Work Text:
You hadn’t thought much of the nausea the first week or so, figuring you’d just caught something nasty and should give the doc a visit to hopefully get some antibiotics and wait it out. But… you were not prepared to be sent home with a pregnancy test instead, and not a bottle of pink slime or a prescription to a local clinic. You figured you’d humor the doctor by playing along and taking the test, just to say that you indeed weren’t about to pop a baby out of nowhere.
As you sat and waited for the test to initialize, that’s when you started to worry.
What if…? What if you actually were? It’s not like you and Michael had been using protection or birth control, for some reason it just never occurred to you as important. And now as you sat on the porcelain toilet seat starting at the small stick, still not displaying a second stripe, you had the time to think of just how high the possibilities were of him actually getting you pregnant. You had no way of knowing if he was ever sterilized at Smith’s Grove or not, you couldn’t blame them, whoever really could think of Michael Myers ever getting a sweetheart to have babies with?
You shifted uncomfortably on the seat, your heart starts to race as it neared the estimated time on the packaging that told you results would appear on the test. You closed your eyes and breathed in through your nose, trying to prepare yourself for that second line.
But nothing could have prepared you for those two little pink lines that meant “positive”, you were shaking, your eyes bubbling with salt and water. You wanted to be happy, you did, it wasn’t as if you’d never wanted a child, but… now that it was actually happening… you were terrified. And that was just the beginning of your worries, what would Michael think? There’s no telling how he could react, or if he’d even understand. Would he even want this baby? Would he leave? Kill you? Kill the baby?
You didn’t know. And maybe that’s why you keep the unsettling news to yourself for another week, making you about… three weeks pregnant now. You weren’t even really sure why you were counting, for some reason, it just seemed important.
You just hoped that you wouldn’t have to raise this child on your own, there were abortion methods available, but you couldn’t imagine doing that right now. And the idea of abortions was still relatively new, you didn’t know if you could trust it in its youth.
It was when Michael finally questioned you about your ‘illness’ one morning, signing to you in unpracticed hand movements, that you finally decided he needed to know. You couldn’t keep it to yourself forever, this was his child too, he has the right to know.
“Michael… I’m… I’m not sick okay? It’s more complicated than that, I… I’m sorry.” You rubbed your face with your hands and wondered to yourself why you were even apologizing, this wasn’t just your fault. You leaned against the bathroom wall after brushing your teeth to be rid of the vomit you’d just discarded ten minutes earlier, sliding down to the floor and hugging your knees as if to protect yourself.
You glanced up to Michael, who had his head tilted to the side like an owl, a signature sign of his curiosity. Eventually, he sat down beside you, his legs bent a bit awkwardly to fit in the small space between the wall and the cabinet below the sink. You scooted over to lean against his side, your cheek compressing against his bicep. It took him a moment to react properly, and even behind the mask you could see the gears turning in his head, but he soon wrapped an arm around you— a bit stiffly, but comforting nonetheless.
“I’m pregnant.” The phrase was pushed through your lips so casually it surprised even you, you didn’t even stutter, your voice didn’t even crack, not once.
You felt Michael tense, relax and tense up again, obviously conflicted but silent as always. Well, he’s not reacting negatively, you think, in fact, it appears that he doesn’t react at all for a while. And you fear that he might not even know what you mean, did they even educate him about pregnancy in the sanitarium?
“Do you know what that means? I—” You don’t get to finish because he’s signing to you before you have the chance.
‘Yes’
You form a silent ‘oh’ with your lips and nodded, shifting your eyes to focus on something else. The off-white popcorn ceiling of the bathroom serves your call for a distraction well enough. And as a minute or two ticks by on the ancient cat clock on the wall above the half-hut bathroom door, you can’t help but ask something else that’s eating away at you.
“Are you mad?”
You feel his rough fingers prying at your fingers, opening your palm to trace shapes into. He doesn’t respond straight away, but the gentle touch reassures you slightly.
‘No’
. . .
You woke up half on top of Michael still in the bathroom a couple of hours later, both of you seemingly having fallen somewhere along the line. It’s dark outside now, and almost as dim in the room if not for the small, blue night light plugged in above the sink. You feel a bit terrible for letting Michael sleep in such an uncomfortable position, knowing the kind of knots he gets in his back and neck, but you also know that if he had truly wanted to move, he would have.
You shift around with the intention of getting up, and into your much more comfortable bed, and as expected the small movements shake Michael awake as well. Reflexively his arm curls around your stomach and you can’t help the lazy smile that spread across your face, you don’t know if he’s doing it now because he knows there’s a baby in there, or simply as a protective reflex because it’s just you. But you like to think of it as a mixture of both, regardless of the real reason.
“C’mon, let’s get in bed, it’s late, and I’m positive you aren’t too comfortable on the bathroom floor either, big guy.”
He doesn’t need much coaxing before you’re both on your feet and heading for a softer surface to continue to sleep on. And as you crawl into bed next to him after changing you can’t help but notice how he immediately pulls you against his side and locks an arm around your back, tighter than normal, and much more eager than usual. You don’t have the energy to smile or mumble a ‘goodnight’ but you can’t help the tiny thought that crosses your drowsy mind before you doze off again.
Well, at least you don’t have to worry about your period for the next nine months.
. . .