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fufaraw
SIXTEEN
Jared tried, he did. But every time he reached for Jensen in bed, Jensen shrugged him off, rolled away, muttered at him. He was beginning to feel rejected, but when he called to ask Mark about it the doctor laughed, and assured him it was normal. Jensen’s hormones were not only making him nauseous and food-avoidant, they were suppressing his libido as well. They were in the second trimester now, though, and any minute things should change. Jensen’s appetite should not only return but increase dramatically, and his appetite for sex should return in voracity, too. Jared couldn’t wait, frankly. It was hard to offer cuddles and comfort and have to repress his own desires; it was even harder to have every overture rejected, even the simple comfort of an undemanding touch.
He looked his fill, however, whenever he could without setting off Jensen’s touchy temper. Change was still not apparent in clothes, but naked, Jensen’s waist had thickened noticeably. His belly was starting to round out a bit, and Jared ached to cup his hand over that curve where their child lay, growing larger and stronger every day. But earlier events had cautioned him against it, so he said nothing, and appeared not to notice. He caught Jensen staring, though, one morning after his shower. He had been toweling dry and stopped suddenly, studying the changing contours of his body. Then he turned from the mirror, threw the towel on the rod and dressed, as usual.
A couple of nights later, Jared had come up an hour after Jensen had already gone up to bed, and found their bed empty. A light shone from the guest room door, and Jared peeked in to find Jensen sitting up in the bed, reading. “Jensen?”
“Hey, Jared.”
“What are you doing in here, man?”
“Um.” He closed the book, and met Jared’s gaze. “I thought both of us would sleep better in separate rooms,” he said. “I’m up and down all night long, and you don’t get your rest. You’re a spider monkey, and you’re hot, and I feel confined, and every time I try to sleep on my side of the bed, I just wake up with you glommed onto me again.” He looked embarrassed and sheepish, but he wasn’t backing down. “I’m not mad, or anything like that. I just thought both of us could use some rest.”
Disappointment and loss spiked through Jared, but he nodded. “Sure, Jen. However you’re most comfortable.”
Jensen grinned. “That’s not to say we can’t have sleepovers and stuff,” he waggled an eyebrow suggestively. “Once in a while.”
Jared laughed in relief. “Yeah, okay.” His eyebrows went up. “Like tonight?”
But Jensen shook his head with an apologetic sigh. “Nah. I’m about dead on my feet. Maybe tomorrow?”
Jared smiled to mask his disappointment, then stepped close enough to kiss Jensen. “Hold you to that,” he said. “Open or closed?” he asked, pausing at the door.
“Leave it open,” Jensen grinned. “I might have nightmares. Or you might.”
In a few days, Jensen’s clothes had all been moved from the closet and drawers in the master bedroom to the guest room. It happened during the day while Jared was at work, and by the time he discovered it, it was done. He stepped into the guest room one evening after changing out of his work clothes, and was surprised to find the dresser mirror draped in what looked like a sheet. Curious, he crossed to the bathroom door, and saw another length of fabric tacked up to cover the mirror over the vanity. A shaving mirror on an adjustable arm had been fixed to the wall beside the sink. It rotated; one side reflected normally, the other magnified. Jensen was obviously using it to shave. Jared was puzzled, but he heard Jensen calling, so he left without further investigation or speculation.
They had some “sleepovers” as Jensen called them, but they were in the guest room, in Jensen’s bed, rather than in the big master bed they had both shared before. Jensen had regained his appetite for sex, and pursued and “conquered” Jared on several occasions, though he hadn’t let Jared take the lead in sex lately. Jared was fine with that; he was happy with their re-found connection, glad that the hormones seemed to have settled.
Jared woke on Saturday; Jensen wasn’t in his room. Jared hadn’t been down to the weight room since last weekend, so he put on sweats and an old tank top and grabbed a towel, nodded at Marta as he went through the laundry room. He could hear Jensen running on the treadmill, as he reached the door he saw a Kurosawa film playing on the flat screen. There was something different about the room. It took a second before he registered the cream colored drapes drawn over the mirrored wall opposite the high windows. What--?
The TV was muted, and Jensen slowed the treadmill to a stop. “Hey.”
“Hey. What’s with the curtains?”
“Oh, we get a lot of glare in the afternoons. I had them installed on Thursday. You like?”
