Gwen's mailbox.

When she walks in the door, she knows ( Read more... )

Gwen's been feeling a bit like a beached whale lately. It's to be expected, the books tell her -- When you hit the home stretch, you just want it to be over. She's on the cusp of her third trimester, which apparently is designed to be so awful that you can't help but look forward to the pain of childbirth just to have the kid out of you, and has ( Read more... )

Gwen's Christmas has definitely left something to be desired. What should have been her first Christmas with her new husband was essentially celebrating with a stranger. Peter tries, and she can appreciate that he tries, can appreciate that he's enough himself to try, but it's been increasingly difficult as the days keep lining up without any ( Read more... )

It's quiet in the treehouse, the familiar sort of quiet of distant birds and muffled footsteps and jungle sounds, and Gwen thinks it's all wrong. After yesterday, she's certain nothing should be this quiet again ( Read more... )

If she can rouse herself from bed in time, Gwen prefers early mornings in the Compound, before the daily surge of residents clomp in for bathing and breakfast. More now than before, she cherishes that quiet time, and likes to take really long, hot showers and spend entirely too long gazing at her growing waistline. In the second trimester, she's ( Read more... )

Gwen had been in the bathroom for the fourth time today when it struck her why. This particular time, she'd been throwing up, in the midst of contemplating whether she had food poisoning, and the revelation hit. As she hastily cleaned herself up and ran to the clinic, she wondered why it hadn't occurred to her sooner ( Read more... )

Four days it's been, since the Doctor brought Rob back home. Six since she's spoken to him, and as she sits on the sofa in the Treehouse flipping idly through an old magazine she'd pilfered from the bookcase, she's wondering how much longer she can go on. Whether she wants to. This isn't anger, per se, not by the traditional definition anyway. ( Read more... )

Gwen Cooper has had better days. Better weeks and months, really, but then again, better was entirely relative. The first day, after she'd left Peter and made certain he was properly tucked in and tended to, she'd started crying and couldn't stop. It was all so silly, she knew, but that knowledge only served to make her feel worse. She was, ( Read more... )

The days have started to seem long to Gwen. Whether it's anxiety or the return to Compound living she can't be certain, but time seems to be marching with increasing slowness, endeavoring to remind her of exactly everything she's lacking ( Read more... )