Eliza Dushku and Channing Tatum. You, Baby.
Eliza has been sitting on the couch for an hour now, staring at the piss stick. Fuck. Double Fuck. Triple fuck with fucking rancid cream on top. How the fuck did this even happen?! She thinks back as best she can. Think. Always a condom.
And always Channing.
Fuck times infinity. There it is, the bright red plus sign, on the piss stick.
She's pregnant. With Channing's baby.
Well, at least, it makes sense, now, why she's been feeling so shitty, why her tits were so sensitive, why her body suddenly hates Chinese food. If Eliza were the analytical type, she's scared, no, make that terrified, she's feeling doomed and knowing she's got to make plans. Now. She can't wait. Her future is in the balance.
Of course, she's not terribly analytical. So she just sits and mutters, "fuck."
Of course, that's when comes the knock on the door and that's when she realizes it's not Alex coming back from her errands. Who the fuck? Getting to her feet, still holding to the damned and blasted pregnancy test, she throws open the door.
"You have fucking got to be kidding me."
Channing is leaning on the wall in his best shirt and wearing his best 'wanna fuck?' slow smile. For days, he has been imagining how it could be to have sex with Eliza in her own bed. Somehow, this strikes him as kinky. Maybe she has a teddy bear collection, in leather. Maybe she has one of those red velvet, round beds from the sixties. Maybe it is all white and demure and lacy... When he reached the point of gagging for it and got tired of driving by her apartment house for no reason, he just parked in the guest spot and came up.
"Whoa. Missed me?" he asks, waiting to be either invited inside or to be mauled right on the spot.
Rolling her eyes, she turns away and leaves the door open so he can walk in. The pregnancy test gets stuffed between the couch cushions and she pulls her knees to her chest (won't be able to do that for a while, will she?!), resting her elbows on her knees and stares at him. "What do you want, Channing?"
Turning his head curiously around and being too busy looking for some hot juicy details like girlie underwear or lesbian porn dvds, Channing smiles playfully, "You, baby."
"Oh my god." Her forehead hits her knees for a second before she looks up. "Did you get a new pick-up line?"
They are not fucking yet. Channing starts paying attention. She looks great, maybe a rough night but this makes her exotic. Talk? Fine, they can talk first. Dirty talk is good. He walks up. "Did you give up cock as a New Year resolution? Because I can try and change that. With my magic wand."
Fingers playing with his belt, he looks at her, both puzzled and yet sincerely happy to see her. No, that is not a gun in his pocket.
"Seriously," she says, shaking her head at him. "You need to shut up. You seriously need to shut up." Consider that fair warning, she figures. Yeah, she sees the bulge. Any other time, like even twenty minutes ago, she might've been helping him out of his jeans. Now, she blames that dick for her current situation. Funny how things change.
"Girl," Channing crouches in front of her, putting his hand on hers and looking at her from below. "You don't wanna talk. You don't wanna fuck. Are you not well or something?"
"Am I not well?!" Eliza stares at him as if he's speaking Latin. "Not well." She snorts, the epitome of unladylike. "No, Channing," she finally says, "I'm not well. I'm just about as far from well as I can get."
His face loses the smile. Suddenly, Channing is afraid, the heart beating in his ears. Who is he kidding, he is terrified and filled with the feeling of doom. No no no, not Eliza. Cancer? AIDS? And, somehow, her mangled body in a car crush flash through his mind. "Hey," he says, smoothing the fabric on her knees with care which surprises himself. "I'm here. Anything I can do?"
Oh, Jesus. Reaching into the couch cushions, she holds the piss stick right in his face at the end of his nose, so he can see the bright red plus sign. "You tell me. And if the words 'not' and 'mine' come out of your mouth? I will kick my foot so far up your ass you will taste it in your throat."
Whoa. For a few seconds he is trying to process what the hell this thing is. Holy fucking shit. Channing backs away from the stick so fast, he loses his balance and lands on his ass. Temporarily speechless, he stares at the red plus with wide eyes. He has seen those commercials, thank you. If before he has thought himself terrified, he is now adding the word "shitless" to that feeling. This is like a bad, bad trip.
"Is this... yours?" he asks stupidly.