“Um. Well, it’s not something I’d have thought of. I mean, you want to check your form when you work out, right? Make sure you’re working on the right muscles, that kind of thing?”
“Sure,” Jensen nodded, wiping his face with the towel around his neck as he crossed to the door. “Here.” He flipped a switch, and the curtains slid back, almost noiseless, revealing the mirror. Jensen smiled as he left the weight room. “There you go. Turn off the movie, would you? I’m going for a swim.” Jared checked the wall; the double plate for the switches to the two banks of overhead lights had been replaced by a triple switchplate, the extra switch controlling the curtains. The curtains that now lay in unobtrusive folds at the sides of the mirrored wall, which reflected no more glare than it had ever done before. Jared shook his head, puzzled, as he stepped onto the treadmill himself and un-muted the TV. It had been a while since he’d watched this movie. He might as well finish it.
It was later, when he turned from replacing the free weights on the rack and caught sight of his own profile, that the sudden revelation came to Jared about Jensen’s issue with mirrors.
“You know you’re gorgeous, right?” Jared enveloped Jensen from behind, wrapping his arms around him, pressing his groin, belly, and chest up tight against Jensen’s back while he nosed along Jensen’s neck and behind his ear, stroked a hand down Jensen’s front, his hand falling low to cup the swell of Jensen’s belly.
Jensen curled away from him, slipping out of his arms, and away from his reach. “Not in the mood right now, Jared.” He threw Jared an apologetic grin. "Can I grab you something from the kitchen?”
Jared grabbed his wrist, keeping Jensen from sliding away from him. Again. “Man, we have to talk.”
The smile vanished, and the temperature of the room dropped in an instant. “No, Jared. We really don’t.” Jensen tugged, but Jared’s fingers stayed clamped around his wrist. “Don’t, man. Let me go.”
“You can’t keep running away from this, Jensen,” Jared ducked a little, seeking Jensen’s eyes. “You have to deal with it, and sooner would be better than later.”
“Deal with what?”
“The fact that you’re pregnant, that we’re having a baby. A baby, Jensen, yours and mine. We’re going to be parents.”
Stock still now, the blood having drained from his face, Jensen suddenly looked ill, and older than his years. “It’s a hard thing to miss, Jared. I can‘t exactly escape the reality.”
“But you want to. You won’t look at yourself, because then you won’t have to acknowledge that you’re pregnant. You won’t talk about the baby. You won’t read the books Mark gave us on pregnancy and birth, or the stuff I’ve brought home about babies and child-rearing. You act like if you ignore it, it’s not true, it won’t happen.”
Still grasping Jensen’s wrist, he shook him a little, gently. “It’s happening.” He crouched a little, trying to get a look at Jensen’s eyes, which at the moment were resolutely shut. “It’s a wonderful thing, Jen. It’s almost a miracle. You need to try and be happy about it, just a little.”
* * *
He wore the "ceiver suit", as he privately called it, to his command appearances at the monthly family gatherings. One of the cousins took a picture of him with her phone as he stood for his impassive few minutes on the stair landing. He glared at Jared, who rushed to grab the phone and delete the picture, over the cousin's protests. Privately, Jared agreed; he would have loved to have pictures of Jensen at every stage of his pregnancy, but Jensen's deal was no pictures, or no appearances, and Jared knew he meant it.
The rest of the time Jensen spent in sweatpants and increasingly large and sloppy tees and hoodies--he even swiped a few of Jared's button down shirts. He took his iPod to checkups, and listened to the band’s new demo while Mark asked questions and Jared answered them, and asked a few of his own. The two of them oohed and ahhed when they lubed up Jensen's belly and slid the thing through the goo for the ultrasound. Jared tried to show him the blurry hard copy, but Jensen just looked away, and tried not to care about Jared's hurt expression. Mark tried to hand Jensen printouts and more booklets, and Jensen just let Jared reach for them. He'd be the one to read them anyway, if they got read.
Jensen was lying on the exam table, eyes closed, nodding to Jason's solo when a cool instrument was pressed to his belly. Mark tapped his arm, twice, insistently. "Jensen." When Jensen looked at him, the doctor offered the earpieces of the stethoscope. "Here, put these in instead. It's time you hear your baby's heartbeat."
"It's amazing, Jen!" Jared was beaming, ear to ear. "He's really going to town. He's probably been listening to your music."
