Maggie Gresham (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bitofheavenwithawildside) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
etrelibre2012-12-16 10:06 am
bitofheavenwithawildside) wrote in etrelibre2012-12-16 10:06 am
[OPEN] "It's a big girl world now, full of big girl things. And every day, I wish I was small."
Who? Maggie Gresham and OPEN
What? Arrival
When? A few days after Blaine's arrival, Sunday afternoon
Where? The beach
This could not be happening. It just couldn't. There was no way on earth that Maggie could've screwed things up this badly. In the wake of Kurt and Blaine's wedding, which had rapidly disintegrated into a murder scene from some godawful movie, everyone had been in a state of depression, shock, and grief that was far beyond their ability to just deal with. You didn't just "deal" with watching a dear friend, a precious person that you loved dearly, being shot down in front of you in cold blood. There was no dealing with that, and while everyone was horrified, and trying to be there for Blaine at the same time, while somehow trying to keep living, it was far, far too much.
It was what had driven Maggie, grief-stricken and alone, to a bar in Manhattan, where she had every intention of drinking until she was numb. What she hadn't expected was to find a familiar face there, someone who'd been at the same wedding, witnessed the same horrifying scene, sitting a few barstools down from where she was planning to sit. Neither of them really wanted or needed to be alone in the wake of that, and after far too many drinks, they ended up back at Maggie's apartment, where they'd shared a drunken one-night stand. It wasn't exactly the run of the mill pull, given that they'd known each other for years, and were good friends, but it had been something that both of them needed -- the contact, the intimate connection, the reminder that they weren't alone, that they could still feel something.
The next morning, he'd left, though both of them promised to keep in touch.
But they hadn't. And several weeks and one missed period later, Maggie was in a state of utter panic. A panic that led to her sitting alone in her apartment on the toilet seat, watching her watch until the pregnancy test beside her was ready to read. Picking the plastic stick up in shaky hands, she looked down, waiting for an answer. And there it was, plain as day.
Pregnant
Caught between the urge to scream, the urge to cry, and the overwhelming wish that she'd somehow managed to do the test wrong and it was all a joke, Maggie just stared. And just when a choked sob, delayed though it was, escaped her, she felt the strange sensation of sand beneath her bare feet, and her bathroom was gone, the toilet she'd been using as a chair disappearing with it, and leaving her to drop on her butt in the sand, pregnancy test still clutched in her hand.
Great, so this was a dream. It had to be a dream, right?
Yeah. Dream.
What? Arrival
When? A few days after Blaine's arrival, Sunday afternoon
Where? The beach
This could not be happening. It just couldn't. There was no way on earth that Maggie could've screwed things up this badly. In the wake of Kurt and Blaine's wedding, which had rapidly disintegrated into a murder scene from some godawful movie, everyone had been in a state of depression, shock, and grief that was far beyond their ability to just deal with. You didn't just "deal" with watching a dear friend, a precious person that you loved dearly, being shot down in front of you in cold blood. There was no dealing with that, and while everyone was horrified, and trying to be there for Blaine at the same time, while somehow trying to keep living, it was far, far too much.
It was what had driven Maggie, grief-stricken and alone, to a bar in Manhattan, where she had every intention of drinking until she was numb. What she hadn't expected was to find a familiar face there, someone who'd been at the same wedding, witnessed the same horrifying scene, sitting a few barstools down from where she was planning to sit. Neither of them really wanted or needed to be alone in the wake of that, and after far too many drinks, they ended up back at Maggie's apartment, where they'd shared a drunken one-night stand. It wasn't exactly the run of the mill pull, given that they'd known each other for years, and were good friends, but it had been something that both of them needed -- the contact, the intimate connection, the reminder that they weren't alone, that they could still feel something.
The next morning, he'd left, though both of them promised to keep in touch.
But they hadn't. And several weeks and one missed period later, Maggie was in a state of utter panic. A panic that led to her sitting alone in her apartment on the toilet seat, watching her watch until the pregnancy test beside her was ready to read. Picking the plastic stick up in shaky hands, she looked down, waiting for an answer. And there it was, plain as day.
Pregnant
Caught between the urge to scream, the urge to cry, and the overwhelming wish that she'd somehow managed to do the test wrong and it was all a joke, Maggie just stared. And just when a choked sob, delayed though it was, escaped her, she felt the strange sensation of sand beneath her bare feet, and her bathroom was gone, the toilet she'd been using as a chair disappearing with it, and leaving her to drop on her butt in the sand, pregnancy test still clutched in her hand.
Great, so this was a dream. It had to be a dream, right?
Yeah. Dream.