refuges from troubled thoughts, always had been and always will. Mixing ingredients in a hot kitchen, creating something exciting and enticing, always left her calmer and happier. Especially when Greg joined in, then she could tease him about his lesser cooking skills, winding him up purposely on how to chop up vegetables or herbs, how to drain pasta more efficiently and how to flip the fish when it’s being grilled in such a way it doesn’t break up.
Now, after all that, they sit together quietly in their warm lounge, fire crackling in the antique black fire place, terracotta tiles glinting from their fresh polish - cleaning is another stress reliever for Jennifer, who isn’t naturally neat. Greg strokes her hair gently in an absent minded manner, affectionate as always, enjoying the calm stillness that falls over them. Jennifer bites her lip, looking down suddenly, thinking ‘if there were a baby here there would be no quiet, no still moments like this.’ She quickly pushes the concept from her mind, huddling into Greg, breathing in his comforting smell and hearing his slow steady heartbeat through his ribs as she rests her head on his chest.
“You ok honey? You’ve been acting strange all evening.” Jennifer nods, swallowing the lump in her throat.
“Fine. Just daydreaming.” Greg chuckles,
“You’re such a funny little thing, my dreamer wife” he says fondly, “So what did you do today besides cook wonderful food my love?” he asks, playing with her silky hair. Jennifer flushes, panicking for a moment before remembering
“I went to check on the progress of your new album” she says, “its sounding good, and looking it too I might add”
“That’s because you designed it baby, no wonder!” he grins, “What would I do without my beautiful organised wife to see over everything huh?” He beams, but the compliment does not detract from her obvious blush. He frowns slightly, but lets it go. “You sure it was me you were listening to, number one critic?” he jokes. Jennifer laughs and relaxes back into him again, feeling safer, ignoring tomorrows task looming over her, as Greg will again be out filming, she’ll be left to take care of this herself.
“Yes, it was definitely you” she says softly.
“Well it wouldn’t have happened without you Jennifer, you’re perfect.” He breathes in her ear.
“I thought there was no such thing as perfect Mr Proops?” she challenges, raising an eyebrow. Greg blinks, floored for a moment.
“Well, your imperfections make you perfect to me.” He says with a triumphant grin, sipping his wine again. Jennifer sighs, nuzzling into him contentedly.
Greg kisses her softly, hands running down her body slowly and tenderly,
“Bedtime pookie” he breathes, grinning at her. Jennifer gazes at him apprehensively, small knot in her stomach at that knowing smile. She looked it up earlier; she can still have sex, but what if Greg feels it? Surely he’s bound to notice something different. Yet she takes his hand, following him upstairs, returning each gentle kiss with equal love, making her shiver with pleasure. Greg scoops her up, noting she feels slightly heavier but doesn’t look it, of course not really considering a reason other than his own ineptitude, ‘Gym time for you Proops’ he reasons, laying her gently on the bed, angling his kisses down her neck, over all the sweet spots set to make her moan, nipping affectionately. Slowly, reluctantly she slides her hands through his hair, tugging in a way she knows he loves with a happy moan. Peeling her blouse off Greg pauses, eye caught by the bruise over her side,
“Baby how’d you get that?” he asks, kissing it softly as she lies back.
“Oh, I slipped in the bathroom this morning. Its ok Greg, don’t worry” she smiles slightly, stroking his cheek.
“You sure darling? You’ve been acting off for a few days now” he tucks a stray coil of hair behind her ear, gazing down at her, soft chocolate eyes full of concern for her.
“I’m alright, just been feeling a bit…under the weather you could say.” Jennifer replies quietly but firmly. Greg nods, taking her words, trusting her as he kisses over her slender body, pushing the thought of her hiding something out of his head.
“Have you been doing sit ups baby? Your stomach is like a rock” he comments, gazing up at her. Jennifer blushes once more,
“Yeah, just a few” she says jokingly, not giving the real explanation.
“I like it” Greg growls softly, pressing himself to her. Jennifer whimpers slightly but shakes her head, the fear he’ll notice a change, or feel something different completely overwhelming. Greg stops, worried look in his dark eyes,
“Jennifer…?”