Jensen tucked his iPod earbuds back in. "Nah, I'll pass."
* * *
Jared could hear noises overhead when he pulled into the garage. He went quickly inside to find Marta. She was in the kitchen, both arms wrapped tightly about herself, not doing anything, which was highly unusual for her.
"He's been like this for the last hour," she told Jared. "Yelling and throwing things."
"Did he say anything to you? Did you speak to him before you called me?"
"No, sir. I don't think he saw me. I backed out pretty quickly. I was a little afraid to confront him myself. I thought it would be better if you dealt with him."
Jared gave his housekeeper a quick hug. "You did exactly right, Marta. Do you want to leave now? You've certainly dealt with enough unpleasantness this afternoon."
She shook her head. "I'll stay, Jared. Until he's...feeling better, at least. In case either of you needs something."
The dimples made a quick appearance. "Thank you."
He shucked off his jacket and tie, unbuttoned his collar and rolled up his sleeves as he ran up the stairs. As he reached the same level as the commotion, the noises got louder. He could hear Jensen shouting, and the occasional crash and bang of things being shoved or thrown. Jared reached the door at the end of the hall, took a steadying breath, and tapped sharply on the door. "Jensen?"
There was no answer except sudden silence. "Jensen, I'm coming in."
The door opened onto a disaster area of files and photographs pulled from their open boxes, pages scattered over the floor, the desk, the table. One of the bookcases was overturned, books spilled from it and from the one that still stood, scattered over the floor like a lumpy carpet. Two lamps lay on the floor, one obviously broken, dents in both their shades. A print Jensen loved hung aslant on the wall, its glass shattered, and the carving that had held pride of place on the desk lay on the floor halfway across the room, a deep gouge in the drywall showing how hard it had been thrown. Both chairs were overturned, one had obvious damage. Jensen stood at the other end of the room, each breath rasping harshly. His eyes met Jared's, but it didn't stop him from raising the model ship over his head with both hands and dashing it with force onto the desktop.
Jared moved just a second too late to stop the destruction. "Jensen--"
"I can't do this!"
He spun on his heel and disappeared into the next room. Jared crossed the space quickly. He had to get hands on his ceiver, get arms around him, hold him close and safe.
The door to the second room opened onto dimness, the shades and curtains drawn against the late afternoon sun. Jared moved to the doorway and looked inside. Jensen stood in the gloom, back to him. "I can't do this," he said again, his voice as wrecked as the room outside.
Jared moved toward him like he was pulled on a line, up behind him, arms going around him, pulling Jensen in against his chest, rocking him a little, holding him tight. He felt Jensen sag against him, the tension in his body soften, and he murmured, "Yes, you can."
Jensen wrenched away, stalking away from him, putting distance between them. "Jensen, you're not in this alone, you know. I'm with you, every step of the way, our families, your medical team. You're not alone. It's going to be okay."
"Oh really, Jared?" the sarcasm could have cut stone. "Well I need a break. How about you carry this for a while, huh? Since we're in this together. Since you're with me all the way. How 'bout that?"
"Jensen."
"Don't."
"What can I do?" Jared asked quietly. "How can I make it better? What do you want me to do?" He put every ounce of love he felt for this man into his voice and his presence, wanting Jensen to feel it, believe it, and believe that it would be all right.
He slumped, the tension leaving him quickly. He swayed a little on his feet and Jared surged forward to support him, only to be halted by Jensen's hand raised to stop him getting closer. "You can't."
"Jen--"
"Jared, you can't. No one can. This is--this just has to play out, and I have to let it."
"It's gonna be okay, man. We're going to take good care of you. You and the baby. It's going to be fine." He couldn't help letting some of his own anticipation slip into his voice, and at some level he still hoped it would be contagious, that Jensen would come to be excited and happy about the baby, if not about the pregnancy. "It's going to be so great when he's here--you're going to forget about all this pregnancy stuff. You'll see."
His ceiver stood unmoving in the wreckage of his office. "Yeah. Till next time."
Jared stirred, not quite sure if he could move to touch Jensen or not. "Have you eaten? I'll bet you're hungry, right? Dinner. That's what we need--"
"No. I'm not hungry."
Jared bent down to set a table back on its legs, to begin to straighten some of the mess.
