SHEVA ALOMAR

By the time he had let himself back into her apartment, she had already made up her mind. She was finished crying. She was over feeling sorry for herself. She had made her decision, and it didn't include him.

It was easy to be decisive in theory. Testing the strength of her resolve would take the courage she lacked.

"Oh, God," she moaned, leaning against the kitchen counter. If it hadn't been there she would have been sitting on the floor.

She couldn't tell if she was sorry she was losing Chris because of the baby or sorry because she'd gotten herself pregnant.

When the door swung open and Chris lumbered in, their eyes touched for a brief moment before she turned away and started for the bedroom. She didn't want to deal with him now.

"Wait, Sheva, wait," he implored, wrapping his arms around her. She was determined to get away from him. She tried to pull forward out of his grounding embrace but it was getting her nowhere. She felt dirty with him. Stupid. Alone.

"Chris, let me go."

"No. Listen to me. Are you gonna listen?"

"No! Just let me go!"

"Sheva, don't fight me…"

He spun her to face him, risking a well-placed knee to the groin he hoped wasn't coming and directed her back into the living room.

She twisted away from him. "I get it. You don't want—"

He covered her mouth with his hand. "Please. Don't."

She tore off his hand with a fiery determination to set the record straight with him. It was very much like him to be domineering and insisting but he was only that way with her if she allowed it. He had met his match in her before and he would meet it again tonight. Before he had a chance to say anything she had a wagging finger jammed into his face.

"Let me tell you something, I didn't get this way on my own and it didn't seem to be of any consequence to you to throw caution to the wind at the time. No matter how you resist this pregnancy, it's here to stay. Your selfish counterpoints aren't going to change the way I feel about this baby. I'm having it." She drew her hands to her stomach as if she was protecting it from anything Chris could say in rebuttal. She was shielding their baby from him.

He swallowed back the swell of emotion that threatened to take him. She continued.

"I'm thirteen weeks. Thirteen weeks ago I didn't regret what I was doing. I didn't regret you. I'm having it. With or without you," she finished, looking away from him. She didn't want to catch his eyes, least they were antagonistically steadfast. Least they break down her confident stance because it certainly wasn't resolve that made her stand up to him.

If she had, she would have caught them swollen with regret. All that he would ever be he saw through her eyes; tonight he had caught glimpses of disdain and repugnance.

"Then have it with me."

He took hold of her hands and gently guided them away from the baby she buried behind her folded arms. There was scarcely a bulge, yet his eyes were stapled to it as though he were watching it form before his eyes.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry you're gonna have a baby for a guy who has no clue what he's doing. A guy who's too stubborn to admit when he's scared or too proud to say what he's feeling."

He dared to draw her closer to him. "I'm sorry for what this means for you."

She wanted to interrupt him but he read her thoughts and placed a finger over her lips.

"I'm especially sorry that I can't promise that I can come back to you from a mission."

She shot her head up to look at him. She didn't want to acknowledge that possibility. She wouldn't give it a foothold in her thoughts to have power over her life. She would never consider it again. She nestled her head against his chest as he guided her arms round his body.

He found her forgiveness in her embrace as he settled his chin atop her head. "What if…"

"What if," she began her counter, "nothing goes wrong?"

He didn't have an answer for that. He couldn't prepare for nothing. He marveled at her fearlessness. She had to do the brunt of the work for the next nine months, yet she appeared battle ready for an experience neither of them had before encountered.

"Aren't you afraid at all?"

Her answer was direct. "I'm more excited than afraid."

"I'm so old…" He lamented.

"My father was 54 when I was born."

Chris popped his eyebrows in surprise. He felt he should have known that. The chasm the death of their parents had created between them had never been explored. Her pregnancy was but a grain of sand to fill the void. His mother was a hobby artist. She painted abstract pieces in bold colours. His father surrendered willingly the garage to use as her studio. Did Sheva know that?

He blurted it out with an air akin to guilt, as if saying it relieved some of the pressure in his lungs. He hung back with wide eyes to see how she would absorb the information. She had never known.

Sheva was willing to trade histories with him. "My mother spoke three dead languages."

"My dad was a skilled mason."

"My grandfather was chief of the village my parents grew up in."

"My grandfather was…" He trailed off. Most likely in the klan, he thought with digression. "One of thirteen boys."

He pulled back from her when they had finished flinging sand. "What should I do?"

She sat down onto the couch with a sigh, shrugging.

"You know how Little Drummer Boy goes? It's my favourite Christmas song because the drummer can only play his best for the Christ child and it was enough. That's all I want from you, Chris."

"You're suspiciously level-headed," he admitted, sinking into the couch next to her.

"I may have called Josh," she admitted with a flickering smile.

"Ah." He draped an arm along the back of the couch, turned in to face her and for once since the tumultuous night began, smiled. Her fingers found his hair and absently, he found himself humming a song and keeping count by tapping gently on her stomach.

It was horrible. It was gravelly, choppy and off key. To Sheva, it was the most pitifully beautiful song she had heard, hearing only with appreciative ears that only a lover could stand solely because his intentions were pure.

She silenced him with a kiss anyway. It was enough.