"No, jackass, it's my roommates, except, oh yeah, she hasn't fucked any guys. I'm the stupid bitch who fucked you." And seeing Channing looking that scared just scares Eliza more and that pisses her off, she stretches out her legs and stands, leaning over him. "Of course, it's fucking mine. And it's yours, too. So you tell me what we are going to do about this."
"We?!" Channing's voice raises and falls, the pitch is not far from slightly hysterical. Not only Eliza has broken an unspoken pact of not bringing any babies into his sandbox, she has just 'we'd him! Channing has not heard a 'we' which has included him for a long while. Never from someone wielding a pregnancy test stick like a pointy weapon. This is a lot to take in. He takes his head in his hands because it feels like it is going to split from all this new information. The hell of a booty call.
Leaning back, Eliza folds her arms across her chest, holding the stick in her hand. Figures. It so fucking figures. She has to do this on her own. Like every other fucking thing in her life. "Go get laid somewhere else, Channing," she whispers. And even as she says it, it hurts like fucking crazy because if she finds out he actually does....
Well, she doesn't want to think about that. She turns around, so that she doesn't have to look at him, hands still folded, protectively, across her chest.
Sex? He looks at her, cross, as if she has lost her mind. Gotta be joking. Sex has finally shown its true colors - as a baby-making trap. Eliza's body has betrayed them. Or was it Channing's dick? They have been punk'd by the nature (who is a deceiving bitch and he does not notice that he has begun to 'we' left and right as well) and not in a funny way.
He looks at Eliza's stomach. It is flat, perfectly flat. Or does he see it curving a little bit, filling out? That is so sexy, Channing wants to run his hand over it, possessively. What the fuck is wrong with him?! He groans, shaking his head.
Hearing that sound, she turns around, legitimately surprised that he's still here. Could he-- Yeah, fucking right. No way. Her hormones are fucking with everything. But just--maybe? "C?" she asks, feeling like a major 'tard.
"Yeah?" he asks back from the floor, quietly and not immediately. There is something hovering in the air between them - unsaid words, surprising thoughts, fragile feelings. They are connected, by something big. Somehow, it does not feel like a bad sort of big but maybe what terrifies him is how big is this big thing. What does not scare him it is to be connected to Eliza, of all people. This thought is not even a surprise, neither it is fragile, it is just unsaid.
"Do... I mean." Eliza's hands are sweating and she wipes them on her pants. "We--" The words clog in her throat. She can't say them. To say them would make her vulnerable. So vulnerable. And that, along with, of course, the whole baby thing, has her scared shitless.
It is so quiet, you'd hear a pin drop. Instead of a pin... TA DA DA DA DADADADADA! His phone starts ringing the Simpsons tune.
Swearing, Channing kills the call but not before he sees the name on the screen. He does not even know who Mikey is, even if Mikey is programmed into the Good Fuck caller group as opposed to Great Fuck and Never Again Fuck. This is a jarring reminder of how unsuited and unworthy Channing is to even be asked any opinions on babies, even those of his own. Wait, his own? His own. Oh my God. Oh my fucking God. This is where it really hits him. There is his baby inside Eliza, an arm's length away.
Channing stands up so fast, his head starts spinning. He does not want Eliza to see him when he is really freaking out. Because he is about to. "I gotta..." he mutters, not looking at her but for the door.
Turning his head around, he notices there is another door open, to the right, to what must be Eliza's bedroom. It has neither teddy bears, leather nor white lace. It's got one of those velvet and silk patchwork comforters in red and purple and it's kind of simply decorated. A nice bed, with enough space for two. Or two and a half.
"Fine," Eliza hisses, freezing over. "I knew it. Just fucking go." If she unclasps her arms, she'll do something stupid like push him or slap him, so they stay tightly wrapped around herself. "Get out. GET OUT! CHANNING," she's screaming, her face red with it. "GET OUT!"
He would not know how to comfort her. Would this hurt the baby that she is getting upset? If she has the baby inside her, growing out of her body, how much of his own is in this child apart from the Big Bang moment? How much say does a man have? Or has she completely taken over the decisions because it happens to her body, not his? Channing wants space to think, and this is why he is walking out, not because she wants him to.
It hurts him to know that he has done this. That he is doing this. To her. The only girl on his VIP caller list. Can she not scream and let him think?
Looking lost and overwhelmed, he backs away and out.
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