cut a diamond, break it down

 She should have known that when her boy went back to the place of her birth, he would have fallen into it immediately. He was too much both his parents' son not to. Still, when he calls telling her he's Challenging and wouldn't she please come and watch, just this once, she can't help but go.

It's her boy's first Challenge, after all. Had things gone differently this would have happened three years ago and probably would have been a little more violent in nature. As it is, he's inherited her-- or maybe more Andrew's, really-- stellar ability at chess, and she knew he'd done well in selecting it.

She almost doesn't make it to the Challenge because her first time stepping on the Deck soil in years has her breath coming up short. Pushes herself through it, for Arik's sake.

She's so much older than she was since she left. She doesn't imagine there's many people who would really look past the short brown hair and fake glasses to realize they recognize her distinctly Fioro eyes and nose; the curve of her absolutely Caustello lips. Arik knows her and the small handful of disguises she's worn over the years that she's sure he'll recognize her, regardless.

But some people know her too well, still, even with all the years that have passed. And some people aren't going to let her visit go unnoticed.

 Usually by this time of night, Arik is in bed and Rachel's drinking tea and doing work. This time, however, when Edgar comes home he'll be greeted by an empty living room, without even a cup of tea waiting.

But if he follows the sound of his wife's laughter to their son's room, he'll see her trying to videotape Arik, who's all dressed up in a lion outfit gifted by Andrew.

"One more time, sweetheart," Rachel murmurs, videocamera at the ready and attention entirely on the boy.

"I am a lion," Arik says obligingly, before giving his best, "Rawwwr."

Pregnancy is always a difficult thing. A joyous thing, usually, yes, but also a difficult thing. It's hard on the body and on the emotions, is harder both the younger and the older you are.

But she isn't a terrified nineteen year old about to bear her unplanned first child anymore with her just-as-terrified new husband at her side. She's a healthy twenty-four year old woman and wife expecting her second child with her much loved husband. Seven months in and preparations are starting to settle themselves nicely; the jump bag's been prepared for a couple weeks now, arrangements made with Andrew and Argine and a couple other close friends for when the time for labour comes. Everything is going smoothly.

Or at least, she thought they were, until a pain that felt an awful lot like a proper contraction and not like the Braxton-Hicks ones she'd grown used to hits suddenly as she's drying off a mug she'd just had tea in. The hurt has it falling out of her hand with a clatter onto the counter. She doesn't have time to be grateful it doesn't break because she's too busy trying simultaneously to catch her breath and move to call for him.

"--Ed?" It's uncertain, at first, tentative, but her voice rises suddenly with alarm as another wave of pain hits, confirming for her that, yes, it's most likely a proper contraction and yes, she thinks her water may just have broken. "Edgar!"

It's been months since she left the Deck-- so much so that she's going to start measuring it by years before she knows it. She's gotten used to her new home's unique little hustle-and-bustle, gotten used to being called Elaine and the new look that greets her in the mirror. Gotten used to modifying her accent just enough so other Deckians who may pass through don't suspect that her origins aren't really Seattle like she's telling the natives who ask.

Gotten used to the sluggish ache that the beat of her heart has become since the moment she left Edgar's side with little more than a whispered goodbye and a note that explained all the reasons why she shouldn't-- couldn't-- stay.

And life is... not particularly good, no, but hardly bad. More of a calm sort of mediocrity that she's adjusting to. Being a barista in one of the local coffee shops is nothing like the life she used to lead-- though the dishwashing, at least, is familiar-- but every day is just different enough that she's starting not to crave excitement.

And, well, looking up to see Edgar Eicheln walking in (why was he here, of all places?) is definitely not the sort of excitement she needs.

She pushes her (fake) glasses up the bridge of her nose a little higher, hopes that the hair change and the accent she's adopted will be enough for him not to recognize her.

Somehow she doubts it.

"...Can I take your order?"