"Leave it."
"It won't take long if we do it together, and I can get somebody in tomorrow to do repairs--"
"I said leave it."
"Jensen--"
"Jared, for gods' sake, get out!"
He stared, searching for the words or action to make this better, finding nothing.
"I'm all right. I'm tired, okay? Just--get out and let me sleep."
He didn't want to, but Jensen needed to win at something today. Jared went.
SEVENTEEN
The whisk broom swept the bits of wood and fabric and waxed thread into the dustpan. Jensen's face twisted at the loss of the model he'd spent so much time putting together. It was a microcosm of the whole room; the destruction was pretty complete. But the model...
He put down the brush and touched a spar he'd carved of balsa, sanded carefully, stained, and waxed before installing it on the mast and attaching rigging and sail. Looking at the ruined pieces, the ship was a symbol of the future, the hopes and plans he'd had, before--well, before. Smashed, ruined, gone, nothing to be rescued, no pieces to be worked into a new vessel, a new future. Standing still, he felt it again, the flutter low, deep inside his belly that he'd taken for indigestion or mild gas the first few intermittent times he'd felt it over the last few days. He'd only realized yesterday what that sensation was, and his stomach rolled now with the inescapable recognition.
If he could only fight and smash and claw a way out of this the way he'd laid about him last night. It had been a release, of sorts, but in the aftermath he was drained, spent, every bit of color and hope leached away till everything was grey and dim. The only thing that stood out sharp in his mind was the fear of what he would inescapably become, the pain and blood at the end of it, and beyond that, the bonds of servitude and self-erasure, with repeat performances as often as his body was capable, for as long as it endured.
He was past the capacity for tears. He was tired of being scared, being full of rage and having nowhere to spend it, tired of having no control over any part of his life, not even what he ate or how often. It was all just too much, and he just stopped: stopped fighting, stopped processing, stopped thinking.
Jared found him sitting in the dark, hours later, when he got home late from work.
* * *
Her patient stood in the doorway for a moment before he closed the door behind him and took a step into the room. He glanced at her and then away, and waited. Visibly pregnant, perhaps as much as five months, he was tall, broad shouldered, with handsome features.
"Come in. Jensen?" He nodded. She gestured toward the comfortable upholstered armchairs, each with its own ottoman in case a patient felt relaxed enough to put his or her feet up. He chose a chair and sat down. He moved well, no stiffness or awkwardness to his body language. He put his hands on the chair's arms and looked up to meet her gaze.
"I'm Doctor Simons." She paused for acknowledgement and he gave her a brief nod. "I understand you've been having some trouble?"
He didn't rise to the bait. His gaze had already moved away after her introduction, and fell somewhere on the floor ahead of his feet. He didn't survey the room and its furnishings with interest or curiosity; he didn't look out the window. He didn't examine and read the bank of diplomas and certificates on the wall behind her desk. He sat, apparently relaxed, with his gaze lowered, and simply waited. The onus was on her to get things started, to establish a rapport.
"Jared tells me you seem despondent."
No reaction.
"He says you refuse to leave the house, or to see visitors when they come by." She paused, but there was still no response. "Jensen?"
His eyes lifted to her face, and then he looked away again, refusing to engage. Time for the big guns. "Your family is distraught because you won't see them. They're worried about you. They miss you. Jared has gone out of his way to assure them he isn't preventing you from contacting them. So they're puzzled and hurt that you have chosen to shut them out."
She didn’t detect a flinch either in his posture or his expression. His fingers didn't tighten on the chair arms. "Jensen? Jensen, why won't you see your parents?"
She waited. A direct question put the ball in his court. After a moment or two, he looked at her, and away again. "Can you talk to them? My family?"
"Yes." She was honest. "But it would be much better if you did that yourself."
He didn't bother answering her.
"Tell them something for me. Tell them they need to let me go."
Her hackles rose a bit in apprehension. "Why should they do that? They love you. They want to see you, to be a part of your life the way they've always been. You're still their son, their brother. You are part of them and their lives. Why should they let you go just because your circumstances have changed?"
There was a pause, and then he sat a little straighter, his hands returning to the arms of the chair, taking hold. He took a breath.
