She attempted to smother the fear she could feel herself emitting, didn’t want to frighten the other mothers and fathers with the smell of mold and neglect. She whimpered, a tiny sound in her throat, she was so sick and tired of feeling nauseous, and she could feel how weak her kid was, struggling to retain any food she ate.
Alison was good about making sure she ate (forcing), but Samara was equally as proficient at making sure her sister was out of the house when she vomited it all back into the toilet, small dry heaves making her child restless with distress.
Small tears trickled down her cheeks then, and she ground her teeth together, forceful pressure, anvil falling from a cartoon sky. She couldn’t have a conversation with people if she was unable to keep from fucking bawling everywhere.
“Samara Khaled?”
She stood up at the mention of her name, grabbing hold of the plastic seat she’d been sitting on as she swayed in place, dark spots twirling in front of her vision. She could hear the nurse asking if she’s alright, soothing voice, lemon-honey scent of concern, but it was so hard to stand and her knees were too close to buckling.
She looked up to see an unfamiliar face in a lab coat. Doctor, probably. The man smiled down at her kindly, almost Bjorn’s height, and Samara shuddered painfully and pressed cold palms to her stomach. “I think I’d better check you out sooner than later, Ms. Khaled.” His arm was very stable against Samara, and Samara nodded gratefully.
Jesus, this was gonna kill her, never mind custody battles.
She was shuffling, arm in arm with the Doctor when she was assailed by a prickling sensation on her neck. She turned, to see Bjorn standing there.
Samara hadn’t had the strength left to groan in objection, but her inner child was purring contentedly, mocking Samara’s displeasure. It was not that she didn’t want her baby daddy with her, but she already knew Bjorn was going to be overly-worried. Damn pain in the ass. He had insisted on being present at every medical situation after the whole, blackout fiasco; and she’d been trying to honor that. But today was supposed to be in and out; quick – no need to bother anyone. How had he even known?
The look on Bjorn’s face was thunderous and the other pregnant women seemed to shrink back with trepidation as his violet eyes tracked her across the room. The doctor smoothly dislodged Samara’s grip and stepped away, hands turned upward in a placating gesture. Bjorn's expression didn't change much, until he was at Samara’s side.
He took one cursory look at Samara and hoisted her into his arms, bridal style, held her with one hand, using the other to press her cold cheeks into his flushed neck. Samara inhaled, against her will, focused on the steady thump of Bjorn’s racing heart. He was frightened. The fear was mostly covered with rage, fire and brimstone, but Samara could smell the terror, all the same.
Bjorn pressed a perfunctory kiss into her hair, spoke softly against Samara’s skin, voice low but warm. “We’ll talk about whatever the fuck you thought this was, later.”
It was a threat, and Samara cringed automatically, but Bjorn hushed her and continued brushing his hands soothingly against her. She was almost asleep when she shook herself, because she could hear Bjorn talking.
“Is anything wrong with her, Doctor--” Bjorn trailed off, and she felt Bjorn loosen a hand from her head to shake the Doctor’s hand.
“Dr. Lee.”
“So what’s the issue here, Dr. Lee?” Samara peeked out of almost closed eyes to see her doctor wearing a strained look on his face. “I’m not sure. Your wife looks very weak. I haven’t ran any tests, yet, which I was about to do when you arrived, but I’m glad you’re here. Pregnant women tend to do well with their partners present during this time period, and Ms. Khaled is already looking much better.”
Bjorn didn’t bother to correct the doctor’s wrong impression even though he must have felt her tense in his arms.
“Jesus. She’s--Dr. Lee, she’s gotten so small, lately. I don’t know what to do, I’ve been trying to make sure she eats, but, she’s so damn tired all the time.”
Samara tightened her hold on Bjorn’s neck, rubbing against him gently, kitten licks against his skin. She would be stubborn later. Bjorn sounded twice as broken as her. Alison must have been snitching big time.
“Sometimes she can barely walk across the room.” Dr. Lee guided Bjorn, by the small of his back, into the clinician’s examination space, shutting the door behind him with a squeak. “I’m going to need to do some blood work on your wife, Mr. Fredriksen, and then I will need a urine sample. I have an idea of what it might be, and if my conclusions are proven correct, I’ll need to provide you with a detailed plan of care.”