Cars
Title: Cars
Rating: PG
Fandom: Home Improvement
Disclaimer: Don’t own, don’t sue
Summary: He doubted he would ever love a squirming ball of flesh as much as he loved his cars.
*
They’d married on the 16th April 1984.
Tim had loved Jill perhaps more than he loved his cars.
That was a lot.
And now, a year later, as they sat cuddling on the two-person sofa in their one bedroom apartment, Jill whispered something under her breath.
She wanted children. Dirty, clumsy, tantrum-throwing bundles of mess and destruction.
Tim knew, he’d grown up with too many brothers to count.
But Jill was persistent, wanting a little bundle of what she called ‘joy’ to hold and love.
She even said that he’d love them too, like he loved her.
But Tim doubted it.
He doubted he would ever love a squirming ball of flesh as much as he loved his cars.
*&*&*&*
Jill screamed again, face flushed in agony as she tried to push the child out of her.
As he watched and held his woman’s hand, he idly wondered how she’d talked him into this.
When she’d found out she was pregnant she’d been so…so…happy. Even if Tim and her had never fully discussed whether having a child was acceptable.
But here they were, in the hospital room, nurses rushing spastically, and a doctor pointing out the obvious, “Push, Jill, PUSH!”
And with the final heave, out slid a blond child, covered in blood and bodily fluids, and a strong set of lungs filling the hospital room with horrific cries.
The doctor held the child, smiled, and offered it to Tim.
This was it, he rolled his eyes, and held the kid, not even looking at it, and not even noticing when the child stopped its crying.
“Hi baby…you like Daddy, don’t you?”
Tim listened in startled disbelief as his wife talked to the child from the bed, and he finally felt the urge to look at his baby. His.
He was met with a squirming, bloody body, and a tiny little hand grasping for anything it could.
Daddy.
He liked the sound of that.
Twenty minutes later they’d named the child ‘Bradley Taylor’.
Hm. He liked the sound of that too.
*&*&*&*
Eleven months later he found himself in a similar predicament.
Only this time it was wrong. Things weren’t going right. The baby wasn’t due for another month and a half, yet here they were, Jill crying again, but this time…not out of pain, more out of fear.
The baby was early, premature.
He sat beside Jill upon the hospital bed, clutching her hand tight as the doctors raced around the tiny incubator, hooking IV’s into tiny, porcelain doll arms.
It took them three hours to stabilise the tiny form, and come back into the room where he and Jill rested.
The little boy was fine, he’d survived but was still slightly unstable.
The doctor told them not to be surprised when they saw him.
But they were.
Tim still remembers the baby, no bigger than the size of his hand.
And he wonders why he did this again, another boy to chase after and clean up after.
And as the baby coughs, his tiny chest rattling, and Tim’s heart clenches, and so does his hand around Jill’s, he kinda remembers again.
They named him Randy.
*&*&*&*
It was two years later when it happened again.
But it wasn’t as bad this time.
Baby number three was only a few days early, and he was nowhere near as small as the one that had come before it.
Jill had screamed still though. She had thought that the third would be easier, that her body would be used to it.
The doctors said she was probably less used to it, as her last one had been so tiny.
This time Tim sat in the waiting room, they couldn’t find a baby sitter in time.
Brad played with his matchbox cars, whilst Randy slept, curled up tight on Tim’s lap.
He should be in there with her, Tim had thought, almost resenting his children for coming between him and Jill.
But he heard the last agonising scream of his wife, and the first of his newborn child’s.
And he couldn’t figure out what the warm flutters in his belly or the swelling of his heart meant exactly, or the smile on his face as he held Mark for the first time.
*&*&*&*
It was a fact that Tim had never been particularly interested in having kids. Growing up with too many brothers to count would do that to a bloke.
But now…now that he had three of his own, he found he didn’t mind so much.
And as he looked down the hall as the three wrestled in the living room, he came to a conclusion that maybe…just maybe…
He liked them more than cars.