"The son, the brother they knew? He's gone. His life is over. I'd…I'd like it if they remember me, who I was, that I loved them. If--if they could tell my friends, because Chris has been calling and I know he's mad at me. But if they could just--" He gripped the chair arms, took another breath, visibly settled himself down. "That person doesn't exist any longer, and it would make me happy if they would just remember him as he was, and let me go." His gaze flickered to her and settled. "Can you do that? Because every time I've tried, my mom starts crying, and I just can't-- I can't." He let his hope show, and it disturbed her to take it from him.
"I don't think that's the best course of action right now, Jensen. I suggest we wait and talk about some of the things you've said here. If you still feel that way in the future, we can readdress the issue."
His gaze fell away from her, and she read disappointment and sadness in his face, even though he schooled his features to blankness quickly and well.
"Will you let me set up a time for your folks to visit you? They are really anxious to see you and know for themselves you're all right."
"No."
"Jensen, they think you blame them for the changes in your life. That it's their fault, everything that's happened. That's hardly fair."
"It's not their fault. Not any of it. They shouldn't think that--or believe that I think that."
"Then tell them." She could see he was wavering. "If you won't see them, then call them. Talk to them on the phone. At least let them hear your voice."
She waited him out, and at last he spoke. "I haven't called because I wanted them to get over missing me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "If I disappeared completely, even the sound of my voice, I thought it would be easier."
"Well, it's not. Have you forgotten them? The sound of your dad's voice? MacKenzie's laugh? Your mom's arms around you?" She knew she was using dirty tactics, but he needed something to blast him out of the apathy he'd sunk into. It was working, at least somewhat. His mouth twisted, and there were tears he refused to let fall.
"No. I haven't forgotten. Those are things I remember every day. Things that make the next breath possible, the next mouthful of food, the next… I haven't forgotten."
"So you'll call?"
"Yeah."
EIGHTEEN
Jared was so horny he thought he'd explode, especially whenever he looked at Jensen. And he was looking at Jensen a lot. The man was beautiful; there was no other word for it. Gravid and slowed by the child he carried--Jared's child!--he retained much of the strength and grace he'd always had. He had kept to his exercise regimen, and Jared and Mark were careful to monitor his activity level, to make sure he didn't injure himself or the child by overdoing it.
Jensen's appetite had remained low and disinterested, but he did try to eat as much as he could of what he was given. He just didn't seem to enjoy it. Nausea continued to plague him, too, so frequent small meals seemed to help with that. Heartburn played a part, so along with the things off his diet because of the pregnancy itself, the heartburn-producing foods were banned. It didn't leave a lot of variety, but Marta outdid herself making things attractive and palatable, and Jensen thanked her by eating at least some of everything. His face had leaned some, the strong bones of jaw and cheek more apparent since his weight had redistributed. His forearms and wrists, too, seemed finer, less muscled. Jared watched him closely--at times Jensen seemed to almost be melting away.
He was still startlingly attractive, though, and all the more so because of the increasingly gravid belly that weighed his movements and slowed his step. Jared offered back rubs and foot rubs, and once getting his hands on that freckled skin, it was easy for those touches to become more seductive ones. But Jensen rejected his overtures, turning away with flat statements of fatigue.
"Orgasms create endorphins, Jen," he coaxed. "It'll make you feel better, I promise. Let me, please." But Jensen just scooted toward the edge of the bed, levering himself up, refusing Jared's offered hand, and left the room. He edged away from all kinds of touches after that, which broke Jared's heart.
Jared ached to hold him, to cup his belly and feel their child move, but Jensen wouldn't stay still for it; he slid out of Jared's arms and left him wanting: wanting sex, wanting to make Jensen feel better, wanting to share the growth of their baby. It was a void Jared had no way to fill.
Jared was still determined to be a part of every facet of the pregnancy, and of Jensen's life. He took Jensen to appointments himself, and was in the room for the exams. He wasn't allowed to sit in on Jensen's sessions with Dr. Simons, but he booked a couple of hours with her for himself, to try and learn how to help Jensen as much as he could, and to understand what his ceiver was going through. He'd managed to arrange to take Jensen to every appointment so far except for two with Dr. Simons, and on those occasions Jeff was able to step in for him.