“Maybe I’m not feeling so good.” She says quietly. Greg groans lightly,
“How ‘bout I go real slow baby? Please?” He gazes at her needily, “I love you” She nods tentatively, lying back again,
“Ok, let’s try that” she says quietly, nerves growing,
“I’d never force you honey, you sure?” he asks, feeling guilty now. Jennifer nods, mind made up, kissing him softly. A refusal would attract more attention to her health.
As he slips slowly into her she gasps, forgetting momentarily the baby in favour of pure pleasure, grateful of having such a slow, gentle lover like Greg with his gradual thrusts, treating her like a china doll made of porcelain. Greg gazes at her worriedly, one hand trailing the curve of her slender body, the other brushing her long hair from her damp forehead as they rock slowly together in Greg’s tender rhythm.
“I’m not hurting am I baby? You still ok?” he queries, concerned. Jennifer nods, smiling and moaning lightly at the slowly stimulating pleasure.
“Oh Greg…” Greg nods, groaning loudly as he approaches his peak, waiting for his wife. As she climaxes Greg lets himself go too, shuddering with pleasure. Jennifer falls back, panting and slowly recovering. No screaming agony, no Spanish inquisition like she’d feared, Greg didn’t notice a thing. She simply feels the same intense pleasure running through her, the same starry vision and tingling ecstasy Greg always gives her, and at the end, the same loving kiss from him. Greg cuddles into her, lying beside her.
“I love you so much” he breathes softly for what seems like the thousandth time. “I could never stand to lose you.” Jennifer buries her head in his chest suddenly, eyes prickling with tears.
“You promise?” she croaks, hazel eyes wide and watery as she blinks up at him.
“Hey baby…shh…” he breathes, wrapping his arms tight around her “of course I promise that, you’re my entire world Jennifer” he soothes gently, “You wanna tell me what’s eating you?”
“N-nothing Greg, just being silly” Jennifer mumbles into his shoulder. Greg sighs worriedly, stroking her hair and breathing comforting things in her ear until she falls asleep.
“I just want to make it better darling” he whispers in her ear, and she winds herself nearer to him in her sleep, other hand clutched over her stomach, as Greg drifts to sleep himself.
****
Jennifer tentatively steps into the pharmacy, casual as she can manage. She’d spent the entire morning ‘psyching herself up’ as Greg would say, trying to will herself into it, finally making it out the house and down the street. ‘No turning back now’ she thinks to herself, pushing her sunglasses onto her forehead. Originally Jennifer had contemplated wearing baggy clothes, arranging her hair differently, but had changed her mind almost immediately; sometimes the best disguise was none at all. So she was wearing her favourite leather jacket, and skinny jeans, coupled with the boots Greg bought her as a gift on their anniversary. She hadn’t wanted to wear them, feeling it was a betrayal to wear a gift of his when committing such a devious act. Now here, nonchalantly as she can, Jennifer reads the back of a box she’d seen recommended as the best, ‘up to 24 days!’ and ‘low risk guaranteed!’ plastered in red over the gaudy label with a scary, alien sounding name. Yet when flipping over and inspecting the label Jennifer sees the whole host of risks included that the cover didn’t mention. Finally she picks one, hastily approaching the counter with it. She never thought she’d be doing this. She can’t quite meet the cashier’s eyes, every movement feeling disgusting and deceitful. She hands over her money with shaking fingers, walking out of the store, jamming the box into her bag before the label can be read.
As she walks home Jennifer slips her sunglasses back down, wiping away her tears as they slip past the safety of the tinted glass. Glancing up she meets the eye of a mother with a little, denim clad toddler at her side, laughing in the soft sunshine of a California day.
“A baby in LA” she hears Greg’s voice scoff, “Nobody raises children in LA; they just abandon them in the arms of the European nanny while they hammer themselves on booze and wreck cars, their shiny credit card covering all but the damage to the child, who will, ultimately, turn into the same.” At the time she’d nodded and laughed with him, and she still agreed really, it just hit home rather more now. There was no way for them to care for a young child, give it the attention it deserves. They are flying to New York in two weeks, then back to England again, it was ridiculous to expect to cart a baby with them. And besides that, they’d simply not have the energy or patience for it. Greg was already tired, she couldn’t ask of him to then stay up at night with a small child (although he would because he’d insist Jennifer sleep). Jennifer shakes her head, knowing the pill in her handbag is the only real option. She gulps, ducking her head out of sight of the young woman, her eyes feeling like lasers beaming right through Jennifer, sussing her out.
