heart [ skipped ] a beat. kyrite.

It wasn't so much that it had become they're normal routine. He guessed, looking back, things had always been like this. Kellan Fray was a burning sun and he'd married the cold moon and they had not ever labored under the delusion that they were easy for each other.

He loved her. She loved him. It should have been enough but some days- most days- it was like this: screams and fist holes in the wall and resentment. God, so much resentment. Sometimes it outweighed the love, which was bad. Sometimes it disguised itself as love, which was worse. And they lived like that, a hair trigger and a lifetime away from ending it all and living as the sun and moon were meant to live: separately. But each time one of them stepped up to the edge of the cliff, Pyrite with a bottle of vodka in her hands or Kellan with lipstick on his collar, it suddenly seemed so impossible for the other to watch the fall.

Kellan had told her a million cruel things. She'd done the same. He'd threatened divorce, threatened rehab, threatened worse things yet. And even still, when he got word that his beloved had gone on another bender, it was instinctive that he drop what he was doing and make his way to her.

He watched her sleep for hours. Loving her. Resenting her. Wanting everything for her. Practicing how he'd break up with her when she woke. And then the doctor had shown up and made some joke about getting Pyrite a punch card so her next one could be free and Kellan had slammed him against the wall and told him if he made another comment like that Kellan would let him choose what got ended: the career or the life.

They'd gotten a new doctor. This one told him that Pyrite looked to be pregnant. He asked if it was possible and yeah, of course it was. Lately the love and the hate had been cohabitating their house all too frequently: an argument and a broken lamp and a kiss so hard the rest of it didn't matter.

They told him she couldn't drink anymore, and he could tell why they were telling him that. It was obvious. A pregnant woman can't have alcohol. Everyone knew that. It wasn't a point of absolving him of his ignorance. It was a warning of what would come. Pyrite couldn't drink. An addict could not get her fix.

"Oh."

He thought about a lot of things, watching her sleep, telling her mother that it was a bad case of food poisoning and they didn't need to make the trip, asking Justice if he could possibly crash at his place for the next few weeks until he figured something out and then changing his mind.

He'd left to get a cup of coffee when she finally woke up. Five minutes, max. That's how long it had taken for her to wake up and become completely irate with everyone around her. It was chemical, he knew. A loose wire in the brain that told her to hate and resent and destroy. It was similar to the one that told him he always deserved more than he actually did. The one that made him unable to say no to a soft hand on the shoulder or an easy laugh or someone who had a place within walking distance.

But then there was this: seeing her awake and feeling himself exhale the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding as relief washed over him.

"Just say it," He hated her most when she was like this. When she was afraid.

He couldn't leave her now. Hell, let's cut the bullshit: he wasn't ever going to leave her in the first place. Fire and ice don't mix well but the water they sometimes drowned in felt too fucking good to resist. Her eyes betrayed her, and the corners of her mouth. It all hinted to a brokenness that was at least partially his fault and he did not have the slightest fucking clue how to help her out of it. But he knew he was going to try. It was all either of them ever knew, at their very best.

"Say it, Kel."

He was supposed to tell her he was done again. That he'd be gone before she got home. That's what he always said. But he hesitated at her feet before taking a seat next to them. Cleared throat, he couldn't meet her eyes. This conversation was happening backwards.

"Py, you're pregnant."

There was something about this entire thing that only became real when Pyrite was made aware of it. Before that, it was theoretical. It was a hypothesis: Pyrite could have been pregnant. But then he saw it in her eyes and in her hands and in her lips as she began to tremble and he found himself doing the same.

For the first time in his life, Kellan Fray did not have the mental fortitude to handle this. No, that was not true. For the first time in his life, Kellan Fray was aware he could not handle this. You see, in theory, he'd always wanted Py to sober up. In theory, the topic of children had been one that his parents had been discussing with him at the dinner table even before they'd announced his impending engagement to her. But there was so much of these situations people loved to leave out. Maybe they thought they were doing everyone a favor, leaving out the nitty gritty parts. The parts about how sobering up changes a person. Not positively, at first. Somehow, they became more volatile, more aggressive, more emotional. They might have slept away an entire day or disappeared for weeks at a time. They might have said things they did not mean, or at least things they knew they shouldn't say. They might have turned to worse outlets to numb the pain, or they might have slipped up, disregarding all the battles they'd already won and accepting that they would always, every single time, lose the war. Not to mention the physical symptoms detoxing brought.

And now she was expected to do it all pregnant.

How?

On one hand, he thought, this could work. Py did not love him or even herself enough to stop this behavior before, but a baby? Someone who depended on her entirely? Something that demanded her responsibility and her accountability?

On the other hand... it demanded her responsibility and her accountability. And what better way was there to take her apart, cell by cell and brick by brick until all that remained was the beating center of her? Vulnerable, exposed, terrified... it was the perfect recipe for her perfect undoing.

This could have been what saved them. Or it could have been what finally tore them completely apart.

"Convince me," she said, and he only realized for the first time that he hadn't moved an inch since the last time he'd spoken. He hadn't blinked. Hadn't breathed.

"I... I can't. I mean, I-"

His words were cut off by a nurse carrying an IV cart walking into the room. She was tall and plump and wore scrubs with little goldfish wearing spectacles.

"Just gonna swap over your fluids real quick, Hun," she said.

Kellan stared at the ground as she went to work switching tubes and hanging bags of clear liquid onto metal poles and placing a hand on Pyrite's forehead and mindlessly chewing a piece of gum.

"You hungry? Thirsty? Any soreness in your legs or stiffness in your neck? Do y-"

Kellan cleared his throat.

"Is there any way you can come back in a few minutes?" The words were phrased like a question, but Kellan Fray was used to getting what he wanted. It sounded more like a demand, and the nurse got the idea, throwing up her hands in mock surrender, friendly enough smile as she made her way out of the room.

For a while, everything was silent. Maybe she was waiting for him to speak, or maybe she was trying to gather her thoughts just as he was, but it was him who broke the silence first.

"I'll say this: We've made it this far," barely, "and no one thought we would." There was a pounding in his head. Often times he thought hangovers were contagious. With Pyrite, everything was: Hangovers, anger, laughter.

He kept thinking of things he should be saying: I'm not ready. You aren't either. Now isn't the time. Babies aren't supposed to save families. He couldn't bring himself to say it. Any of it.

"How about we go home and get you better first. Gives us more time to think. Then we can..." his eyes glanced at her stomach. Somehow, some part of him became terrified and convinced that this could be their one and only chance. As little as they had taken care of themselves over the years something like this was a miracle. Or it had the potential to be, anyway.

His hand touched her belly, pressed itself against her, and a rush of something- emotions, maybe- hit him and he cleared his throat and closed his eyes so she wouldn't see the tears that were beginning to form. He blinked them away before they got the chance to fall.

"Then we can make a decision. Sound good?"

He stood, walls back up.