#beanstalkjack

15. Our muses are cadets in Star Fleet academy, they’re new roommates and don’t get along at all.

      Perhaps today of all days his elaborate schemes were going to be thwarted by none other than himself. Making her find him with little notes and clues seemed stale since that had already been done for Christmas. Cooking for her as he did nearly everyday would do nothing to impress, no matter what exotic recipe he could come up with. He had had a vague idea of what he would do. 

      So he'd planned a Valentine's getaway, not unlike their New Year's trip, but this time, they'd spend it just with each other. Stanley had her flowers waiting as he waited for her to emerge, with her little overnight bag. 

      Regardless of his plans, he couldn't resist moving up behind her and pulling her towards him by the waist, before she could gravitate towards her fresh roses. "You know..." he murmured against her neck, hands moving to the back zipper. "I never did like this dress," he breathed, slowly dragging it down whilst his lips covered the space just under her ear, drawing her skin into his mouth and allowing his tongue to tease the flesh whilst he tasted it. 

       Entering through the wide gap he'd made from undoing her zipper, his hands circled her body, one going boldly south, the other pressing into her chest, further into him. "Happy Valentine's Day..." he bit his own lip, to prevent himself from losing control completely. There were more gifts of course, but surely he couldn't gift himself first could he? That was very unbecoming of a man in a relationship. 

        He wasn't sure where he was learning these things. 

Regina honestly had no idea what she should expect from Jack today, to say her fiance was unorthodox from what she was accustomed to would be an understatement, though rarely did that go any way but in her favor. The flowers were beautiful, if not a touch cliche, but the feeling of him behind her now was a gift in and of itself -- though no gift could match the one that adorned her finger. Silver and diamond and topaz, a claim to being claimed.

She smiled as his lips brushed against her neck, a small breathy laugh leaving her when he began to unzip her so unceremoniously. "Should I be offended that you seem to like nothing that I wear?" She asked of him teasingly, trying to glance over her shoulder at him, but his bold and probing hands silenced her with a soft and appreciative hum.

      He had been wrapping up a meeting with a realtor when he'd gotten the call. Violet's voice was both panicked and excited. Regina had had contractions, and they'd gone to the hospital. It was time.

     Fatherhood was not a new concept to Stanley, having raised Violet into adulthood, but he was hit with the typical case of nerves and pride all the same, the expression on his face a mixture of terror, concern, and inexplicable happiness as he rushed to the hospital.

     When he got there, face bright and hopeful, albeit mildly apprehensive for the experience he knew he was about to have in the delivery room, everything was quiet. They had prepared for this. They were a team. She would curse and scream through the pain and probably try to kill him in the process, but that didn't matter. She was about to be the mother of their children. His and hers. Theirs. No one could take that away from them. People parted to make way for him, all staring. He was used to stares. Nothing could bother him as it were.

     Until he reached Violet.

     Her eyes were bloodshot. Even before he rearranged his features to question, he felt like something in him was burning. Instinct told him her tears were far from over dramatics. He touched her and she trembled, refusing to find solace in him, not when she knew she couldn't give him his. The doctor found them before she could speak.

    "Mr Merchant. Your wife suffered strong contractions. The walls of her womb were weak, so one of the contractions caused a rupture, and amniotic fluids flooded into her bloodstream, and into her lungs...suffocating her within 2 minutes. We tried all we could after she collapsed, but I'm afraid...she didn't make it. We have extracted your twins, they are now in intensive care, we're doing everything we can to ensure they survive."

     Nothing.

     He heard the words and felt nothing. Time seemed to stand still. She wasn't gone. She was waiting for him. They were going to do this together. Like they'd done everything together. That was the deal they'd made when they got married, they would do everything together. She wouldn't do this. She couldn't, she was strong. There was no way she could've—

     The noises around him sounded muted, yet loud. As if he were in a tunnel of water, as he looked around with a furrowed brow. "Where's my wife?" he began.

     "Dad..." Violet came forward, tears streaming down her face. "Dad please," she whispered, touching his arm, but he shook her away.

     "Where is she, I know she's still angry about us going for the italian instead of the—"

    "Dad! She's dead!" Violet shouted. Her voice rang through the hospital walls, but if anyone turned to look, they looked away just as quickly. It was these final words that broke him. They hit him like boulders to the chest. The only thought running through his mind over and over again for what felt like eternity as he stood there—stricken, was 'no.' But he only needed to watch Violet sob the way she did to know it was real. Every moment that passed as it sunk in deeper and deeper made it worse.

     She was gone. He had lost. He had lost her. He had lost the person he had loved most in this world ever since he had been a child. She was truly gone. He would never look at the moon with her again. He would never explore her body the way she so often provoked him to do. Never see the smile he so deferred to every day that he had known her.

      And it was his fault. If he could somehow go back, take it back, take back that night, used a condom, loved her a different way, pretended to have fallen asleep, anything, she would still be here. She would still kiss him. She would still love him the way no one else could. As he sank to the ground and wept, all he could see was the flashes of her smile. He could still hear her voice over the phone, just a few hours prior. He could still feel the kiss they'd shared just that morning. She'd been fine then. Irritable and bloated, but fine. He was never going to see her again.

     So he wept. Wept for his love in broken anguish. He'd lost her for a second time. Just when he'd thought he never would again. Fate was a cruel mistress, even crueler so to him since he had cheated it. An hour passed. He'd cried into submission and then sat himself in a private room in the hospital, staring emptily, allowing Gerry to handle funeral arrangements...Allowing Gerry to handle everything.

     Violet knelt next to his seat and pressed her fingers into his shoulder as she gripped it. "We were on the way here and... I don't know why I think this, but... Something tells me she knew... She said, 'tell him I love him.' I just thought the pain was making her loopy, because she squeezed my hand and smiled at me like she was going to cry and she said. 'I do love you as well, I want you to know that, thank you for helping take care of me from the day I got here' and she...she kissed my cheek... by then we'd reached the hospital and—" her voice broke. "I didn't say it back Dad... I didn't say anything, I was more focussed on shielding her from prying eyes, I—" and she broke down again. He embraced her even though his own heart was too shattered to provide any shelter or say anything at all. She had been his life. And his life was gone. Gone.

     Gerry interrupted them to say that the twins were ok, one was a boy and one was a girl and Stanley could see them. The older man shook his head. "No.... I can't..." How could he? They were the reason. For that duration he blamed himself. He blamed two innocent lives. It was Violet who eventually got him to rise from the room and drift toward the ward. They were tiny. Insignificant. Blonde. But then one of them opened its eyes. Deep chestnut brown eyes. Her eyes. Tears filled his own again. Those were their children. Theirs. And she'd left him alone with them. He couldn't blame their children. They were the only living part of her he had left.

[ ooc note: insert different verses speech here. this would never actually be a thing so I would like to ask that the two idiots in question not take offense. ]

          In all honesty I doubt either would win. They’re both far too stubborn to admit defeat, and I also sincerely doubt that either have it in them to kill anyone at all.  Meaning that were the two to meet, and assume a fight was the only course of action, that it would not end until both were unable to fight any longer. Even then they would be likely to claim they had been the one to stay standing the longest.