Anticipating the Revolution
Title: Anticipating the Revolution
Author: Angel Leviathan
Disclaimer: The Atlantis characters aren't mine.
Rating: PG
Summary: She was well aware that the baby would run her life for a great many months. Except it couldn’t. Would she miss the baby when she left for work? Would she cry? Good god, would she break down onstage one evening because she missed her baby too much?
Notes: Written for one of the challenge_the prompts.
Elizabeth was already wondering what the heck she was going to do for four months. Or more. She supposed most women in her situation would be glad of the rest, but the closer she got to the day she would give up the stage, the more she worried about how exactly she was going to fill her time. She wasn’t exactly the sort of person who would happily spend weeks in front of the television. She was already looking into voice work and small television roles. Elizabeth knew that no work for four months would drive her slowly insane.
Besides, work would help her forget that she actually had little to no idea what she was doing. She was well aware that the baby would run her life for a great many months. Except it couldn’t. Would she miss the baby when she left for work? Would she cry? Good god, would she break down onstage one evening because she missed her baby too much? Elizabeth had already decided that as soon as she was physically able to return to work, she would. Physically able, in her book, also meant the time when the baby wouldn’t suffer without her. With neither John or herself giving up work, they would have to employ a nanny. Someone she could trust her child with. She had the feeling that whatever she thought she knew, and whatever she thought she would feel, would be thrown right out the window the moment the baby was born. She would look back and laugh at all her planning and preparing and wonder just what she thought she had been playing at.
Four months. Well. Three. Elizabeth suspected she wouldn’t want to be on her feet for a great deal of the last month of her pregnancy. Three months…twelve weeks…of…what? It would be strange, going from one day off a week to…every day off a week.
“They were right, you know,” she said to John late one morning, as she eyed the mug of tea in front of her and wondered why she wanted coffee just because she shouldn’t have it.
“Who was?” he asked, wandering back and forth between the bedroom and the bathroom for what must have been the fifth time since she’d sat down.
“Whoever said that freedom is just chaos with better lighting.” Elizabeth stretched and sank back against the sofa. “It is. It will be. It’ll be more daylight and less stage makeup. Fewer lights that make you feel as if you’re in a tropical country for the evening. Less organised. Less…”
“Work in general?” John supplied, as he crossed between rooms again.
“Exactly.”
“Which is a good thing!”
“It’s supposed to be a good thing,” Elizabeth countered.
“You’re supposed to rest. You’re too smart to risk the baby,” he replied.
She reached for her tea. “Flattery will get you nowhere. What would you do for weeks on end after working every day you could for so long? Surely it would be a shock to the system.”
“I would…” John paused in the process of buttoning his shirt. “Sleep in. Everyday. Order take-out. Make prank phone-calls…”
Elizabeth nearly threw one of the sofa pillows at him. “Seriously.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.” He snatched his shoes from just inside the bedroom and crossed the room to sit opposite her. “I guess I would keep busy…and I guess we’ll both have to trust that you know when to quit.” He finished tying his shoelaces.
“I tell you, you are not going to find me on this sofa surrounded by take-out food.”
John smirked. “No, you only do that when you have work.”
She narrowed her eyes, contemplating savaging him. Except that generally led to…other things…and he really did have to leave for a BBC audition and she really should be getting to the theatre to get a couple of her costumes adjusted…
“Later,” he said, as if he could read her mind, eyes dancing and voice just begging for her to jump him there and then. He stood and wandered a few paces, glancing around the room, searching for an abandoned tie.
Elizabeth glared at him. “Tease.”
“Flirt.”
“Manipulative little-“
“Mother. Of. My. Child,” John said, smiling as he kissed her neck and shoulders. He retrieved a tie from the back of the sofa and looped it through the collar of his shirt.
Her expression softened, though she stared up at him through still narrowed eyes, as if she were still debating just what to do with him and when. She smiled slightly when he fumbled with the tie and pulled him down to her level. “Not so smart now, are we?”
“Not when you have the means to strangle me in your hands, no…”
“…Good luck, today,” Elizabeth said softly. She finished with the tie and let him go, a little abruptly.
He nodded. “Thanks. Think I’ll need it.”
“I’ve got a meeting with Rodney and Ronon, after the costume adjustments, so I’ll see you at the theatre later.”
“Try to stop Ronon from killing McKay, if at all possible.”
“I make no promises.”
John smiled and threw her a wave as he made for the door.
As the door slammed shut behind him, Elizabeth hoped that she had the patience and understanding to watch him leave for work in the months when she couldn’t without letting any unnecessarily harsh words pass her lips. Massive amounts of free time weren’t her idea of fun in any shape or form. Free time could not be organised, it could not be planned out, and she had the feeling that it wouldn’t bend to her will even if she tried. Elizabeth wondered if what she felt was resentment for her unborn child, and if it already made her a bad mother.
Only time, she supposed, and the better lighting, would tell.
