92Hey, guys…it's me again. Here's a little something I thought of after I went totally bezerk and watched all episodes of Secret Life. I just really hated how Ricky didn't care about Amy at all. It pissed me off a lot, so I thought I should make something that would make the Ramy fans a little happy.
Takes place during the first season, as you'll probably find out. I absolutely swear this is only a one-shot. So, please; do not expect more from this story. I just wanted to publish it because the idea popped into my head as soon as I finished the first season, and I needed to get it out there.
Reviews are welcomed, but please don't ask for more because I won't make more. Okay…maybe I'd make more if people poured their heart and soul into the reviews, just begging for more, but otherwise I need to focus on my other story until that one is finished. Maybe then I would finish this one and add more to it.
Third person POV. Majorly AU
Disclaimer: I do not own The Secret Life of the American Teenager. *sob*
His eyes avoid hers as they sit across from each other, shifting uncomfortably in the waiting chairs. She sees them as some sort of comfort; the safe harbor where nothing bad would happen to her. He sees them as bad omens, things that lead to something horrible.
He thinks the chairs, the room, and the whole damn hospital are bad omens. Who wants to be at a hospital? He sure as hell doesn't. And by the look on her face neither does she.
She bites her lip as she stares at the ground, wishing her mom was there with the two of them, but unfortunately, she was stuck in traffic and they had gotten to the hospital before the usual afternoon rush started. And of course the doctors had to be running a little behind, so they were forced to wait longer than they should have. She felt embarrassed and a little guilty as they sat there, saying nothing to each other.
To her deepest embarrassment, though, she finds herself actually rubbing her hand soothingly along her distended stomach. It's not very big; she's about four and a half months in. But the movement isn't subtle enough for him not to notice. She didn't see him looking at her, more like felt his eyes trained on her.
She looks up at him and sees his gaze held firmly on the evident hill jutting out right below her ribcage, jaw locked in place. The shirt she wears is just a smidge too small, accenting the whole dimension of her baby bump and making him cringe a little at the sight of it. It's her hand on the bump that makes him feel like killing himself, makes him feel like he shouldn't even be on the planet.
And so he raises his eyes – just anywhere to get away from the guilt that was eating him from the inside out – and meets her hazel ones. Even though they look uncertain and weak, they penetrate his soul in a way so forceful, it's the main reason why he chose her above all the others at the Band Camp.
She looks away quickly, and his stomach squirms with regret and guilt, making him feel like he has to puke just to get the uncomfortable emotions out of his system. Finally, the doctor comes into the waiting room, and calls her name softly. A small part of him thinks the name's so pretty…she's so pretty. But when she stands up, he's snapped out of his thoughts and stands up, too.
The doctor gestures for the two of them to follow her and she goes first, him trailing behind her reluctantly. He still is undecided about coming in the first place, and he realizes that it's too late now. Her mother's not even at the hospital and he's the only one that came with.
She automatically sits down on the bed sitting in the center of the room next to some technical machines that he's sure he would break if he got too near them. He panicked mentally that he might lash out and do something stupid if he didn't get out of the place soon.
She eyes his jerky movements and twitches with a small sliver of interest. He's so not like himself; not like the usual smooth and cool guy she met at Band Camp. His eyes fly everywhere across the room, sometimes catching the doctor's as she spoke to them about the process they – meaning her – would go through soon, but they sometimes caught hers. And whenever they did, she knows they are the main reason why she let him choose her.
The doctor, with a big smile on her face, tells her to lie back, and he can feel the vomit coming up his throat. He doesn't want to see his kid. He doesn't want to see the life he made out of need, not love. He doesn't want to see the child he can't be a father to. But he finds himself slowly approaching her side as she stretches out on the beige mattress, shirt up high enough to expose her stomach region.
He doesn't bother looking at it. He only looks at her, because he thinks it's probably his only chance to look at her without the pressure of Adrian, or Ben, or anybody else's judgmental eyes. He's attracted to her, no doubt about that. That's another reason why he chose her. Lucky for him, she chooses to close her eyes as she waits for the doctor to prepare everything for the ultrasound.
His own eyes trace over every single delicate feature she has and he kicks himself mentally.
How could I ruin something so good? he thinks to himself.
Her hair looks so soft. He realizes he never ran his hand through it once while they…Her eyelashes are long. He realizes they never got to brush up against his cheek while they…Her arms and legs are skinny, but built sturdy. He realizes they never wrapped around him once while they…Her fingers are small, with nails nearly bitten down to the cuticle. He realizes they never raked through his own hair while they…He squeezes his eyes shut, his hands forming fists, the tendons popping out.
She feels oddly calm despite the situation. He wasn't with her the last time, and she had been extremely nervous then. But she realizes she's not nervous at all and finds it actually soothing to have him with her. She realizes that he's going through the same thing and experiencing this with him was something that you could relate to. Not that they needed to relate together in any way besides having the same kid.
The doctor's voice makes her eyes pop open, only to see him standing there rigidly, eyes shut tight and hands balled into fists. She looks at him for a beat longer before she smiles kindly at the doctor as she tells her that she's ready to proceed. The doctor walks her through it, explaining everything as she goes.
When the doctor squeezes the coupling gel onto her stomach, she gasps a little at the coldness and grinds her teeth together. Did they really have to refrigerate it? She notices that his hands are no longer in fists since one is leaning against the mattress above her head and the other lingers down by her right hand. His stance is a little more relaxed, but she can tell he's still nervous.
So she takes his hand and laces her fingers with his. He looks down at her in surprise, but doesn't say anything. She barely feels the transducer as it touches her fragile stomach because she looks up into his dark brown eyes. She tries to smile at him – just a small one – but it sort of feels like a grimace. He doesn't make any move to smile, or remove his hand. He just stares down at her.
The doctor waves the transducer around a few more times before she gives a soft "Ahh" and points to the screen.
His eyes don't look away, but hers do. She needs to see her baby again. The first ultrasound was one she didn't really care about, but as she grew with her baby, she understands that this life needs her, and she cares about it so much. And when her eyes land on the small black and white screen, they fill with tears. There her baby is.
The doctor says the baby is perfectly fine, then asks if they wanted to know the gender. She turns her head to look at him again, forgetting that he was still there. As soon as she saw her baby, she sort of went off into a world of her own. The look on his face, the crumpled look of anguish, guilt, sorrow, and pain, makes her shake her head no.
He looks ready to cry.
The doctor wipes off her stomach and each gives them their own sheet of paper with a picture of the ultrasound. She takes hers graciously, happy to just have another piece of the baby with her, while he takes his jerkily, almost robotically. She doesn't notice. They leave after about fifteen minutes of scheduling the next ultrasound. He still doesn't say anything.
And it's only in the car when they realize they've been holding hands the whole entire time. So he untangles his fingers from hers and clamps both hands onto the steering wheel tightly, jaw locked again. He doesn't say anything the whole ride to her house.
And she leaves him in his silence, trying to shut the car door as quietly as possible without so much as a "Good-bye". She runs into the house, not stopping to check out the sunset like she would have done if none of it would've happened.
But it did.
She doesn't stop running until she's in her bedroom, and when she closes the door, she leans against it, sliding slowly but tortuously down the white wood until her butt hits the floor. She puts her head on top of her knees and cries until it's dawn the next day.
Little does she know, that's exactly what he did, too.
How was it? I liked it, and on second thought, I might add more. I have some thoughts on the birth so…you'll just have to see.
-TeamSwiss737