“Don’t tell Greg!” she wants to shout, “Don’t let him know!”
The bright rays of sunshine seem dim to her; fragile and weak, the bustle of the streets more like a roar, angry and harsh; all car horns and sirens. It wasn’t the lively LA she and Greg had become accustomed to and accepted (a little reluctantly) as their home. Now it is a vicious and cruel city, judging her every move as she tries to walk home. Running the last block, heels not stopping her pace, Jennifer rips off her sunglasses, throwing them on the hall table, not noticing them skid along, throwing her handbag too as she gives up restraining her tears. Curling up on the sofa she sobs into the soft fabric, the smell of Greg from that morning lingering; strong coffee and faint cigarettes, and her favourite aftershave. She holds the cushion tight to her chest, beyond tears, sinking into a fitful sleep.
****
Greg opens the door as the sun fades into a surprisingly still and calm LA evening, beam on his face: Largo tonight.
“Jennifer honey?” he calls into the quiet, curious, seeing the sunglasses and handbag, knowing his wife is at home. “…Honey?” his smile falters as her enters their lounge, seeing Jennifer curled up tight on the sofa, cushion gripped tight, the fabric bunching around her thin fingers. Running over he kneels down in front of her,
“Baby…are you alright…?” he breathes softly, sweeping her long, tangled hair back and seeing the tear tracks falling down her cheeks from under closed eyelids. Greg gazes at her, sinking back on his heels, shiny shoes squeaking slightly on the polished wood, utterly at a loss for what could be wrong.
“It’s me…” he sighs, heart sinking, unable to come up with another reason for what could possibly make her so unhappy. “I’m sorry darling for whatever I’ve done…” he whispers, smiling slightly as she curls towards him in her sleep. He kisses her forehead gently, lifting her up into his arms carefully and carrying his wife upstairs with him. Placing her on their bed he eases off her heels, chuckling slightly that she’d forgotten to do that herself ‘Typical Jennifer’, pulling the freshly changed sheets over her.
Whistling to himself Greg changes alone, knowing he’ll have to wait for Jennifer to give him the approval on his combination before they can leave the house. He glances at her every so often, mind still in turmoil at what could make her behave like this, wanting to fix it.
“Jennifer…” he says softly, “honey time to get up again” he shakes her gently, rubbing her arms. Jennifer’s eyes flutter open, gazing around, “hey honey” he says, stroking her hair soothingly. Jennifer jerks and blinks, moment of grace long gone as she remembers everything.
“Oh…sorry I must’ve fallen asleep…oh fuck, dinner. We’ll be late for Largo, I’m so sorry” she tries to jump off the bed but Greg holds her steady, lifting her onto his lap instead and taking her cold hands in his, warming them.
“Jennifer, slow down, we’ve got plenty of time left darling.” He says calmly, “I thought it might be nice to go out for dinner before we go down to the club, what do you think? You look as though you deserve a treat” He suggests, gazing worriedly at her pale little face, tucking a stray tangle of hair behind her ear. She nods slowly,
“Yeah…I’d like that” she says, blushing and feeling foolish. Greg kisses her pink cheeks, relieved to see colour still in her body somewhere.
“What’s wrong Jennifer?” he asks pleadingly, chocolate eyes melting into her hazel ones with their panda black smudged makeup outline, full of concern. “Are you coming down with something honey? I can cancel Largo, it’s not too late.” Jennifer looks at him worriedly, the last thing she wants is to attract attention and get in the way of what he loves doing most; comedy.
“It’s nothing Greg, just hormones, you know.” He places his hand on her forehead, before nodding, accepting her excuse, though still looking very doubtful.
“Ok baby, why don’t you get yourself freshened up then we can head out, yeah?” he says, kissing his wife lovingly. Jennifer smiles and nods, shuffling to her feet and towards the bathroom, leaving Greg to worry in her wake.
****
Jennifer gazes around the quiet restaurant, her favourite one with the soft lighting and authentic cuisine. Yet she pushes her half eaten food around her plate, simply unable to finish it, feeling sick and guilty, knowing intrinsically that Greg is blaming himself for how she’s acting.