Fin
Author: Angel Leviathan
Disclaimer: The Atlantis characters aren't mine.
Rating: PG
Summary: She was well aware that the baby would run her life for a great many months. Except it couldn’t. Would she miss the baby when she left for work? Would she cry? Good god, would she break down onstage one evening because she missed her baby too much?
Notes: Written for one of the challenge_the prompts.
Elizabeth was already wondering what the heck she was going to do for four months. Or more. She supposed most women in her situation would be glad of the rest, but the closer she got to the day she would give up the stage, the more she worried about how exactly she was going to fill her time. She wasn’t exactly the sort of person who would happily spend weeks in front of the television. She was already looking into voice work and small television roles. Elizabeth knew that no work for four months would drive her slowly insane.
Besides, work would help her forget that she actually had little to no idea what she was doing. She was well aware that the baby would run her life for a great many months. Except it couldn’t. Would she miss the baby when she left for work? Would she cry? Good god, would she break down onstage one evening because she missed her baby too much? Elizabeth had already decided that as soon as she was physically able to return to work, she would. Physically able, in her book, also meant the time when the baby wouldn’t suffer without her. With neither John or herself giving up work, they would have to employ a nanny. Someone she could trust her child with. She had the feeling that whatever she thought she knew, and whatever she thought she would feel, would be thrown right out the window the moment the baby was born. She would look back and laugh at all her planning and preparing and wonder just what she thought she had been playing at.
Four months. Well. Three. Elizabeth suspected she wouldn’t want to be on her feet for a great deal of the last month of her pregnancy. Three months…twelve weeks…of…what? It would be strange, going from one day off a week to…every day off a week.
“They were right, you know,” she said to John late one morning, as she eyed the mug of tea in front of her and wondered why she wanted coffee just because she shouldn’t have it.
“Who was?” he asked, wandering back and forth between the bedroom and the bathroom for what must have been the fifth time since she’d sat down.
“Whoever said that freedom is just chaos with better lighting.” Elizabeth stretched and sank back against the sofa. “It is. It will be. It’ll be more daylight and less stage makeup. Fewer lights that make you feel as if you’re in a tropical country for the evening. Less organised. Less…”
“Work in general?” John supplied, as he crossed between rooms again.
“Exactly.”
“Which is a good thing!”
“It’s supposed to be a good thing,” Elizabeth countered.
“You’re supposed to rest. You’re too smart to risk the baby,” he replied.
She reached for her tea. “Flattery will get you nowhere. What would you do for weeks on end after working every day you could for so long? Surely it would be a shock to the system.”
“I would…” John paused in the process of buttoning his shirt. “Sleep in. Everyday. Order take-out. Make prank phone-calls…”
Elizabeth nearly threw one of the sofa pillows at him. “Seriously.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.” He snatched his shoes from just inside the bedroom and crossed the room to sit opposite her. “I guess I would keep busy…and I guess we’ll both have to trust that you know when to quit.” He finished tying his shoelaces.
“I tell you, you are not going to find me on this sofa surrounded by take-out food.”
John smirked. “No, you only do that when you have work.”
She narrowed her eyes, contemplating savaging him. Except that generally led to…other things…and he really did have to leave for a BBC audition and she really should be getting to the theatre to get a couple of her costumes adjusted…
“Later,” he said, as if he could read her mind, eyes dancing and voice just begging for her to jump him there and then. He stood and wandered a few paces, glancing around the room, searching for an abandoned tie.
Elizabeth glared at him. “Tease.”
“Flirt.”
“Manipulative little-“
“Mother. Of. My. Child,” John said, smiling as he kissed her neck and shoulders. He retrieved a tie from the back of the sofa and looped it through the collar of his shirt.
Her expression softened, though she stared up at him through still narrowed eyes, as if she were still debating just what to do with him and when. She smiled slightly when he fumbled with the tie and pulled him down to her level. “Not so smart now, are we?”
“Not when you have the means to strangle me in your hands, no…”
“…Good luck, today,” Elizabeth said softly. She finished with the tie and let him go, a little abruptly.
He nodded. “Thanks. Think I’ll need it.”
“I’ve got a meeting with Rodney and Ronon, after the costume adjustments, so I’ll see you at the theatre later.”
“Try to stop Ronon from killing McKay, if at all possible.”
“I make no promises.”
John smiled and threw her a wave as he made for the door.
As the door slammed shut behind him, Elizabeth hoped that she had the patience and understanding to watch him leave for work in the months when she couldn’t without letting any unnecessarily harsh words pass her lips. Massive amounts of free time weren’t her idea of fun in any shape or form. Free time could not be organised, it could not be planned out, and she had the feeling that it wouldn’t bend to her will even if she tried. Elizabeth wondered if what she felt was resentment for her unborn child, and if it already made her a bad mother.
Only time, she supposed, and the better lighting, would tell.
Fin