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Nights like this one are actually really nice.

Maeve isn't sure where Rue is, but she and Steve have the flat to themselves, and while they had more than taken advantage of that fact a little earlier in some ways that involved very little clothing, now they're both on the couch in front of the TV. Some movie is on, something unfamiliar to Maeve, but Steve is never offended when she picks up a book and reads instead, which she does now.

Dressed in a comfortably loose pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt she's commandeered from Steve's collection, Maeve is reclined on the couch, her head on Steve's thigh as she reads.

It's fairly domestic, something Maeve never would have imagined she would like. But then, she'd never been with Steve before Darrow.

Classes are done for the semester, she's picked up a few extra shifts at New Leaf, and she gets to spend more time with him for the rest of the summer until classes start up again in September. This is the life Maeve knows she never would have been able to have in Moordale, stuck with her reputation, her lack of income, the judgment of the teachers around her.

She needed to get out and now she has.

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It turns out that when it works, when it's right, Steve is a pretty damn good boyfriend. He'd once told Nancy that he wasn't, and for a long time he thought it was true, but he was wrong then. It just didn't work with them. It wasn't right.

As it turns out, what he has now is all that he ever really wanted. All that playing the field, dumping girls before they could get too close-- it was all bullshit. He wanted a relationship the whole time, he's realizing, but he was just so worried that he would be shitty at it just like his parents were.

But he isn't. Maeve is right, this works, and Steve often finds himself flooded with a contentment unlike anything he's ever known. Sure, he likes to go out and have fun, but he likes this too, the quiet nights in.

Steve is slumped against the couch watching some terrible action movie while Maeve lays in his lap, head rocking back and forth a little every so often as she reads. His hand is under her shirt, resting just below her breasts, but there isn't anything sexual about it. It's just comfortable and intimate, and he always wants to be touching her if he can.

"They're too fast, Maeve," he says in a playfully exasperated tone, lifting his other hand to gesture at the television. "They're just too furious."

Edited 2022-07-13 03:19 (UTC)

"They're too loud," Maeve answers without glancing up at Steve, knowing he'll take her words as the light joke they are. Her tone may not say as much, but Steve knows her well enough by now to know she's not easily distracted, especially when she's reading. Outside noise tends to bleed out into nothing more than a gentle hum when she's caught up in a book.

Setting her book down on her chest, open to her page, she tips her head against Steve's thigh to look up at him.

"What are they so angry about?" she asks. It's a movie she's heard of, but never seen, having no particular interest in fast cars and aggressive men.

"How much gas costs, probably," Steve replies as he lowers the volume because he isn't even interested in the movie and Maeve has pulled out of her book haze, so he would rather take advantage of that.

He pulls his hand out of her shirt to rest it on her neck as she tips her head back, sliding it up until he's holding her jaw loosely in his hand.

"Welcome back," he says fondly, hair spilling over his forehead as he smiles down at her. "What's your book about?"

Maeve turns the book so Steve can see the cover a bit better, the title in bold red letters: Such A Pretty Smile.

"It claims to be horror, but I'm not so sure," she answers. "I can't imagine a single woman reading this book and being afraid when we put up with all kinds of shit on a day to day basis."

It's good, though, and she's enjoying it so far.

"It's story of women who aren't known for shutting up and sitting down being hunted by something," she tells Steve. "Nice little allegory for the reality of being a woman in this world."

"You wouldn't know anything about that," he teases fondly, because Maeve certainly isn't the type to shut up and sit down, and Steve respects her for that. He respects her for all sorts of reasons, but he admires her strong spirit, and how she always sticks up for herself and other people who need it.

Steve knows that he was never outright terrible in the way that too many men can be, but he wasn't exactly great, either. No, he would never have forced himself on anyone or lifted a hand in anger, but he used girls. He disregarded their feelings selfishly, thinking only of himself, and there is no real way for him to ever atone to the women he hurt with his childish bullshit.

All he can do is be better, and he thinks that he's doing that. He's open to learning and growing and being in a place like Darrow, and at the side of a woman like Maeve, is helping him to do that. He wants to keep learning from her all the time, and he does in the smallest of ways, because without her context clues, he isn't sure that he could have told her what an allegory even is.

"I hope our kids get your brains," he says without thinking, and then immediately snaps his mouth shut as his eyes widen. He has no idea where that even came from, or why he said it out loud, and his cheek flush pink as he lifts his hand from her neck to scrub it over his face. "I mean, uh-- hypothetically. I-- don't know why I said that."

It's a complete cliché, but the words hit Maeve like she's been slapped and she rocks a little against Steve's thigh before turning suddenly and sitting up. Her book slides to the side and she barely notices as it falls off the couch and thumps to the carpet.