“Not hungry?” Greg asks. Jennifer smiles apologetically,
“Sorry…I don’t know what’s come over me today” she says, trying to keep her voice light.
“Don’t be sorry honey, I just worry about you” he says, slipping his hand into hers across the table. Jennifer squeezes his hand tight, lacing her fingers through his, gazing up at him and trying to keep any guilt from her eyes.
“I love you Greg” she says softly, seeing Greg beam brightly.
“I love you Jennifer.” He replies, gazing back, eyes shining in adoration at her, making Jennifer squirm.
****
Greg paces back and forth onstage, in control and on form, pent up frustration released in bursts of acerbic, dry humour as he escapes his fears and problems. Greg usually has an ability to separate reality with stage life, but not today.
“I wanna ask y’all something, something that’s been playing on my mind. How many people know what its like to be cheated on?” Jennifer’s eyes snap up from her glass of water, heart in her throat. There is a soft murmur of bitterness that ripples through the crowd, a consensus of betrayal. “Ah, we’re on the same page, good. Why do they? Are people bad? Are you bad? Was it not meant to be?” He takes a gulp of his drink, resuming pacing. “Why do you forgive them?” He pauses, considering himself for a moment, as the audience hum with reflection. “Because they mean the world to you…” he says softly, forgetting the crowds, talking to himself now.
And as quickly as it had begun, Greg’s worries submerge again. His tangent ceases, heading back to his usual hunting ground, reciting the jokes his wife helped him write, her elegant scrawl of annotations in bright red on his sheet. The ‘home runs’ he’d called them, making her blush and deny it, even though he’d told her so, and keeps telling her so. Because in his mind, Jennifer is as perfect as imperfect can get.
The ride home is quiet, Jennifer’s heart pounding with fear, lost in panicked thought. Greg doesn’t look at her; sure he’s figured it out disbelieving still that she would do such a thing. He knows he’s an asshole, he says it more than her, but never in that sense. He swallows, unsure whether to be angry or hurt, instead going with numb; it’s safer. Yet still he opens the car door for her, laces his fingers in hers as they walk inside. It’s like when you know a storm is coming, the clouds gather and the sky darkens, everything seems grey and cold. That last little ray of sunlight, that ‘Maybe I’m wrong’ fades into the shadows as they walk slowly upstairs. Greg watches as she sinks onto the bed, pale and withdrawn, kneeling in front of her and taking her hands in his.
“Greg…would you forgive me if I did something really terrible?” Greg winces, the question stinging like a proverbial bullet through the heart.
“I’d forgive you anything baby” he breathes, gazing up at her, meaning it. Jennifer sighs, knowing now she must tell him.
“I hope so” she mumbles.
Greg stands up suddenly, letting go of her hands. Here comes the thunder.
“Jennifer if you don’t love me any more just say!” he exclaims, voice rising rapidly, “If it’s someone else tell me! For the love of God, just be fucking honest with me!” Greg yells, unsure how his voice got so loud, but unable to stop it as Jennifer begins to cry. She knew this was coming.
“No! It’s not like that!” she shouts back, suddenly furious, volume matching Greg’s decibel for decibel.
“Then what the hell is it like?! Is it something I’ve done? Should have done? Give me a fucking clue here!” Jennifer stares at him wide eyed, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“I can’t! I just can’t!” She jumps to her feet, hurt and frustration radiating from her. Greg gazes at her for a moment, breathing hard before turning and storming down the stairs. Jennifer runs to the top of the stairs as she hears the door slam, crying harder. Racing down the stairs she stops in the hallway, hearing the car start. “No…” she mumbles tearfully, crying loudly and unabashedly in the dark hallway, seething with hatred, not for Greg but herself. Lashing out her hand makes contact with the solid stone wall in a punch, the crack of her wrist echoing loudly through the silent house on impact, a scream of pain chasing it. Jennifer pauses to draw breath, finding herself facing the same portrait of Greg. “I love you…” she whispers, hoping Greg can somehow hear her, blinking up at him as quiet descends on the house again, waiting for the real Greg to return.
