The day that little blue line on that stick appeared, Ludwig and you changed. That was almost six months ago. Six months that you had told the blond that you were in fact carrying his child.
Granted, he hadn’t taken it like you thought he would. Why in the world you had assumed that rainbows, cotton candy, and unicorns would suddenly appear was still a mystery in your mind. Maybe your hormones had already started to get the best of you then. It had been the ‘oh, Mein Gott’ that caused you to stomp out, but thankful you hadn’t went on a nine month rampage.
No, only a cleaning rampage. One that paled in compassion to anything the German could have dreamed up about cleaning.
Shutting the door to his car, he looked at the house that was lit like a damn Christmas tree in December. Pulling back his coat sleeve, he looked at his watch. It was late, much later then he thought that he would be home.
That wouldn’t have been a problem, but he hadn’t called you. That was the problem. The blond German knew that there would be a world of hurt waiting for him on the other side of that door. Gripping his briefcase tightly in his already clenched fist, he made his way to the door. Tossing it open, he was ready for whatever situation he was about to face.
To his surprise, you weren’t in the living room, even if the TV was on.
“Out, damned spot! Out!” You yelled from the kitchen. Whatever you had done, you were very adamant on removing it. If you happened to be sleepwalking, cursing at your hands and Allistor was heaped, dead on the floor in the kitchen, than he would really start to worry. But he couldn’t remember killing the bright redheaded Scotsman, so it must have been something else that plagued you.
Ludwig pushed the partially closed kitchen door open, and a smile tugged at his pursed lips.
There you stood, or more hunched over the counter from your large protruding belly being in the way. Your (h/c) hair tied messy on the top of your head, baggy sweatpants and one of his old t-shirts, complete with a pink sponge in your hand. You furiously scrubbed at the offending ‘spot’ on the dark oak countertop.
“You will come out!” You glared at the blemish that mocked you. “Trust me; one of us isn’t coming out of this alive!” You pointed the sponge at the counter, making your point even more clear. “Now, where did I put the pressure washer?”
Flinging the sponge back into the sink, you turned and tossed your hands on your hips. You gasped once you saw the German leaning on the door frame, holding back the laughter that wanted to spill forth.
He thought that he was crazy about cleaning!
“What are you doing, (f/n)?” Ludwig asked, pulling on the knot of his tie, losing it from the constriction from around his neck.
“I was waiting for the baby’s clothes to finish washing. I thought I might tackle the kitchen…again.” You said, pushing past him. “I just gotta find that damn pressure washer. Didn’t you have it last week? Yeah, you just did the siding! Then it’s in the garage, right?”
“Hold it!” Ludwig tugged at your hand, pulling you back. “You can’t bring that into the house.”
“But…” you rested your hand on the ‘basketball’ beneath your shirt. Giving the best ‘puppy-dog’ eyes you could, you hoped to win him over.
Didn't seem like it was going to work this time.
“What do you mean you’re washing the baby’s cloths? Didn’t you just do that…a week ago?” He tried to rack his brain on why you would be doing laundry again, but it had to be a good reason, right?
Rolling your (e/c) eyes, you gave an unholy growl. “They might have got dust on them.” You pulled your hand away, waving them franticly in the air. “This place is a mess and it needs to be cleaned before the baby gets here, Ludwig.”
“How dusty can they get in a drawer?” he asked, unbuttoning his shirt. “A mess? This place is the cleanest I’ve ever seen it, if that’s possible.”
“Is it?! Do you know I found dust behind the bookshelf in your study?” You asked, storming up the stairs. “I’ll just clean something else then, since you won’t let me get the power washer.”
“I’m so mean to you.” Ludwig muttered and sighed, dropping down on the couch. “Don’t you dare use my toothbrush again!” He had caught you cleaning the bathroom using his toothbrush; he knew then that the nesting bug had found you.
“Damn, but it works so well in all the little nooks and crannies…”
Looking down at the 409 in your hand, you took aim at the toilet again. Pulling the trigger, you saturated the porcelain throne in a foamy, white slop. If it had been a .44 Magnum in your hot little hands, the damn thing would have been blown to smithereens.
“You’ve gotta ask yourself a question: “Do you feel lucky?” We’ll do ya, punk?” You raised an eyebrow, ripping a wad of paper towels from the roll. Lowering yourself to your knees, you awkwardly leaned down scrubbing at the already sparkling white toilet with your belly in the way.
Ludwig heard you recap a line from ‘Dirty Harry’ and knew that he needed to get off the couch before you hurt yourself or scrubbed the pattern off the bathroom floor.
