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Beside Her

Summary:
Latest installment in For Her, sequel to Protect Her, Love Her, Hold Her, Keep Her, From Her, and With Her. Whew! In this story, Quil and Claire's first child is born. They face the ordinary travails of parenting, along with some special dilemnas.


Notes:
Largely fluff. no forseeable evil conflicts of doom... but don't worry, there will be plenty in the next tale! this is the series that never ends. 100 reviews, people. or the sequel doesn't go up. or get written. and we don't want that.


3. Chapter 3

Rating 5/5   Word Count 519   Review this Chapter

Claire carried the baby into his room. It had been painted a neutral yellow in preparation for his arrival, no matter how many times I had protested, quoting a movie from shortly after Claire was born, “yellow isn’t really neutral. How many men with yellow walls do you know?”

She’d laughed and laughed and told me to shut up.

So I did. See ‘Claire always wins’ for more details on this phenomenon.

She spun around, the baby in her arms sleeping. She paid no mind to that fact, however. “You like your new room, huh? It’s nice, huh?”

Her only response was a miniscule snore. The fragile, pale nose, so slender and small it looked almost wet from the translucence of the skin, opened a fragment and then closed, expelling a tiny amount of air. In order to do this, the entire face contorted.

“He’s so sweet,” I whispered.

“I love babies. Always have.”

I smiled at her. “And now you have one of your very own.”

“Thanks to you.”

“It was a joint effort.”

Claire snorted. It was a distinct laugh, in the I don’t want to admit how funny I think Quil is way. This I heard very often in my life, usually immediately after my terrible jokes, of which they were many- because they made Claire happy, even if she wouldn’t own up to it.

“And besides, you put in most of the work.”

True. I didn’t have to lug the thing around in my stomach for nine months while being fretted over by my husband. I hadn’t been very good during this whole pregnancy deal. In fact, I’d spent most of the time worrying.

Claire had surgery after four months to correct the incompetent cervix and prevent the whole baby-falling-out deal. Unfortunately, this had required anesthesia. One of the wise-isms Claire had learned in med school, and for some reason shared with me, is “Every time you go under, there’s a chance you don’t come back up.”

I had come very close to phasing and killing someone out of pure stressed-out nervousness. She was out for about an hour. It was by far the most nerve-rending heart-pounding hour of my whole sorry life, except for possibly the six that had gone into delivering this baby.

That hadn’t been pleasant either. So, no, I hadn’t had any easy time of it, but my pain was all sympathy pain, worry about Claire, worry worry worry while that was all I could do to ease the process.

Now it didn’t matter. She was here, and so was the baby, and both were safe and happy.

It was wonderful.

I kissed her, something I usually avoided doing suddenly. She didn’t seem to mind, though, from the fervor with which she returned it.

“I love you,” she said. And I knew it was true, as true as the moon and the stars and the sun and my love that was the most potent of all of these.

I love you.