bnm_productions wanted Adrianna/Navid, so that's what she's getting. :) Set towards the end of series one. My first venture into 90210 fic! Be afraid, be very afraid.
Untitled.
90210. Adrianna/Navid. PG. 600 words.
The door isn’t locked.
It never is anymore, and Navid always wonders if it’s his place to say something, if he should tell her that Beverley Hills is only as safe as you make it, but he doubts she’d listen. There’s always been a part of Adrianna that’s invited trouble, welcomed it, and it’s not something a stint in rehab or a pregnancy will amend. Straighten out.
“Ade?” he calls, and there’s not much of an answer right away, a slosh of water in the distance and finally an, “Up here!” called from somewhere above him. He bounds up the stairs with a practiced ease, her geometry homework tucked beneath his arm. She’s been missing school more and more lately, her attendance becoming less frequent as her belly gets bigger. As the snide remarks at school get meaner.
“I told Mr. Alvins that you weren’t feeling great,” he says, and Adrianna calls back, says, “I don’t suppose that means he let me off the hook, huh?” through the door at the end of the hallway, and Navid heads over, knocks, and Adrianna says, “Come on, show me,” and Navid lets himself in, only to freeze in the doorway.
It’s picture-perfect really, and Adrianna won’t ever stop being that combination of beautiful and fucked up. Her hair tied up high on her head, and she’s buried beneath the bubbles in the tub, suds clawing at her neck and bleeding over her swollen breasts. They don’t quite make it over her belly, which sticks out of the bubbles like a hill, a mountain in a desert. A lump in custard. It doesn’t fit with the rest of her, but it does, and Navid wants to run his fingers over the stretchmarks, just to remind himself that she’s real. That she’s his.
“I - I’m sorry, I should wait out-“
And she cuts him off, rolls her eyes, and gestures him over with a smile. Her face is tear-streaked, red and blotchy, and it just makes him flush, fingers clenching around four pages of geometry questions and when she flinches, rubs her belly in pain. Navid’s never felt younger. Stupider. She breathes out hard, fingers pressing into her flesh.
“She won’t stop moving,” Adrianna says. “The doctor said this would help, but it’s not-“ she hisses this time, clenches her eyes shut.
Navid can’t stop himself, pushes over, kneels on the floor beside the tub. It stinks of perfume and too-sweet bath crystals, and it makes him nauseous, dizzy, but Adrianna looks sicker, sadder, so he puts a clammy hand on her cheek and kisses her.
“Calm down,” he says, and she doesn’t reply, doesn’t flinch, but he feels it when she leans into his hand.
“Whoever said pregnancy was a miracle was never pregnant,” Adrianna huffs out, and Navid laughs, says, “Damn motivational books and their lies,” and Adrianna laughs too, her breath warm against Navid’s wrist.
It’s quiet then, and Navid can lose himself in Adrianna’s slowing breaths, the way they loosen and untangle as the baby stops, relaxes, as Adrianna does too. She drops her head to his shoulder, eyelids fluttering shut, and she presses a kiss to Navid’s neck, then up to his chin, and, when he turns his head down to meet hers, to his lips.
“Don’t ever leave me,” and he can taste it, the way she breathes it into his mouth. It makes his stomach ache, his fingers itch, and he tries to swallow it all, all her doubts and worries and tries not to think that he won’t be the person to leave this behind.