Chapter Text
It’s probably not a great sign when Laura starts comparing her life to Grey’s Anatomy, and the comparison makes her start to cry.
Not, like, crying crying. More like a frustrating little prick in the corner of her eyes, subtle but impossible to ignore. She’s never even watched a full episode of Grey’s; years ago, she’d done what any good lesbian learns to do, and binged all the gay scenes on YouTube. She feels a fair amount of kinship with Arizona Robbins.
Ultimately, eighteen-year-old Laura Hollis thought Callie and Arizona were absolutely ridiculous for not discussing the topic of having kids until they were in so deep, and for that issue to ultimately tear their relationship apart for a significant portion of the show. It seemed so easy to avoid, so unlikely that a couple could be that committed and not have even talked about the subject.
Until twenty-six-year-old Laura Hollis finds herself in the same situation.
Okay, not the same situation. Not by a mile, really. She and Carmilla are actually significantly more committed to one another after eight years together, and they have talked, very fleetingly and very theoretically, about kids, but it’s more been in the “wow, they seem like a lot of work” and “isn’t it nice to have our independence” way.
Which—yes, it is. And the idea of kids would have seemed ridiculous in the days of fighting unspeakable evil after unspeakable evil, and in the years Carmilla spent adjusting to her mortality.
But now things have settled down, and they have a house with a mortgage and a car and that damn motorcycle. They have a few house plants that Carmilla has to remind Laura not to overwater and a dog that Laura knows Carmilla loves way more than she’ll ever admit.
Laura’s job is going really well—she loves it, and she’s good at it; she can tell that her students genuinely like her each semester. The two of them spent a few years figuring out what Carmilla liked to do (besides Laura), before realizing that what she really had a knack for was forming scathing opinions on other people’s writing, so she’s been working as a book critic for the last couple of years.
They aren’t married, but that’s partially because it doesn’t feel like they have to, right now. The world is not going to end. Life is really good, and really stable.
And suddenly all Laura can think about is having a baby.
--
In case anyone’s asking, the person Laura officially blames for putting her in this situation is her friend Jennifer. Who, in actuality, did nothing wrong, except have a baby of her own.
And Laura’s never been one to get excited about babies; she honestly never really thought she’d be a mother, always figuring she’d be too busy traversing the globe as a journalist. Mostly, she hadn’t put much thought into the subject.
But then Jennifer walked in with her unbelievably adorable two-week-old son, asked if Laura wanted to hold him, and everything changed. Laura found herself obsessed. And, frustratingly, absolutely terrified.
“You and Carmilla have faced everything together,” Jennifer points out one afternoon as they’re sipping hot chocolate in Laura’s office. She’s been trying to solve Laura’s problem for the last several weeks, likely aware that her magnificent offspring is partially the reason for Laura’s latest tailspin. “Just talk to her.”
“I know!” Laura replies with a dash more defensiveness than is necessary. “I know I need to talk to her. I have no idea where she even stands on this. But I just—”
“You’re scared that she’ll hate the idea,” Jennifer supplies. “And the longer you avoid the conversation, the longer you can not know if she hates it.”
Laura frowns. “Yeah,” she says sullenly.
Jennifer offers her a small smile. “Carmilla would give you the world. You know that.”
“I do,” Laura replies. “But I don’t want her to agree to have a baby with me because she knows how badly I want one. I want her to want one herself.”
“Talk to Carmilla,” Jennifer repeats.
Laura exhales. “I will.”
--
Why is she being such a chicken? Well, it’s because, in her heart of hearts, Laura feels like she already knows Carmilla’s answer.
Indeed, after centuries of living, who would want to take care of a baby? Carmilla spent so many years as an eighteen-year-old that she surely made that decision long ago.
And on top of the she's-a-former-vampire of it all, this is Carmilla. Much more of a sap than she’ll ever admit, but not the most outwardly nurturing person in the world.
Though Laura knows that she can be, and in fact she believes that Carmilla would make an excellent mother. But if she doesn’t want to be one, Laura could probably live with that.