“It’s almost midnight; don’t you think you’ve cleaned enough for one day?” He asked, his senses assaulted by the lemony freshness of the bathroom.
You didn’t turn from your venture. But you couldn’t believe what you were hearing!
“How could you want to bring your child into this world without a clean toilet, Ludwig? Have you lost your mind?”
Really? You were the one going ‘bad cop’ on the damn toilet!
“What if you have to use it? You do pee like six times a night.” Holding out his hand, he helped you to your feet.
“I’m sorry that your kid wants to use my bladder as a punching bag, when he’s not practicing his Starlight Kicks on my stomach.”
“Sorry,” he said, again. He remembered making a remark how it couldn’t get much worse then you sorting M&M’s by colour, but he was wrong. To think that pregnancy would cause him this much of a headache!
His blue eyes flashed open, as he rolled over, blinking a few times at the clock on the nightstand. It was almost two in the morning. Reaching his hand over to your side of the bed, the sheets were still smooth and untouched. You still hadn’t come to bed?
“Is she really…” he groaned and pulled himself from the warm bed. Guiding himself along the wall, he looked down the stairs. “…vacuuming?”
“What the hell are you doing, (f/n)? It’s almost…” he yelled over the roar of the vacuum. The furniture of the living room pushed against the wall, and you going complete ninja on the carpet.
You clicked off the obnoxious machine in hand and turned to your husband. “You don’t understand! I coulda had class. I coulda been a contender. I could’ve been somebody, instead of a bum, which is what I am.”
“Alright, when you start to quote Marlon Brando, it’s time to come to bed.” Ludwig yanked the hose from your hand, tossing it to the floor. “Come on, the rugs will be here in the morning, but right now you need sleep.”
“At least let me put the thing away!”
“Get your stinking paws off me, you damned dirty ape.” You lightly pounded on Ludwig’s back, but still in a demanding way. “There’s cleaning to be done!” He shook his head, pulling you up the stairs.
“Are you better?” Ludwig asked, his eyes still closed.
“(f/n),” he grunted. “You better not be cleaning something else.” He didn’t dare look over to your side of the bed. He knew it would be empty and you off killing grime, mildew, and germs in a five mile radius of the house.
"Hasta la vista, baby!"
Opening his blue eyes once again, he stared at the ceiling a little startled.
Or maybe you were still in the house. It was reassuring to know you hadn’t broken into the neighbor’s houses and started to clean their stained rugs. But what in the world had you found to feed your nesting obsession?
“What?” you asked, picking another wurst off the plate. “You want some?” You held out a piece of the half eaten sausage in your hand, shaking it at him.
“No,” he chuckled, and took a place next to you on the sofa. “I thought I would find you reshingling the roof, it’s almost daybreak.”
“No.” you sighed and finished off the piece of wurst in your hand. “I got a craving for an early morning snack and then started to watch a movie.”
“I see you got the living room put back together, too.” He looked around at the rearranged room. At least he wasn’t half asleep this time like the last time, when he almost broke his bloody neck. Maybe you’d finally wore yourself out with all this nesting. “I could always help you clean.” He stated the obvious, but the last time you hadn’t taken it so well. Claiming that if you couldn’t clean, what kind of mother would you be?
“Help me?” you sat the plate on the coffee table. Looking a little dumbfounded, as if it never had occurred to you to ask your neat freak of a husband for help.
“Ja,” he closed his eyes, gripping his nose in annoyance. “I can always help you clean. I know its nesting and hormones, but…”
“Oh, Luddy! Let’s clean the windows again!” You grinned and pulled him into a back breaking hug. “Listen to me, mister. You’re my knight in shining armor. Don’t you forget it! You’re going to get back on that horse, and I’m going to be right behind you, holding on tight, and away we’re gonna go, go, go!”
“Doesn’t that mean I get to help you clean?” he asked, patting your head. But you didn’t answer. “(f/n)? What are you doing?”
You leaned over the couch, pushing Ludwig away with your belly. “I see a piece of lint! Come here you little bastard!”
Doing the math in his head, he counted down to the last minute of this pregnancy. To the last minute of walking through the pine scented forest your house had become. The land of Hoover vacuum cleaners that overwhelmed him. The trigger happy nut you’d become with cleaning bottle in hand that tautened him.
“Come on! The windows are calling us!”
You can do it, Ludwig. Just don’t let her put you in a corner. Nobody puts baby in a corner.
“You know what, Ludwig?” You asked, balling the little piece of lint between your fingers. He shook his head. “You can clean the corners of all the rooms, since I can’t very well. I mean my tummy keeps getting the way.”
“I stand corrected…”