The stillness is broken when Jennifer contorts in fresh agony, not from her wrist but her abdomen. She gasps, the sensation of being stabbed in the stomach bringing fresh tears to her eyes. Hand reaching down she whimpers softly as she gazes through the gloom at her blood caked hand, the dizziness following overwhelming her ability to stay on her feet almost immediately. Jennifer throws out her hand in an attempt to stay up, bloody prints decorating Greg’s face and the once clean white walls with crimson.
“Oh God…” she breathes, sinking to the floor, into the darkness.
****
Greg breathes heavily as he drives, slamming the gears in frustration and confusion, guilt running through him. How could he make her cry like that? ‘I really am a dick’ he reasons sadly. He glances at the clock, he’d been gone all of half an hour, yet it feels much longer. He sighs sadly. If Jennifer has done something wrong surely they could together look beyond it, make things better. There must be something wrong that they can fix together, as a couple, as they should. He sighs, besides that he should apologise to his wife; his caring, loving, beautiful wife, for shouting and storming off like a coward too afraid to face her properly. He turns, heading back home, nervous of what he’ll find, formulating his apology in earnest.
****
Slowly and quietly he opens the door to their dark hallway,
“Jennifer?” he calls softly, “baby?” He sighs; she must have gone back up to bed. Greg is just about to step forwards when he hears a soft sob.
“G-greg?” Greg blinks through the gloom, guilt filling him as he hears her shaky voice. Clicking on the light his apology dies in his throat as he gazes down at his wife. Jennifer lies, curled on their hallway floor, pale and clammy. And covered in blood.
“Holy shit…what happened honey? Are you hurt? Where’s all this blood coming from?” Greg kneels beside her, panicking and tugging off his thick black overcoat, wrapping her up in it. Jennifer moans quietly, shaking her head and clutching her wrist.
“Shh…its ok, I’m here. We’ll get you over to the ER ok baby?” He soothes gently, tucking her tangled hair behind her ears, mopping carefully at her chalk white face all the while having no clue what has happened.
“I’m sorry” Jennifer mumbles, but Greg hushes her firmly,
“No need to be sorry darling, it’s entirely my fault. Let’s just get you down to the hospital.” He lifts her carefully, carrying her out the house and back to the car, trying to hide his panic as all variety of different reasons fill his thoughts, each worse than the last: ‘She fell down the stairs’; ‘She has some sort of disease’; ‘Someone stabbed her’; ‘She did it herself’. Carefully he buckles her into the seat, making sure the jacket is tight around her, hurrying to the driver’s side.
“Baby, tell me what happened, please.” Greg glances at her with fearful eyes as he reverses out the drive, grateful of the sparse traffic at this late hour. Jennifer swallows hard, finally biting the bullet.
“I’m p-pregnant…” she whispers, eyes tight shut in pain. Greg blinks eyes wide with a mix of shock and relief; she’s not stabbed! But… “I didn’t tell you because I was g-gonna get rid of it today…I couldn’t tell you, let you down…” Greg feels his eyes fill with tears, cold hard realisation dawning: their fight had triggered the miscarriage.
“I’m so sorry Jennifer, I shouldn’t have shouted, accused you of all those terrible things. I knew you’d never do them” he garbles frantically “I can make it up to you. I was sure, deep down, that wasn’t you; that I’d got it wrong somehow…” Jennifer twists whimpering as her wrist moves. Greg pauses, “What happened to your wrist?”
“I…punched the wall…” she admits, feeling faint, world spinning.
“Baby stay awake for me,” Greg tells her gently but firmly as they arrive at the hospital. He jumps out scooping her up, carrying her tiny form into the hospital.
“I love you Jennifer, so much” he whispers. Jennifer blinks, whispering the same in reply as the world slips into black.
Greg stares in absolute horror,
“Help, please…my wife…” He says, holding her tight in his arms. He needn’t have bothered, the blood soaked limp form in his arms attracting all the attention of the ER within seconds. He follows instructions mutely, only speaking when spoken to in monotone, as he lays her on the proffered stretcher, following them at a brisk march down the corridor.
“She’s p-pregnant…dunno how long, two or three weeks I think, she only found out yesterday…Jennifer Canaga…48…A-…um, a-about 45 minutes ago…her wrist, I think she broke it, she said she punched the wall…” Greg answers the barrage of questions as best he can, holding her limp unbroken hand tight, praying silently she will wake up safe and sound, that he’ll see her shining hazel eyes, hear her tinkling laugh and see her dazzling smile.