Rating: PG
Fandom: Home Improvement
Disclaimer: Don’t own, don’t sue
Summary: He doubted he would ever love a squirming ball of flesh as much as he loved his cars.
*
They’d married on the 16th April 1984.
Tim had loved Jill perhaps more than he loved his cars.
That was a lot.
And now, a year later, as they sat cuddling on the two-person sofa in their one bedroom apartment, Jill whispered something under her breath.
She wanted children. Dirty, clumsy, tantrum-throwing bundles of mess and destruction.
Tim knew, he’d grown up with too many brothers to count.
But Jill was persistent, wanting a little bundle of what she called ‘joy’ to hold and love.
She even said that he’d love them too, like he loved her.
But Tim doubted it.
He doubted he would ever love a squirming ball of flesh as much as he loved his cars.
*&*&*&*
Jill screamed again, face flushed in agony as she tried to push the child out of her.
As he watched and held his woman’s hand, he idly wondered how she’d talked him into this.
When she’d found out she was pregnant she’d been so…so…happy. Even if Tim and her had never fully discussed whether having a child was acceptable.
But here they were, in the hospital room, nurses rushing spastically, and a doctor pointing out the obvious, “Push, Jill, PUSH!”
And with the final heave, out slid a blond child, covered in blood and bodily fluids, and a strong set of lungs filling the hospital room with horrific cries.
The doctor held the child, smiled, and offered it to Tim.
This was it, he rolled his eyes, and held the kid, not even looking at it, and not even noticing when the child stopped its crying.
“Hi baby…you like Daddy, don’t you?”
Tim listened in startled disbelief as his wife talked to the child from the bed, and he finally felt the urge to look at his baby. His.
He was met with a squirming, bloody body, and a tiny little hand grasping for anything it could.
Daddy.
He liked the sound of that.
Twenty minutes later they’d named the child ‘Bradley Taylor’.
Hm. He liked the sound of that too.
*&*&*&*
Eleven months later he found himself in a similar predicament.
Only this time it was wrong. Things weren’t going right. The baby wasn’t due for another month and a half, yet here they were, Jill crying again, but this time…not out of pain, more out of fear.
The baby was early, premature.
He sat beside Jill upon the hospital bed, clutching her hand tight as the doctors raced around the tiny incubator, hooking IV’s into tiny, porcelain doll arms.
It took them three hours to stabilise the tiny form, and come back into the room where he and Jill rested.
The little boy was fine, he’d survived but was still slightly unstable.
The doctor told them not to be surprised when they saw him.
But they were.
Tim still remembers the baby, no bigger than the size of his hand.
And he wonders why he did this again, another boy to chase after and clean up after.
And as the baby coughs, his tiny chest rattling, and Tim’s heart clenches, and so does his hand around Jill’s, he kinda remembers again.
They named him Randy.
*&*&*&*
It was two years later when it happened again.
But it wasn’t as bad this time.
Baby number three was only a few days early, and he was nowhere near as small as the one that had come before it.
Jill had screamed still though. She had thought that the third would be easier, that her body would be used to it.
The doctors said she was probably less used to it, as her last one had been so tiny.
This time Tim sat in the waiting room, they couldn’t find a baby sitter in time.
Brad played with his matchbox cars, whilst Randy slept, curled up tight on Tim’s lap.
He should be in there with her, Tim had thought, almost resenting his children for coming between him and Jill.
But he heard the last agonising scream of his wife, and the first of his newborn child’s.
And he couldn’t figure out what the warm flutters in his belly or the swelling of his heart meant exactly, or the smile on his face as he held Mark for the first time.
*&*&*&*
It was a fact that Tim had never been particularly interested in having kids. Growing up with too many brothers to count would do that to a bloke.
But now…now that he had three of his own, he found he didn’t mind so much.
And as he looked down the hall as the three wrestled in the living room, he came to a conclusion that maybe…just maybe…
He liked them more than cars.