Mark was pleased at how the pregnancy was progressing. Jared asked his questions, and Mark took the time to give thorough explanations, and to recommend further reading. The exams were brief, and Jensen had almost gotten over being embarrassed at having his body exposed, probed and prodded by one man in front of the other. He listened to his iPod, not bothering to acknowledge Mark's insistent requests and Jared's urging for him to listen to the heartbeat, to watch the ultrasound. He didn't refuse, he just ignored them, tuned them out, as he did his best to ignore the changes in his body.
He still ran miles on the treadmill, even if he ran more slowly. Laps in the pool were a daily part of his routine, too. The water felt great--he could almost believe his body was his own while he was in the water. Jared expressed some concern that Jensen might be exercising too strenuously. Jensen wanted to know, "What else am I doing with my time, Jared?" Mark reassured them both that as long as Jensen felt well and his readings kept within the normal range, he was fine.
He ate what Marta served him, as much of it as he could get down, and keep down. Nausea was still a problem. Even though he'd learned to accept it, it was no more pleasant than it had ever been. But he didn't want to hurt Marta's feelings. She took extra care to make his meals appealing, and she sat with him while he ate, often having her lunch at the same time so he didn't have to eat alone. Pregnancy seemed to have stolen his appetite, though, along with other things. Everything tasted like library paste and cardboard.
Jensen continued to sleep in the guest room, the room he and Jared, and Marta too, referred to as Jensen's. Jared brought home shopping bags nearly every night, but after Jensen walked out of the room the first time Jared showed him the onesies and the little baseball outfit that he'd bought, if he brought home more baby stuff--and Jensen was sure that he did--he didn't make Jensen watch him unpack it.
There had been furniture deliveries, but Marta had supervised, and Jensen had kept to the ruins of his office above the garage. He hadn't had the motivation to finish cleaning it up after the tantrum he'd thrown, and he forbade Marta or Jared to touch it. He'd get to it, he told them, when he decided what he wanted to do with the space.
* * *
His pregnancy was further advanced; when he sat, his belly rounded out the t-shirt he wore, tightening it against the swell. As before, he rested his hands on the chair arms and chose not to meet her gaze.
"How have you been?"
"Fine."
"Is the pregnancy causing you any problems? Indigestion? Discomfort?"
"The doctor's tending to all that stuff," he responded, which wasn't an answer. "He and Jared are on top of everything."
She watched him carefully for a beat. "And you're not?"
"None of my business," he stated flatly, with a slight shrug.
Ah. Okay. She took a careful breath and squared her shoulders for battle. Her voice was soft. "Jensen, it's your body, of course it's your business--"
"No it's not."
"What?"
"This body. Isn't mine. I'm just breathing for it, feeding it, walking it around, keeping it clean for Repro. It belongs to them--they say what happens to it. I'm just...an unwilling passenger, along for the ride. Haven't you got that yet?" He took a deep breath, steeling himself. "Yeah, well. I wanted to ask you about something."
She was a little surprised. This was his first voluntary question. "Sure, if I can help."
"Do they still perform prefrontal lobotomies?"
She huffed a little laugh at the unexpected joke, but then met his gaze. He looked her dead in the eye and didn't crack the ghost of a smile. "You're not joking."
"Think about it, doc. I'm your perfect candidate. I get to pop babies out as fast as Jared can do the honors and make Repro happy. I make Jared happy fucking like bunnies and raising his sprog, I make his family happy spreading the Padalecki genes. I make my family happy and finally relieve their guilt because I'm so fucking happy with how my life turned out. I get Repro off their case, wondering if they're going to try and help me if I decide to bolt--which I'll never do because I'm so fucking happy being a baby factory and milk cow. It solves everybody's problems, including mine. Where do I sign? And how soon can you schedule the procedure?"
"You can't be serious."
"Why not?" He met her gaze unflinching, something like hope in his eyes.
"Jensen--you can do all that, without the sarcasm. You can do all those things, for real. You can make Jared and his family and your family happy. You can have sex with Jared and make babies and raise babies and make Repro happy, without brain surgery."
"Yeah, everybody gets what they want, except me. It hurts so much and it never stops hurting. I hate everything. I hate every breath I take. I hate opening my eyes every morning because I'm still here, still breathing, still--pregnant, how creepy is that? I have no life."
"You have an enviable life, you just refuse to accept it and adapt."
"When are any of you going to understand that I can't do that on my own? I need help--"
"That's why you're here."