****
Greg paces like a lion in a cage as he waits, panicked and frightened for Jennifer. He wishes someone would just tell him what is going on. He sighs, tugging at his curls in frustration as he falls back into an uncomfortable plastic chair, looking down and shuddering as he sees Jennifer’s blood over his shirt, closing his eyes in an attempt to think it all out slowly, mind sticky and jerky after a long night.
‘She was scared to tell me…so scared she’d rather go through it alone. Jennifer
couldn’t tell me, what does that say about our relationship? I always thought she
could tell me anything. She put my career over everything…her happiness included
because she was so desperate not to jeopardize it. I gotta apologise for so much,
maybe I can make it up to her somehow. …A baby…fuck…’
He rubs his eyes wearily as the dim light of morning creeps through the bustling hospital, a place where night and day merge to one continuous stream of emergencies and care, where it could be 5am or 5pm, it makes no difference to what goes on around him. Shuffling to his feet he grabs a cup of coffee, gulping at the too hot, tasteless liquid in an attempt to keep himself awake. Glancing at his watch it reads 5:16am. 5 hours and not a word from anyone passing about his wife. Greg sinks down into a cold plastic chair, peeling his glasses from his tired eyes, polishing them slowly with his handkerchief for the thousandth time.
“You’ll turn the glass to sand if you keep that up” Jennifer used to say when she saw him doing it, as he did often on their early dates when he was afraid he’d foul it up, and he’d snort and stare for a moment struck dumb by her wit before retorting
“They’re dirty. How can I admire how beautiful you are with unclean glasses?” the smile from her reward enough and they’d laugh together. Slowly he slides them back up his nose, and carefully folds his silk handkerchief back up, smoothing out all the creases and slipping it back into his pocket.
“Mr Proops?” Greg’s head snaps up, staring around frantically, spotting the doctor and jumping up.
“Is she alright? Is Jennifer ok?” he asks hurriedly, trying to read the doctor’s expression with little success.
“Would you like to see her?-“
“She’s alive!” Greg interrupts, relief flooding through him, about ready to kiss the doctor in gratitude.
“Very much so, she’s lost a lot of blood, and yes she did break her wrist, but she should make a full recovery.” Greg beams, happiness and relief radiating through him.
“Can I see her?” he asks pleadingly, seeing the doctor about to object he jumps in again “I won’t wake her, I promise, I just want to sit with her…” Reluctantly the doctor nods and leads him along the corridor “I can’t thank you enough…I don’t know what I’d do without Jennifer…” he says more to himself than the doctor. The doctor stops outside her room, gesturing him inside. Greg pauses, eyes growing wide as he remembers,
“The baby…I didn’t know she was…is it ok?” the doctor gazes at him solemnly,
“We didn’t manage to save it in time I’m afraid sir…I’m sorry. The heavy blood loss resulted in a full miscarriage. Your wife doesn’t know yet, it’s perhaps best you tell her when she’s feeling better.” Greg nods sadly, heading into her room. He gasps softly sinking down in the chair beside her bed, his eyes taking in her pale, still form, brushing her tangled hair back from her face in a tender action.
“My poor baby…” he breathes softly, gazing at her full of guilt. “It’s all my fault…I’m so sorry honey…” he whispers. Jennifer mumbles in her sleep, shifting to his voice. Greg spots the cast over her arm, gingerly stroking her fingers and kissing her forehead, sinking into the creaky plastic chair and stretching his legs out, attempting to sleep now he knows his wife is alright.
****
“Greg…” Greg’s eyes open and he jerks awake at the tiny whisper of his name. He smiles softly, kneeling down by the bed.
“Hey honey, how you feelin’?” he asks, gently smoothing her hair.
“What happened? We fought…and I hit the wall…the baby” Jennifer stops, turning to look up at him. He shakes his head slowly, and Jennifer closes her eyes, fresh tears of confused grief slipping down her white cheeks. Gently Greg envelopes her in his arms, soothing her, his own mixed up feelings shelved for later.
“I’m sorry…” he breathes softly, wiping her tears, “You were too scared to tell me. I never want you to be scared to tell me things honey, you mean everything to me and that’s not fair.” Greg mops her tears carefully with his handkerchief.
