By the time she turns back around with the cake, she's focused again, more than willing to jump on whatever there is to move forward on rather than linger.
She barely even registers what she's asking about when she says, "Yeah?" and shoves a piece of lemon drizzle cake - storebought - at him with a fork.
There are so many foreign concepts here - people with powers, people who die and go on living, people who disappear and go somewhere else and are never heard from again - but it still takes Rosita a moment to process that.
The way her gaze snaps up to his, though, is evidence enough she's just thought of the same thing he has. Still: "What's that mean? Stops? Stops how?"
"It just freezes. You return to the same moment you were taken from. He went home and lived twenty years from the same second he came here from." He almost forgets he's even holding the cake now. "Rosita, when you go home, you'll still be pregnant."
There's so much that any given person from either of their communities carries with them and never speaks of, no matter how it chews on them; the most successful of these people can keep going indefinitely, can compartmentalize so it doesn't hurt them, can function through anything. Rosita is no exception. She's mentioned things to Jesus, even mentioned this, but as she assumes is true with him too that isn't where it ends. No one else will ever see how deep this particular hurt goes, or the moments she spends alone worrying and agonizing over it.
She blames the broken arm and the pit and the contracts and the city but fully half of what Rosita has been wrestling with is what to do about this baby, what anything means, if it does - if she's hurt it somehow, if the city has, if life has. And now Jesus says that to her and she just stares back at him.
"This place isn't- real the way we know it." She can go home someday and she can have that baby, and she can live her life.
Jesus can't. And when she goes, she won't remember him drawing a heart on her cast, or the two of them laughing at fashion trends, or the two of them relaxing in a spa. She won't remember the things Jesus did to get her out of that Pit.
But maybe that's all right. Jesus died trying to save Eugene and their friends. He would have died to save her. She has to know that and maybe that just has to be enough.
(And yet he can't bring himself to tell her that other side of this news.)
That's what she jumps to: this life she had only just begun to accept as growing inside her, the way it was going to change her entire life one way or another, that can still happen. She hasn't lost that, if she ever gets to go home - she might get to go home and actually tell the father, find out how he'll react, figure out how to make a family happen.
And she smiles. Thin, vulnerable, even tentative, but she smiles. It hurts but that's because sometimes hope hurts, too, and she welcomes that side of pain as much as the other.
Then she realizes what it means for him, too, and her expression darkens.
"Jesus -" she says, softly, aching. Pain hurts, always.
If she goes home. She doesn't reject hope where she finds it but she doesn't let it have unchecked power either, and all together it means she's happy to hold onto him too. She's eager to hold onto him tight while she can, because right now? In the present? This matters too.
Just be happy. Just know what she already knew, what's easy to forget: each moment matters.
"I've got you." He'll dig around for answers for her, he'll run into a fight for her.
He remembers the day her people came back together, the day Rick decided to fight Negan. He'd watched them all embrace and he'd stood aside, pleased just to have brought Daryl safely home to them. Pleased just to be adjacent to the love they all clearly had for each other.
Rosita is the first person besides Maggie he's hugged.
Rosita remembers that day too, through the haze of anger and hurt and grief that had plagued her for weeks. She hadn't hugged anyone, she hadn't wanted to be pulled in by any of them, but she had come along anyway. She wanted to be where the fight was going to happen - and at her people's back, ready to hand to keep them safe.
She's healed since then, enough to do this anyway. She's healed enough to promise pieces of herself to the people she loves, and she cannot do anything about what's happened to Jesus or where they find themselves. She can't change anything so that he could get to go home with her, to hold her baby himself after it's born.
But when she finally steps back she can make sure he's the first person who knows, make sure they aren't separated again without him knowing: "It's Siddiq's," she tells him, hands still steady on his shoulders. "I haven't told anyone else." They're family, and she wants him to be happy with her.
It could have backfired; she can try to include him and only make him feel worse that he never will be, if she's unable to carry this pregnancy to term here. Maybe it still will, but for now he grins at her.
And she laughs. "Right? And sweet. Can't go wrong with a sugar-glazed six pack."
"He treats you well?" Not that Jesus can do anything about it now if he doesn't, but there's a certain shovel-talk-threat in his tone. "He's going to be a great dad."
He can already picture Siddiq watching the baby while Rosita goes out to fight walkers.
She hears that tone, and no one has ever - ever - taken it with her, on her behalf. Her brow furrows faintly but she's smiling, too, then she laughs again.
"He's sweet," she says again. "He was. But we were just playing around. I have no idea what he'll do with... that."
"He loves kids. He might be a little shocked but he'll be excited," Jesus says, with full confidence even though he doesn't know Siddiq well. He saw him with the families in the Hilltop when he'd come by to do annual exams.
"Have you thought about names?" In all the uncertainty she's had, he wouldn't be surprised if the answer was no. Names imply a certain faith that there will be a baby to hold.
"People like other peoples' kids, doesn't always mean they're excited about their own," she answers, but this is still just general caution rather than specific concern; she thinks so, too.
The glance she gives him at the question is ever so slightly guilty - she knows she shouldn't have for exactly that reason, that there's no guarantee of any kind. But she has.
"If it was a boy, and he wanted to, I was going to let Siddiq name him," she answers, hesitates, then continues more softly: "If she was a girl... Socorro."