The idea of having children makes Maeve feel like her spine has been filled with ice, a sense of dread so heavy she actually feels a little panicky with it.

"I'm sorry, our what?" she asks.

A part of her had kind of expected this would happen eventually. She's seen Steve with kids, she knows how good he is with them, how much he likes spending time with them, and it's occurred to her before that he probably wants to have them eventually. He would make a good dad and she knows she would make a shit mum.

Steve had known it was a dumb thing to say, but Maeve reacts as if he just asked her to go for a swim in raw sewage, and it sort of hurts a little, way deep down, for reasons he couldn’t explain if he tried.

“I don’t know why I said that,” he says again, embarrassed and awkward in a way that he rarely gets. “I just— I’ve been thinking about school, and what kind of career I want and like, it’s kids, right? I have to do something with kids. So I guess it’s on my mind.”

She’s still staring at him and Steve swallows hard, because yeah, it was sort of a huge and very dumb thing to say, but is just the hypothetical thought so terrible?

“I don’t want kids,” he tells her quickly, and then shrugs helplessly and sits up a bit straighter, twisting to face her. “I mean, I do someday. Like way, way in the future. But not now.”

Everything Steve says makes perfect sense. She's so proud of him, too, proud enough that her chest aches with it, because of course he has to work with kids, it's the one thing she can imagine him doing and being happy about it, which is everything. It's the most important thing. He knows this and she thinks he's always known it, and it's taken time to come to it himself, but he has.

This is what she wants for him. To be happy with what he chooses. And if she's going to claim that's what she wants, then she realizes she has to be honest with him. If she wants him to be happy with his choices, she has to give him all the information he needs in order to make the choice that makes him happy.

"You'll make a great dad," she says honestly. "But... I'd make a shit mum, Steve. I don't want to be someone's parent."

Hearing Maeve say that he'd be a good dad does something to him, makes him proud and happy and excited, but he deflates almost just as quickly. His lips purse and his brows furrow as he shakes his head fervently as he reaches out to put his hand on her knee.

"I don't think that's true," he tells her, and he feels confused and flushed, heart pounding because he feels like he knows where this is headed, and he doesn't want to let himself admit it.

"I think we'd be good." He squeezes her knee and tries to smile reassuringly, swallowing hard right after. "Because we know what not to do, you know? We could be better."

It makes Maeve's chest hurt, hearing him talk like this. Not because he's doing anything wrong, far from it, he's honestly and openly expressing his feelings, and Maeve is really proud of him for that. But it still hurts. She doesn't want to be the reason he doesn't get to live this dream.

"I really don't want kids, Steve," she says in as gentle a voice as possible. Another guy, she probably wouldn't care, she'd blow him off with a few cruel words, annoyed he tried to change her mind, but it's not that way with Steve. He isn't trying to change anything, he's just being honest.

She puts her hand on top of his on her knee, rubbing her thumb over his skin. "I love you and I suppose I shouldn't say never, but I just don't see myself changing my mind on that. And if that's something you really want, you should know that."

It takes a long few moments for Steve to even begin to process what she’s telling him. He stares at her with a stunned expression on his face and then swallows hard, pulling his hand away to rest it over his mouth.

Having kids someday always seemed like a forgone conclusion, a no brainer, and he’s only realizing now that it wasn’t just because he thought that was what everyone is supposed to do. He truly wants a big family. He’s always wanted a big family, always wanted kids with siblings so they would never have to grow up all alone in a big empty house like he did.

He wants those kids, but he also wants Maeve. Knowing that he may eventually have to choose one or the other leaves him feeling a bit winded.

Steve wants to get on his knees and beg her to reconsider. He wants to try and talk her out of it and convince her that it’d be great, but it sounds like she’s made her choice. She deserves a choice, and Steve has to respect it. That’s what she’s helped him learn, after all.

“So, you’re—“ He pauses and clears his throat to try and keep his voice from breaking as he looks at her, brow furrowed slightly. “You’re telling me that there’s no possible scenario where you would want a family with me?”

His tone sounds pathetic to his own ears, quivering and sad, but he feels a little like he’s just been hit by a truck that he didn’t even see coming. For some stupid reason, this never even occurred to him as a possibility.

He looks and sounds so heartbroken that Maeve wants to take it all back, she wants to lie and tell him maybe she'll change her mind, it isn't such a big deal, maybe everything will change by the time they're at a point where they're ready. But that would be dishonest and he's being so nakedly open with her that she knows it would be wrong.

"I don't know," she settles on saying. "I can't definitively say anything about the future, but I know what I feel right now and I can't imagine that changing."

She reaches to cup his face, to turn his chin toward her so she can see him properly. "A family doesn't have to mean children. I want to be with you. Not wanting kids wouldn't change with someone else, it doesn't have anything to do with not wanting it with you specifically and everything to do with me."

