(no subject)
Continued from here.
My eyes are on Wes, ignoring Darla save for the hand on her shoulder, keeping her where she is. She could still eat him for lunch if she had a mind I'm sure. But as Wes readies the machine, she almost looks as curious as we are about this thing even though she's trying to hide it. Her eyes are riveted on the dark black screen, and there could be some maternal instinct at work here, but I have a feeling it's more about putting a face to a proverbial name so she can kill it better.
I glare at her in the hopes she won't make some comment as I move the fabric of her shirt out of the way. My wish is granted, only because she's still watching that screen like a hawk intent on it's prey. "Hurry up, limey boy," she murmurs much, much more subdued and distracted than before, hands rubbing the sides of her stomach away from where he's spreading the gel.
She knows. She knows what it is. My eyes can't focus, and I look from her to her stomach to the screen and to Wes all in a slow turn. I don't know how to feel or what to think, only that I'm grateful Wes is here too.
I watch him as he moves the instrument over her stomach, and that minor heartbeat I can heart underneath the sound of Wes' becomes a whole heck of a lot louder. It could still be anything, I repeat in my head. It could still be anything.
"See anything?" I ask him, because the screen just looks like black and blue static to me. My eyes dart to her belly and back to the screen, finally settling on Wes' face for the moment.
My eyes are on Wes, ignoring Darla save for the hand on her shoulder, keeping her where she is. She could still eat him for lunch if she had a mind I'm sure. But as Wes readies the machine, she almost looks as curious as we are about this thing even though she's trying to hide it. Her eyes are riveted on the dark black screen, and there could be some maternal instinct at work here, but I have a feeling it's more about putting a face to a proverbial name so she can kill it better.
I glare at her in the hopes she won't make some comment as I move the fabric of her shirt out of the way. My wish is granted, only because she's still watching that screen like a hawk intent on it's prey. "Hurry up, limey boy," she murmurs much, much more subdued and distracted than before, hands rubbing the sides of her stomach away from where he's spreading the gel.
She knows. She knows what it is. My eyes can't focus, and I look from her to her stomach to the screen and to Wes all in a slow turn. I don't know how to feel or what to think, only that I'm grateful Wes is here too.
I watch him as he moves the instrument over her stomach, and that minor heartbeat I can heart underneath the sound of Wes' becomes a whole heck of a lot louder. It could still be anything, I repeat in my head. It could still be anything.
"See anything?" I ask him, because the screen just looks like black and blue static to me. My eyes dart to her belly and back to the screen, finally settling on Wes' face for the moment.