Title: If/Then
Author: Lilias (Liliascrescens @ cs.com<--remove spaces)
Archive: GW Addiction - http://www.gwaddiction.com
Rating: G
Pairing: 2+your favorite female character (or, y'know,
whoever--I don't do pregnant-guy fics, myself, but that
doesn't have to limit your interpretation)
What to expect: Rambling, references to hetero-ai, sap. Not really
related to the series timeline; set vaguely way after the wars.
Disclaimer: There isn't much here that belongs to Bandai, but if
there's anything, it isn't mine.
Notes: This fic is for my husband, who proves it every day in big
ways and small. Happy birthday, airen! ^___^
They say you can't ever be sure about love--that you never know what the other person's thinking, or where it's all headed. But sometimes even They can be wrong. I'm sure, all right. And what's more, I have proof: you made coffee.
Doesn't sound like much, I guess. But it is.
You knew I was going to be working late--really late, as in not sleeping at all--trying to get the last few bugs out of this program before tomorrow's final presentation to the client. Not that all- nighters are anything unusual these days: more like par for the course. At least I'm working from home this time.
(You might think I don't know how much you hate this project, but I do. It's kept me at work for weeks, made me miss dinners and weekends and the vacation we spent two months planning. God knows I'm pretty well sick of the stupid thing myself--it's a beautiful string of code, but it doesn't compare to the pure logic of you plus me.)
And you heard me muttering about how nice it would be if I could inject caffeine straight into my veins--so before you went to bed, while I was already jacked in to the downstairs computer, you made coffee. Got out the beans, ground them up, and now there's a whole pot standing by to see me through the night.
Still not sounding like much? It is.
They say anything can set it off, especially during the first trimester, and sometimes They're right; for you, this time, it's coffee. You never liked it much before, but these days even a whiff of the stuff is enough to send you sprinting for the bathroom. And you _hate_ the nausea, more than anything--it's worse than labor itself, you say. (Though I don't really see how that could be true; labor didn't look like much fun, last time around. But what do I know?)
That coffee pot hasn't seen action for two and a half months, and now it's burbling away, happy as anything. And I'm standing here staring at it, barefoot in the kitchen at ten past two in the morning, suddenly feeling as cozy as if I were upstairs in our bed with your head on my shoulder. Where I really should be. Where I _will_ be, as soon as this damn thing is done and I can have my life back.
Count on it.
In the meantime, I'm going to drink every drop. Then I'm going to pitch the filter and wash out the pot, so you don't get hit with a coffee-scented kitchen when you get up.
It's not much, I know. But sometimes the littlest things can be a world of proof.
-end-
(:./lilias/ifthen)
