Summary: One-shot. Chelsea falls down a pitfall mining during her first year of marriage with Vaughn.

A/N: This was just something that came to me during my mid-gameplay imaginings. When you lose all your stamina and end up resting in bed mid afternoon, surely when your husband comes home to find you there he'd be a little worried?

Expect (melo)drama.

Chelsea:

I've always gotten a little thrill from the smell of the mines. It wasn't by any means a good smell. It was hot, and dusty, and filled your nostrils terribly so that you felt that you couldn't get a deep breath until you were out. But something about the way the reflected light off the rolling magma – that's right, this was a volcano after all- bounced in the facets of a freshly discovered amethyst made butterflies blossom in my stomach. Perhaps it was the danger; after all any girl likes just enough to test herself with but not enough to leave her in intensive care. To be honest, I knew I was playing with fire.

Ha-ha, did you get that...volcano...fire... I'm funny.

So this morning, when I hefted my hammer over one shoulder and held my hoe deftly in the other hand, I walked bravely into the mines like I did every other time. I didn't wave to Will or Lily or Regis as I normally did, because I was alone on the island today. To be honest, that just added to the thrill. After all, I was never going to be famous for my face, or for my work (Taro might disagree, but we were a humble island people) at least I could strike rich on a diamond or two.

Just me, my hammer and the ferocity of the volcano to play witness to great discovery.

What time was it? Where was the sun? My hands are full of dirt. My mouth feels full of it too: a grimy metallic taste. I think I've forgotten to feed the dog. No, that was yesterday. What day was it today?

The familiar hammer was leaning uncomfortably on the back of my knees. I was face-forward on the ground. When my head stopped spinning enough for me see the fluorescent blobs of stiffened glowing lava, I remembered where I was: the mine. It must have only been fifteen minutes or so of happily smashing rock after rock before my steps had betrayed me, and now every bone felt broken and my head was splitting as if I'd had an argument with a speeding truck full of bricks.

Much more vividly than that realization came a tingle in my stomach. I was frantic to dig myself out of the rubble enough to press my fingers to it. Only the fear pumping adrenaline kept me from fainting again. Under my shaking hands came the answer so small and so feathery that I held my breath to find it. I held back relief so great that I wanted to vomit, instead dragging myself up from my earthly tomb with tears springing to my eyes and my breath returned in uneven gasps as I sobbed wholeheartedly.

I had to get out of here. I had to get home. There was no one else I could rely on to rescue me, however many floors down I had fallen.

He might. No, he definitely would. Guns blazing.

But the thought was lost in urgency and hysteria. I left the tools I'd trusted for more than the last three years of my life, and dug my nails through the dirt towards home.

Vaughn:

I was getting quite good at our routine; early rise, breakfast gulped down whether there was appetite or not, hurried kiss that tasted of said breakfast, before she parted with a grin and was not to be seen again until the next meal.

My cooking repertoire grew. Every day I'd make something different. I wasn't about to let her cook. I'd learnt that lesson prematurely. It was more the charm of her lovingly prepared porridge than the taste. If I'm honest it was usually stiff and a little too watery. But the way her eyes marked me the moment she entered the room in those early days both intrigued and unsettled me. I was anything but oblivious.

Thinking back, I'm a little embarrassed to fill the role of house-husband so well. She didn't demand it of me, I was just happy to share in some part of her life however small. She smiled at me when she woke, she'd seek my arms when she needed to cry, and she'd kiss me heatedly after we argued. We were both fiercely independent. In our first week of marriage when I'd returned to work with a slightly amended schedule I was incensed when she asked me about it. I couldn't stand to have her support the two of us on her own, no matter how well she was making a name for herself. I wanted to take care of her.

So when I returned from Mirabelle's that day to the door squeaking on it's hinges, dirty tracks across our well-polished floor, and my wife curled up in her bed angelic except for the fact that she looked utterly broken and as if something had drug her back from the grave and flung her there unceremoniously, my heart was in my throat and curses burst from my mouth.

There wasn't much a simple man like me could do. There was no doctor to be called, and I didn't have any sort of medical knowledge. So I did what I could, she was like a lamb as I held her gently in the crook of my arm and undressed her. I'd filled the bath with warm water to wash her and she woke once it touched her skin. Her eyes were suddenly wild and she clung to my shirt until she finally heard my repeated whispers in her hair that she was safe. Safe.

Her first words were so fractured and shrill that I couldn't make them out. I soothed her with a sponge gentle against the bruises and scrapes that decorated her back. Her grip went slack and she relaxed against my arm that was still wrapped around her.

She breathed my name with relief.

"You are the most ridiculous woman I've ever met." She didn't respond, instead steady rivulets of tears cut through the dust on her cheeks. "Why are you this way? Why do I let you do this again and again? I need to put a damn leash on you. You're worse than the dog. I hate your stubbornness. I hate your thick skin. I hate your precocious ways. I hate..." My grip on her shoulders must have hurt after what she'd been through but I found I didn't care. I forced her to look at me as she was limp with her own weeping. My own voice had begun to crack, but I grit my teeth. I wanted to remain angry with her.

"The...the baby."

My world has never trembled so precariously on one word.

Chelsea:

I was awake the next morning like clockwork. My routine was so ingrained in my every fibre that even the absence of sunshine would not keep me asleep. We were tangled together in his bed, sheets and clothing and hair in complete disarray. My head still felt like I'd split it open on a rock but that wasn't far from the truth, and it was an improvement from the truck.

I edged carefully to look at his peaceful sleeping face but I wasn't granted long to admire it before startling violet was on me calculating every inch. I pulled him close, if only to stop his eyes from tearing me apart.

"Vaughn…" I soak his name in every apology I've ever meant. My fingers rasped against his scalp as I thread them deep in his mane. My lips were pressed where his jaw met his ear. It was slightly prickly and wonderfully warm. I could feel his pulse. He heaved a sigh through his nose that tickled against my collarbone, and said nothing. That's how things are with us; there is wordless understanding.

He pushed away to kiss my face, my eyes, my shoulder, and finally moving beneath the covers , kissed my stomach; where a third heartbeat was still strong. It may be only a moth-like flutter there, but I knew. It was mother's intuition already taking hold. His face appeared above me once more, looking stern, and I remembered that I'm now hammer-less. I pouted, but his sharp gaze told me he was not in the mood for humour just yet. His thumb rubbed across a cut in my cheek and I winced.

He hardly had to fight with the bedclothes before he was out and heading into the kitchen, his voice velvety and unquestionable, "Stay in bed." His hair had chosen today to stick up in a gravity-defying tuft and I couldn't stop my giggle in time. His glare pierced me hard although he didn't know the source of my laugh, and the movement to stare me down only made his hair bounce again. This time I knew to cover my smile. He seemed satisfied that I was silent.

"I'm cooking and you're not going anywhere today."

A/N: was this weirdly written? As soon as I enter the realms of first person the text flows so naturally between past and present tense that I can't even begin to fix it. I hope it's not unreadable. I should really get a beta.

I've always thought that the player character is far too independent after marriage. The spouse must struggle a little. I know I would. So there we are. Thanks for reading!