"No offense, doc, but talking about this shit isn't changing a damn thing--not the circumstances, and not my reaction to it. I need--I need out, or major drugs--which I can't have because of the pregnancy--or I need to carve that part of me out that thinks stopping breathing is better than living like this. I've done my research. I'll be happy, I'll be healthy, I'll do what I'm told and be good at it, since all that's required is get fucked, drop piglets, suckle them till they're walking and do it all over again ‘til my insides wear out and I fall over dead. I'll do it all with a smile on my face and a song in my heart, and I'll never have another negative thought about Repro or pregnancy or childbirth or parasites clamped to my chest sucking me dry from the outside once they're done sucking the life out of me from the inside. I'll never miss driving my own car, having a career, thinking through a problem, winning at something, independence, making my own destiny, having a wife, or a girlfriend, or several. I probably won't remember having any of that, and I won't even think to want it. If I can't die, because I'd be letting Jared and my family down, then remove the part of me that wants to."
"You know we can't do that. Honestly Jensen, I can't believe the heights of melodrama you've reached here today. We just need to work harder on acceptance and adapting to your new life."
"It's not life. And it's not mine. And all the words in the world are never going to make either of those things true. So you're telling me no without even checking out the possibility? You think I'm hysterical, right? Over reacting, acting out?"
She didn't respond and he nodded.
"Right. So just wait the crazy out. It's probably just the pregnancy hormones anyway."
"You know, you might have a point there. Your hormones probably are all over the place."
He nodded, and sat back in his chair. She watched as his face drained of all animation. His hands loosely grasped the arms of the chair again; his focus was on the middle distance somewhere north of his knees. She made a few more conversational gambits, but he showed no indication he even heard her. At the end of the hour, there was a knock on the door, and Jared's brother stepped in, smiling an apology.
"If you guys are done, I need to get him home. I have a meeting this evening I need to prepare for."
"Yes," she told him, rising to her feet. "We're finished for today." Jensen stood too, facing the door but not moving toward it.
"Jensen, I'll see you in two weeks. I'd like you to write something--a list, or maybe an essay, with positive things about your present life, and bring it with you. Okay?"
He gave no indication he'd heard. But Jeff nodded and smiled again. "I'll make sure Jared knows he has an assignment," he told her. He moved aside and Jensen went toward the door, following Jeff out. The door closed behind them.
* * *
Jensen had begun to have ideas for the bonus rooms. He suggested adding a stairway to access them from the garage, pool, and weight room, and Jared agreed. In fact, he said, he didn't know why that hadn’t been done when the rooms were added. He even sat down one evening and did a couple of architectural sketches of how the stairs could be added in, and Jensen picked the one he thought would work best. He called a couple of contracting firms the next day, got estimates, and with Jared's approval, had workmen out that week.
Jensen made himself scarce, observing from a distance. He asked Marta to relay his questions and instructions. The equipment was set up on the patio, among the stacks of materials, and the men worked in the sun, muscles gleaming under a sheen of sweat as they measured and cut lumber and drywall, lifted and carried it inside. The door came, and was hung. And then another crew came to stain and finish the stairs, and paint the new wall. Jensen had helped Jason on his family's ranch, mending fences and building a shed; he remembered how it felt to do physical work, the satisfaction when it all came together. His dread of being seen in his present condition intensified. He concentrated on the end result, though, when the cleanup was finished and the workmen were gone. He made plans.
* * *
At his next appointment Jensen took his customary chair, easing into the seat, a bit more clumsy with the noticeable increase in bulk. He didn't speak, or look at her.
"Jensen, how've you been feeling?"
"If you're having discomfort, whether from indigestion or joint pain, or whatever, you need to say something. There are things they can do to alleviate a lot of the discomfort."
She waited, but he didn't answer her. She pressed on. "You know the baby's sex by now, of course. Is it a boy or a girl?"
He gave no sign of having heard her. She couldn't let him get away with that. "Jensen? Is it a boy or a girl?"
He didn't respond, but he couldn't evade her gaze. Forced to reply, he offered, "Jared says he'll be okay with either."
"That's Jared, what about you?"
"I have no preference," he told her.
She made a note, and pressed on. "Have you guys got the nursery ready? How did you decorate it?"
He shifted in the chair, just a little. She couldn't tell if it was pregnancy discomfort or his wanting to avoid the conversation. "Jared did all that. He's really into it, I guess."