“I don’t know how to feel Greg…” she mumbles, “I was going to get rid of it, but now its gone I still feel like I’ve lost someone.” Greg listens silently, unsure what he should be saying to make her feel better. “I mean what if it’d not- if we’d got to discuss maybe keeping it. If I’d come to you sooner this wouldn’t have been so bad. I’ve just been so stupid…I can’t do anything right…” she trails off sadly, curling up small in the cold hospital bed. Greg swallows nervously, completely at a loss for what to do.
“The doctor said you’ll get better” he voices hopefully.
“I don’t care.” Jennifer mutters darkly. Greg runs a hand through his hair worriedly, kissing the top of her head.
“But I do, I need my Jennifer” he says gently. “Talk to me honey, tell me. We’re not having secrets again” he carefully eases her over so he can lie with her on the bed, arms holding her close. Jennifer sighs, resting her head back on his chest, remembering only days before doing this back at home.
“It’s like…I wanted rid of it, you know? We’d never manage to raise a baby, lets face it we’re too old, too impatient and too stuck in our own ways. But if I didn’t want it, how come it still hurts Greg?” she asks sadly.
“I don’t know darling, I don’t know.” He says pained expression on his face “It hurts me too.” She looks up, surprised,
“But you don’t want kids,” she says, confused “Surely this is a good thing?” Greg shakes his head
“No it’s still losing something. I was… coming round to the idea of it” Greg explains softly, “It might’ve been possible. I’ve never thought of myself as a daddy, but I’d never make you do anything you didn’t want.” Jennifer smiles slightly through her tears, feeling oddly comforted that he feels the same way as her.
“Thank you Greg, for telling me that.” She sighs, eyes fluttering closed tiredly. Greg smiles back, stroking her hair.
“We’re going to work it all out together Jennifer, I’ll be right here” he whispers, hugging his wife close, letting her sleep again, strange peace falling over him.
****
Jennifer beams excitedly at the concept of leaving the ugly, impersonal restrictions of her hospital bed, eager to get home, see people and begin her regular life again with her husband. Greg slips his hand into hers, carrying her bag of clothes, her arm still in a cast for several weeks yet. She watches the bright sunshine filled world from the confines of the car as Greg drives them home, wind blowing her shiny hair, taking in all the bright colours and happy sounds that she hadn’t been able to hear for so long, wondering what could have been.
‘What if I’d never got pregnant?
What if I’d told him sooner?
What if we hadn’t fought?
What if the doctors had saved the baby?
What if…’
“There is no point,” Greg says when she voices these thoughts to him as they sit back on the sofa, as they always did, with the fire burning and the soft sunset trickling through the window, making the room glow, “wondering ‘What if’. All you’ll do is torture yourself darling. What happened has happened, and we can only keep going forwards.” She smiles and nods, kissing him softly before gasping.
“Hang on…” she exclaims, jumping up and running to find her handbag, lying forgotten in the hallway. Greg frowns, puzzled as his wife empties the entire contents onto the lounge rug, making him laugh,
“Jesus how much fucking stuff is in there honey?” he grins, teasing. Jennifer smirks, before snatching up the box she purchased from the pharmacy only a week before, still sealed and intact. Greg watches her quietly, immediately nervous for her, not sure what she’ll do now. Jennifer looks up, smiling slightly at his concern,
“It’s ok.” She says gently, taking his hand and pulling him outside. “Greg would you do the honours?” she asks, holding out the box to him and lifting the trashcan lid. Greg nods with a smile, tossing the cardboard into the dark pit. Jennifer slams the lid down defiantly, beaming at him. Greg bites his tongue going to make a joke. Jennifer chuckles slightly, reading his mind; no secrets.
“You know you could recycle that.” Greg says, shaking his head in disgrace at his own humour. “You’ll have to help me with that joke” Jennifer smiles,
“I’d be delighted to.” She breathes.
Greg pulls his wife close, stroking her silk spun hair, her soft hazel eyes catching the sunlight and shining up at him. She smiles at him, cuddling into his chest and seeing the worry fade slowly from his warm eyes, the old twinkle she knows and loves returning, knowing they’ll be alright. Maybe they’ll never get over this, but silently in unison they bridge the gap, kissing each other with renewed and strengthened love, their life once again as perfect as imperfect can be.