Jul. 9th, 2006

stbethadettes: (you maybe want to holster that thing?)
Sitting on the grass in the churchyard, steps from the back door, Beth lets out a quiet oof, her hand resting on her belly again.

"What was that for, huh?"

She's smiling, though: the baby's been so active so long that she'd be worried if he suddenly stopped being such a goddamn kicker.

Her fingers rub gently over that itchy area close to her navel. She thinks she remembers reading something about it being common for that stretching skin to itch during pregnancy. Maybe in that book of Spike's.

She wouldn't mind having the reading material now.

If she could justify risking getting spotted on the walk to the library, she'd go for it. But she can't. Not when there are still those stupid amazons around to consider.

She's in no position to try to take on anybody. It's not just herself she has to think about now.

Besides, there's really nothing like being in your third trimester -- with the huge fucking belly to prove it -- to make you want to avoid trouble.

"I could just let you at any amazons I run into," she quietly tells the baby. "Those chicks wouldn't know what hit them."

Then the sharp crack of wood snapping somewhere on the other side of the churchyard fence breaks the silence around her, and Beth goes very still.

Narrowing her eyes as if squinting into the sun, she searches the darkness for signs of... something. People. Animals. Anything.

But she doesn't hear anything, doesn't see anything, and soon enough she decides not to take any chances and just gets up (slowly and carefully) and heads back inside.

As she locks the door behind her, she thinks maybe she should start varying her schedule a little more and not going outside around the same time every night.

Just to be as safe as possible.

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stbethadettes

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