“Okay.” It’s all he can think of to say, stunned as he is by the sudden turn this night has taken. Maeve grabs his chin and Steve furrows his brow, fighting the urge to pull away from her because that wouldn’t be fair.

He has no right to be upset with her about this, no more than she could be mad at him for wanting children. He isn’t mad at her, but he just feels so devastatingly sad in a way that he wouldn’t have anticipated.

“I had this dream,” he says quietly, and then shakes his head a little and gently pulls his face out of her grip and swallows hard. “Well, I guess it doesn’t matter now. I just— I always kind of thought that all that time spent with those kids, that I was practicing for something.”

He sits back and looks down at his hands, fidgeting slightly before getting to his feet because he doesn’t know what else to do. He opens his mouth to say something and then shuts it again, covering his face with his hands as he exhales.

If he just hadn’t opened his dumb mouth, everything would be fine right now and he wouldn’t feel like he was about to cry. He can’t argue his case. It’s her body. If she doesn’t want kids, they won’t have kids. That’s all there is to it.

“I just, um—“ He slides his hands up to his hair, pulling it back from his face. “I need to process this.”

He pulls away from her, out of her hand, he gets to his feet, and Maeve finds herself alone on the couch. The stupid movie is still playing, her book is still on the floor, and she leans down to pick it up, not knowing what else she's supposed to do.

Honestly, she should have seen this coming, she thinks. Everyone leaves at the end. Somehow she always ends up doing something, saying something, even without realizing.

"Sure," she agrees. What else is supposed to say to that? If he needs to process, she can't tell him not to, she can't just tell him to figure it out without leaving. That's no more fair than it would be for him to tell her to reconsider.

She curls her legs under her body and moves into the corner of the couch, then lays her book against her thigh, looking at the cover. One corner is bent and she picks at it, bending it back and forth slowly. "Yeah, of course."

Steve wants to leave, not because he wants to be away from Maeve but because he just wants to be alone to think through all of this so he doesn't do anything stupid. He wants to talk it out with Robin or Hopper to see if maybe they can talk him down, or make it seem like it's not that big of a deal.

But then he looks down at Maeve, who is curled up in the corner of the sofa, quiet and small, and Steve knows that he can't leave. Because that's what people do to Maeve, and he can't be another one of those people.

"Hey, Maeve. Come on," he says as he sits down next to her, reaching out to put his hand on her knee. "I'm not going anywhere, okay? I'm just... surprised, I guess. I didn't realize how much I cared about this."

"You're allowed to care about it," she answers, not quite looking at him. "And you're allowed to need time to process the conversation. That's fine, I get it."

Maybe she needs time, too. Maybe it would be better for them to both be alone to think about all this and process it. Not that Maeve thinks time and solitude will change either of their minds which is ultimately the issue. It isn't as if they're disagreeing on something silly, like whether or not pineapple belongs on pizza. This is a fundamental difference, the sort of thing that doesn't really matter until suddenly it matters more than anything.

"It's okay," she says, finally looking at him. "It's okay if you have to go for a bit. I get it."

She says that it’s fine and Steve has to wonder if it’s really fine or if it’s the kind of fine that’s like a test, but he quickly dismisses the thought. Maeve doesn’t play games, and she’s always honest. Incredibly honest, which is why they’re in this situation now.

But it’s better to know, right? He thinks it must be, even if ignorance is bliss.

“Okay, um. I have another question, sort of related, so I don’t potentially make a huge ass of myself someday,” Steve says, swallowing hard and thrumming with nerves. It feels like a huge deal, and it’s not like he’s planning anything, but he still feels like he should know.

“Would you ever want to get married?” He asks her, feeling his face go hot. “I mean, I’m not asking. I just— I should probably know that, too.”

At his comment, she almost laughs, because if anyone has made a huge arse of themselves, she's pretty sure it's her. But she only nods, indicating he can go ahead. She has an idea she knows what he's going to seek clarification on, so the question doesn't surprise her much when it comes.

"I... I don't know," she admits. "I'm not so strongly opposed to it, I've honestly never given it much thought one way or the other, so... I might. Some day."

She isn't closing the door on the idea of being married. It might feel right at some point in time, it might be what she wants.

"Maybe someday," Steve replies quietly, smiling thinly and nodding his head. It isn't a ringing endorsement, and someday doesn't really sound like it would be any time soon, but she isn't against it.

Steve sits down on the arm of the sofa next to her, staring blankly ahead for a moment. His eyes sting, going glossy and pink, and he feels like a fucking idiot for being near tears. It sort of feels like something has been taken from him, something important, but he knows that isn't the case. Things happen, plans change. Maybe in a few years, he won't even want kids. There's a slight possibility that she might change her mind. It's not something that he'd bet on, but anything is possible, so maybe. Maybe, maybe.

