#eli 006

close the door, hold the phones, show me how no one’s ever gonna stop us now...

when she looks back on this moment, she’ll try to deny it to herself that she was the one who kissed him first. she’ll tell herself that it was him, and the way he looked at her, and the way she could feel his breath on her face.

but in reality, she will know that she was the one who got closer to him, who pressed her hand against his ribs and slid her arm around to pull him closer. she was the one who stood on her toes and pressed her lips to his, selfishly, carelessly. she took what she wanted.

but he didn’t stop her. then again, she’d known he wouldn’t.

-

“we have to tell her about us, eli,” she murmurs, tightening her grip around the drink in her hands. she shouldn’t be having alcohol. if they’re really doing this, the doctor had warned her she needed to clean up her diet. but she needed something to get her through this conversation.

eli sighed. “i know...”

“it’s just.... there’s too much history here,” fiona says, and as she says it, she realizes it’s not enough to describe it. they had an entire world, an entire bubble between them and only them.

he shifts in his seat, as if he is reckoning with the weight of her words. they shared almost too much in the time they spent together. and when it ended, that was it; all they had left were their memories. he’d moved on with his life, and she’d moved on with hers.

except now, here they were. here he was: with his wife and his potential future child between them.

fucking insane, she knows.

“i know, fiona,” he says, and she’d be lying if she said her knees didn’t go weak as her name left his lips. she’d made her peace when they parted ways, but he was still eli, and he still did things to her. the whiskey clearly wasn’t helping.

“but i can’t even begin to tell you how long she and i have been at this with no luck. looking for matches and donors and ivf and trying... and it hasn’t worked. and now here you are. perfect match, perfect fit... and it’s you.”

there’s a weight to the way he says that. as though she were something more or greater. maybe it’s selfish because he seems to be the only one winning, but dammit if she isn’t nodding along.

“eli.”

“i know how it sounds.”

the whiskey tastes bitter when she takes another swig. she’s never really enjoyed whiskey (because how does one enjoy whiskey) but it always settled her nerves in a way other kinds of alcohol couldn’t. 

“you can’t come here and ask me to do this like this,” she says. “it blows up in our faces and then what? this is a baby, not a business transaction. there’s so much at stake here.”

“i know, i never said it was going to be simple, i just... this is it for me,” he says, somewhat pathetically. “she doesn’t want to do this again, she doesn’t want to try again. you’re kinda my last shot here.”

-

she’s tipsy when she’s making her way into the bathroom, when she grips the wall beside the closed door and tries to catch her breath. because she’s just said yes to something insane, and going about it in a way her gut is just screaming for her not to.

but that could be the whiskey. her slight anger is probably the whiskey, too.

and so is the way she’s pushing him backward when he opens the bathroom door.

“fiona.”

“shut up,” she mutters as she shuts the door behind them.

“wha--”

“you cant ask me to do this,” she tells him, shutting her eyes. you can’t come here, talking about last shots, and ask me to have a baby for you.” her teeth are gritted, and she can feel a bead of sweat trickling down the back of her neck. it’s already hot, and the tiny bathroom isn’t helping.

“fiona, i know i--” he stops when she presses her hands against his ribs, and they’re nose to nose against the door.

“you know, and yet you’re still here.” 

-

when she looks back on this moment, she’ll try to deny it to herself that she was the one who kissed him first. she’ll tell herself that it was him, and the way he looked at her, and the way she could feel his breath on her face.

but she’s the one standing on her toes and pressing her lips to his, slow, steady, almost unsure, and yet so sure that it was the only thing she wanted.

“fiona,” he whispers against her mouth, lips touching hers with every syllable.

“just... for a minute,” gripping his shirt in her hands, she kisses him again. because for a minute, she really doesn’t give a fuck. and for a minute, she really missed him. and for a minute she hates him for coming to her in desperation when this should have been over and done with the minute they were face to face in that doctor’s office.

and then that minute turns into fifteen desperate, heated minutes and where her dress gets bunched up at her hips.

and it’s as messy as their heads and hearts are, and she’s ashamed, but can’t bring herself to regret it. not when she finds the mark against her collarbone, or his fingers pressed into the grooves of her hip bones.

but it happens. and it’s so bad.

and yet so good.