Title: "Que Sera Sera"
Fandom: "General Hospital"
Rating/Classification: PG-13 for mild language, general, ficlet, future fic.
Disclaimer: Nope! Not mine!
Summary: I honestly don't know where her storyline is going, but, sometimes, things just need to be said, acknowledged.
His eyes move over the curve of her belly first, and then the flat of his
palm. He touches her with something like reverence, maybe awe, and the
glass of club soda in her hand begins to tremble.
"Why'd you come in?" he wonders, pulling his fingers back behind the
invisible line that's been drawn between them. "Hell of a lot of secondhand smoke in here." And as if punctuating that thought, he jerks his head at the guy two seats down and makes a motion that clearly means 'stub that shit out before I kill you.'
"I-it's all right. Luke still hasn't given up his cigars." Even her laugh
glows. "I thought you'd want to know," she says, with a shrug. But her eyes don't quite meet his. She glance just to the left of him. Somewhere near Jose and JD.
He tilts his head, stares at her for a long minute. Her face is rounder,
he decides. Her tits fuller. Her maternity suit is top shelf. A silk number that doesn't make her look like a beached whale. The average pregnant woman would probably hate Skye Quartermaine. The average man should, too. "Yeah," he agrees, quietly. "I'd want to know." He wants to touch her again. He won't. "I'd wanna know...but why would you want to *tell*?"
The rock on her fourth finger isn't obnoxious. It's pretty nice. He saw
the announcement in the paper and he'll pretend till the day he dies that
he didn't cut it out and stick it in his wallet.
"Coleman..." She always makes his name sound profane. Like something that shouldn't be said in polite company...only whispered in the dark with the curtains drawn.
"Why?" he repeats, remembering how her mouth used to taste like Absolut and her thigh like Irish cream.
Her eyes move over the curve of his face first, and then the flat of her
"Because it should have been you."
March 4, 2004.