"I'm sad," he says suddenly, voice thick in a way that he's immediately embarrassed by. He doesn't know what else to say, but he wants to be honest. "I'll be fine. I just-- I think I might need to be sad for a little while."

"That's okay," Maeve says and she genuinely means it. There's no way she would ever expect Steve not to be sad, especially since it's something he obviously wants, even if he didn't realize how much.

"I'm sad, too," she admits. "I... I don't want you to not have something you want for your life because it isn't something I want."

It hurts to think about. It hurts to think he might give that up for her. It hurts to think he might not.

They’re both sad and there is no way to fix it. It’s not as if they had a stupid fight and Steve can grovel with flowers and chocolates. This is something serious, something that will affect the rest of their lives, and there isn’t anything Steve can do about it. As much as he wants to plead with her, he has to respect her choice.

He gets up and paces back and forth aimlessly for a moment before sitting down on the sofa next to her. He thinks about all the times they weren’t as careful as they should have been and then a chilling sort of hypothetical comes to mind. He looks over at her, alarmed, and then open and shuts his mouth as he tries to figure out how to even voice it.

“What if—“ He clears his throat and tries again. “If something happened somewhere down the line— like if you got pregnant despite our best efforts, what would you do?”

Choosing to not have children is one thing, but what happens if the choice is taken away from them? Would she want to terminate it? Could he possibly stand by and be supportive in that, knowing what he would be losing? Could he live with that? It’s her body, so it would be her choice. He’d have to find a way to be okay with whatever she chose.

There are suddenly so many questions in his head, hypotheticals that may never happen, and Steve leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands.

Edited 2022-07-28 20:02 (UTC)

Maeve thinks about warning Steve, telling not to ask the question she thinks he's about to ask, because there's no taking it back, but it's said before she even has the chance. She grows still beside him, very still, her body clutched under fingers gripping the spine so hard her knuckles start to turn white.

"That isn't a fair question at all," she says. "It feels like a trap. You know I've already had an abortion, you know I don't want to be a mother, and you're asking me about something that will likely never happen, some hypothetical maybe, knowing the answer is only going to make you feel worse. I'm not playing that."

For the first time tonight, she's angry, but at least she's mostly taking it out on the book. The pages are so bent now she's sure they'll be impossible to flatten out again.

Her obvious ire isn’t really surprising, but Steve doesn’t really think that the question is unfair. It’s a difficult question, to be sure, but he thinks that he has the right to ask it. He deserves to know all the facts, doesn’t he?

Or maybe she’s right. But it’s not an impossible scenario. It happens to people all the time. But hey, she answered the question, however indirectly, and she was right. He feels so much worse.

And now suddenly he’s angry, even though he knows it isn’t rational, and he shouldn’t be mad at her. But she’s changed the entire vision he’s had for his future, and he’s just trying to process it as best he can.

“I wasn’t trying to trap you. I just wanted to know,” Steve says in a carefully quiet sort of tone, lowering his hands to tip his head back and sigh. Now he’s just made everything worse, and he doesn’t know how to fix it.

“I’m gonna go,” he says as he stands up, dragging his fingers through his hair before picking up his phone from the coffee table. “If I stay, I’ll just say more stupid shit. I need— I gotta just go, okay?”

She wants to spit back at him that he already knew. In fact, he's one of the few people in this place who already knows how she has responded to that very scenario in the past. It's a secret she let him have, scared as she was about it, worried it would change how he felt about her, and now here they are.

And it's changing how he feels about her.

"I said that's okay," she says, still twisting the book between her hands. "It's probably better right now."

Honestly, she thinks she needs to be alone, too. She feels dangerously close to tears and she is not going to let herself cry in front of him over any of this.

Maeve doesn't even look at him, and Steve wonders if maybe he ruined this. Maybe she'll realize that he isn't worth the trouble. Or maybe it will be fine. He thinks the chances of that are higher if they both get a little space right now.

"Okay," he breathes out, pausing in front of her and then leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead, murmuring quietly. "I love you."

It feels important to remind her of that, because nothing that's happened tonight changes that in the slightest. After kissing the top of her head, he straightens up and heads for the front door, picking up his backpack with a sigh.

"I love you," she echoes softly, although she still can't look at him, still keeps her gaze focused on the book in her hands. Her eyes feel hot and dry, probably from keeping them open so wide in an attempt not to cry, and when the door closes behind him, Maeve finally allows herself to blink.

The tears come quick and silent and she brushes her face with the back of her hand. The TV is still on and Maeve jabs at the remote control to turn it off, wanting to shut off the stupid sound of revving car engines.

The silence is worse, but there's not much else she can do.

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