"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't hoping," she admits with a small grin. She'd be happy with a healthy child regardless but that yearning kicks up a notch when she thinks about a daughter.
"When she starts talking?" He laughs. Yes, he can picture it. Yes, maybe sometimes he's thought about this when Rosita was sleeping over and he was watching over her. "Her first words are going to be 'stop bitching'."
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chiming
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Date: 2022-10-26 02:20 am (UTC)From:They don't matter right now anyway.
"He told me something, about how time works while we're here."
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Date: 2022-10-26 02:24 am (UTC)From:She barely even registers what she's asking about when she says, "Yeah?" and shoves a piece of lemon drizzle cake - storebought - at him with a fork.
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Date: 2022-10-26 02:35 am (UTC)From:"He said time stops back home when you come here." He eyes her, wondering if she'll reach the same conclusion he was lead to.
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Date: 2022-10-26 02:41 am (UTC)From:The way her gaze snaps up to his, though, is evidence enough she's just thought of the same thing he has. Still: "What's that mean? Stops? Stops how?"
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Date: 2022-10-26 02:46 am (UTC)From:Or she'll be pregnant again.
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Date: 2022-10-26 02:54 am (UTC)From:She blames the broken arm and the pit and the contracts and the city but fully half of what Rosita has been wrestling with is what to do about this baby, what anything means, if it does - if she's hurt it somehow, if the city has, if life has. And now Jesus says that to her and she just stares back at him.
no subject
Date: 2022-10-26 03:08 am (UTC)From:Jesus can't. And when she goes, she won't remember him drawing a heart on her cast, or the two of them laughing at fashion trends, or the two of them relaxing in a spa. She won't remember the things Jesus did to get her out of that Pit.
But maybe that's all right. Jesus died trying to save Eugene and their friends. He would have died to save her. She has to know that and maybe that just has to be enough.
(And yet he can't bring himself to tell her that other side of this news.)
no subject
Date: 2022-10-26 03:23 am (UTC)From:And she smiles. Thin, vulnerable, even tentative, but she smiles. It hurts but that's because sometimes hope hurts, too, and she welcomes that side of pain as much as the other.
Then she realizes what it means for him, too, and her expression darkens.
"Jesus -" she says, softly, aching. Pain hurts, always.
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Date: 2022-10-26 03:31 am (UTC)From:She gets to have her baby. That's what matters most right now.
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Date: 2022-10-26 03:37 am (UTC)From:Just be happy. Just know what she already knew, what's easy to forget: each moment matters.
"Thank you," she sniffs, unashamed.
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Date: 2022-10-26 03:45 am (UTC)From:He remembers the day her people came back together, the day Rick decided to fight Negan. He'd watched them all embrace and he'd stood aside, pleased just to have brought Daryl safely home to them. Pleased just to be adjacent to the love they all clearly had for each other.
Rosita is the first person besides Maggie he's hugged.
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Date: 2022-10-26 03:59 am (UTC)From:She's healed since then, enough to do this anyway. She's healed enough to promise pieces of herself to the people she loves, and she cannot do anything about what's happened to Jesus or where they find themselves. She can't change anything so that he could get to go home with her, to hold her baby himself after it's born.
But when she finally steps back she can make sure he's the first person who knows, make sure they aren't separated again without him knowing: "It's Siddiq's," she tells him, hands still steady on his shoulders. "I haven't told anyone else." They're family, and she wants him to be happy with her.
no subject
Date: 2022-10-26 04:03 am (UTC)From:"He's a good man." And, because they've spent weeks now gossiping together, "He's hot. You did good."
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Date: 2022-10-26 04:08 am (UTC)From:And she laughs. "Right? And sweet. Can't go wrong with a sugar-glazed six pack."
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Date: 2022-10-26 04:10 am (UTC)From:He can already picture Siddiq watching the baby while Rosita goes out to fight walkers.
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Date: 2022-10-26 06:20 am (UTC)From:"He's sweet," she says again. "He was. But we were just playing around. I have no idea what he'll do with... that."
She has no idea what to do with sweet.
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Date: 2022-10-26 04:50 pm (UTC)From:"Have you thought about names?" In all the uncertainty she's had, he wouldn't be surprised if the answer was no. Names imply a certain faith that there will be a baby to hold.
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Date: 2022-10-26 06:42 pm (UTC)From:The glance she gives him at the question is ever so slightly guilty - she knows she shouldn't have for exactly that reason, that there's no guarantee of any kind. But she has.
"If it was a boy, and he wanted to, I was going to let Siddiq name him," she answers, hesitates, then continues more softly: "If she was a girl... Socorro."
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Date: 2022-10-26 08:13 pm (UTC)From:"My money's on it being a girl. The world needs more Espinosa women and we're due for some good luck."
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Date: 2022-10-26 08:39 pm (UTC)From:"Can you imagine?"
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Date: 2022-10-26 08:41 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2022-10-26 08:45 pm (UTC)From:"Well maybe there shouldn't be so many people bitching around her. Maybe she'll get to grow up in some peace."
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Date: 2022-10-26 08:46 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2022-10-26 09:25 pm (UTC)From:"Or come scouting with me. There's plenty to do if everyone stops complaining."
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Date: 2022-10-26 11:28 pm (UTC)From:(no subject)
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