"So what did he choose? What does the room look like?" she asked, regarding him closely for his reaction.
"I don't know. I haven't seen it."
"Aren't you interested?"
His gaze swung to her face, pinning her breathless, his beautiful green eyes empty of emotion. "Why would I be?"
"Well, Jensen, it's your baby, yours and Jared's, your child, your little boy, or little girl. Surely you care what sort of environment you're welcoming him or her into?"
"Look, Doc. It's Jared's kid, all right? Nothing to do with me. I'm just the bucket. Once I'm full they empty me out and I'm done. Until next time."
His attempt to shock her into leaving off the questions worked, for a few minutes. She observed him as he sat, gazing at the floor. The taut fabric across his belly rippled as the child inside him moved. He showed no sign of having felt it, his hand did not stroke across his belly where the movement had been. He sat stony and unmoving, and apparently unmoved.
"How do your folks feel about it? Are they hoping for a little boy? Or a girl?"
He didn't answer at once. "You did call them, as you promised, right?"
"Yeah, I called."
"So, what do they say? Boy or girl?"
"We don't talk about it. That's one of the rules. If I call them we don't talk about that. If they want to talk about that, they talk to Jared."
She made notes on her pad, and watched him silently for a few minutes without his apparent awareness of her gaze. She didn't usually do this; her job was to lead the patient toward discovering his or her own understanding, and a patient-driven course of action. But Jensen had shut down. He wasn't responding to her, nor, according to Jared, to anyone or anything else. It was as if he believed that defaulting on responsibility for his own health, sanity, and behavior meant that his life would be suspended, the events he dreaded would never come to pass, that he'd never have to deal with them, incorporate them into his reality, and move on to what his future held for him. She knew he was present and aware. He was just using this dissociation as camouflage, hoping his fate would pass him by. She couldn't let that illusion stand.
"Jensen, since talking with you several times and hearing what you have to say, and what you won't say, or refuse to talk about, it's pretty clear that you think because this has happened to you that your life is over."
He didn't respond. She hadn't really expected him to.
"You know, most people have some sort of life-changing event in their lives. They're usually big things, and they can be good changes, or they can be devastating changes that require a person to completely restructure his life, and learn to think of himself in a new way. "
He sat, refusing to acknowledge her or what she was saying, but she knew he was listening. He had no choice.
"What if you'd been in a car crash? What if you'd lost limbs, been paralyzed? What if you discovered you had some chronic, debilitating disease? You would have adapted. You would work hard to learn to walk on prosthetic legs, to use a prosthetic arm. You would learn to navigate life from a wheelchair, to depend on friends and strangers and a dog to guide you if you were blinded. You'd adapt, you'd learn, and you'd negotiate life on the new terms you were dealt. And on the other side of the learning process you could look back and acknowledge that your life didn't go as you expected it would, that you are not the same person you were before the dramatic event changed your life. But you would also know you're a stronger person than you ever were before you faced that challenge."
He hadn't moved, the only way she could tell he was listening was that his hands had tightened on the arms of the chair, his fingers white at the knuckles and the nails digging into the upholstery.
"Jensen. This event may seem devastating to you, and to the image of yourself you've always had. You're not the person you were before all this began, it's true. But your life has certainly not ended. It's changed. And a baby isn't a tragedy, it's a blessing. Your body is producing a child, Jensen! You're making the next generation, not just for your family and Jared's, but for the world! This is an amazing thing, a privilege. It's a huge change, and it is frightening in a lot of ways. But it's also a profoundly joyful and productive thing you're doing. It doesn't necessarily change who you are, the son your parents raised. But it does affect how you interact with the world, and how the world sees you. It's change, Jensen. And it's hard. But it's not an ending. It's a wonderful beginning. I hope you can come to see and accept that."
* * *
Jensen missed his next appointment. And though he attended the following one, he eased himself into his customary chair, refused to meet her gaze, and was completely nonresponsive. They had one final meeting before his pregnancy ended, but it was no more productive than the previous one. Dr. Simons made recommendations that, before he and Jared attempted a second pregnancy, Jensen be given trial courses of anti-psychotics, mood elevators, and possibly a course of ECT, to realign his brain chemistry and pull him out of the fugue state he seemed determined to cling to. As far as she knows, to date her recommendations have not been followed.