No, of course she could live with that. She loves Carmilla beyond reason, beyond life and death. She would give up everything to be with her.
So as a way of protecting her heart, Laura's been repeating it like a mantra: Don’t get your hopes up. She doesn’t want kids. She doesn’t, and it’ll be okay.
Yet there’s that little sliver of Laura’s mind that can’t help chanting in return, But what if she does?
--
Laura decides to finally have the talk a few nights later, when she knows they’ll both be home early. She spends the day pep-talking herself by writing positive comments in the margins of her class notes.
You’ve faced gods, bureaucracy and death. You can do this, she writes in block letters. Then below, in a softer script: It’s Carmilla.
Laura gets home before Carmilla. She walks and feeds the dog and orders from their favorite Thai restaurant, because this night is stressful enough without either of them attempting to cook.
When Carmilla gets through the door, Laura greets her with a high-pitched, “Hi!” and Carmilla enters the room with a raised eyebrow.
“What’s up?” she asks, already suspicious.
Laura motions for her to sit on the couch, handing Carmilla the glass of wine she poured an hour ago. “How was your day?”
“It was good. But you clearly need to talk about something.” Laura must be conveying her nervousness in a way that Carmilla finds cute rather than alarming, because she has that bemused expression on her face that Laura knows so well.
“I do,” Laura tells her. “Something that I’ve been twisting myself up over, rather than talking to you about.”
Carmilla nods, her amusement slipping into something more solemn. “I could kind of tell, but I figured you’d talk to me when you were ready.”
Laura takes a deep breath. She has a whole speech prepared, about how ready she thinks they could be, about how much she loves Carmilla, about how it’s not about vanity or cuteness, ultimately, but about how she knows they have so much love and goodness to offer a tiny human. She’s going to ease into it, she has transitions prepared—she practiced in front of the mirror, for goodness sake.
But then she looks into Carmilla’s eyes, and all she can say is, “I want a baby.”
Carmilla narrows her eyes, but her expression is otherwise unchanged. “You do?”
Laura nods. “Yeah.” She can feel those damn tears showing up again, and she feels herself bracing for the No. She twists her fingers together, looking down at them. “I really, really do. But I’ve been scared about what you would say, so…”
“Okay.”
Laura snaps her gaze back to Carmilla’s. “What?”
Carmilla is smiling, just a little bit, but her eyes are serious. “Okay. I—I would like that too, I think.”
“You would?”
“If you had asked me ten years ago—hell, even five years ago—I would have said no,” Carmilla tells her. “The idea of having a child when I myself could never grow old would be entirely ridiculous. But we’re in a really good place, and of course if I was going to have a baby with anyone, it would be you.”
“But—but—it’s a baby,” Laura sputters, incredulous. “Babies poop and scream and keep you from sleeping. You want that?”
“Yeah,” Carmilla says with a small laugh. “But it’s starting to sound like you don’t.”
“I do!” Laura exclaims. “Weirdly, like, a lot, all of a sudden. I just didn’t think you did.”
Carmilla shrugs. “I mean, most kids are little monsters, it’s true. But I have a feeling that ours would be pretty special. The world could use more people like you, people who actually care about making things better.”
Laura feels like she’s absolutely brimming with emotion, and the only way she can express it is to launch herself into Carmilla’s arms, who accepts her hug with a small, “Ooof!”
Laura pulls back and kisses Carmilla deeply. Or, well, she tries too, but she’s smiling too much for it to totally work.
“I love you,” she tells Carmilla when they pull apart. “I love you and I want to have a baby with you.”
“Sounds good to me, cupcake,” Carmilla says, eyes twinkling.
“And I was thinking adoption, because while the idea of a baby that looks like you makes me happy, what really makes me happy is the idea of giving a child in need a good home and we could—” Carmilla is smirking, and Laura cuts off her ramble. “We have time to figure it out,” she says, blushing slightly.
“We do,” Carmilla agrees. “But we have something to take care of first. And it’s important.”
Laura frowns. “What’s that?”
Carmilla takes her hand, dropping a kiss to it.
"Laura Hollis, will you marry me?"