#I’d say like newborns but I’m pretty sure you keep newborns in a crib instead of a bed with no side railing

[quibbs126]

I just realized these kids’ pillow is just one giant sack

I hope not filled with potatoes, that sounds incredibly uncomfortable. I’d say maybe flour (probably potato starch), but I don’t think sacks of flour would be the most suitable pillow either

[ddixons-angel]

Fated: Season 8

Summary: Gloria Rhee narrowly escapes Atlanta with her brother as the outbreak reaches the city. Luckily, they find a camp outside the city and together, they fend through encounters with the living and undead.

Starts a little before Season 1 and then follows the main storyline of the show.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Glenn Sister!OC

Warnings: major TWD spoilers, language, violence (the typical TWD stuff)

A/N: and here we are... the FINAL (temporarily anyway hehe) chapter of Fated! It’s a pretty bittersweet feeling since I grew so attached to this series, I don’t really want it to end, which is why I have plans to continue it with the next few seasons of the show! And I know that the gif I used for this chapter was from season 6... but it was so hard to find any gifs of Daryl smiling... which is sad :( ANYWAY, let’s go forth with the last chapter!!!

Chapter 10

It was mid afternoon at the Hilltop, people were going about their lives and doing their chores around the community. Gloria lies in her bed with a tired smile as she watches Daryl cradle the newborn baby girl in his arms, cooing at their daughter she had just given birth to mere hours ago. 

“Hey,” Gloria calls out as she sits herself up on the bed, “haven’t you hogged her enough?”

Daryl looks at her and scoffs playfully, “ya’ve had her for nine months, and ya say I’m hoggin’ her.”

“That’s not even the same thing! And for the record, I didn’t even know I had her for the first four months.” she argues with a pout.

“Tha’s yer fault.” Daryl replies with a smirk then looks down at the baby girl in his arms, “isn’t it? Hm?”

Gloria isn’t able to hide her smile as she sees Daryl talking to the baby, she then opens her arms in his direction, “can I at least get some affection from my husband then?”

Daryl looks at her and smiles at her words, he steps towards the bed as Gloria scoots to the side, making room for him to sit down. Cradling the baby in his arm, wrapping his other around Gloria who snuggles into him. She leans her head on his chest as she smiles down at their daughter. 

“How did we make something so innocent and pure like her?” Gloria says softly, not wanting to wake up the sleeping girl.

“She gets all that from ya,” he says, pressing a kiss on Gloria’s forehead, “she wouldn’ be here if it weren’t for ya.”

“You say that as if you don’t know how babies are made,” she chuckles, making Daryl roll his eyes.

“I mean it,” he looks at her sincerely, “ya carried her for 9 months, yer body protected her, even from the Saviors and ya didn’t even know ya had her. If ya weren’t as tough and strong as ya are, she might not’ve made it.”

Gloria smiles at his words and brushes their daughter’s cheek gently with her finger, “I can’t take all the credit for that, she’s a little fighter too, I just did my role as a mother, even if I didn’t know it yet, my body for sure did.”

Daryl hums in agreement, “an’ I’ll protect ya both, like a dad’s supposed to.”

Gloria looks at Daryl at his words, “hey,” she calls out to him in a whisper as she caresses his face.

There was a sadness in Daryl’s voice and Gloria knew where it came from. She knew very well what kind of man Daryl’s father was and what he did to Daryl and Merle when they were kids. 

“You’re gonna be such an amazing father, I can tell.” she says with a soft smile.

“Can ya?” he lets out a small chuckle.

Gloria nods, “just by the way you hold her, you’re a natural. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you had more experience, and I’m not just talking about Judith.”

“Hmm... maybe I do an’ jus’ never told ya.” Daryl teases with a smirk.

She eyes him playfully, “you’re lucky I love you.”

“You’re right, I am,” he says, pulling her in for a kiss, “I’m the luckiest man alive.”

Gloria giggles into his lips and kisses him back tenderly. Their kiss is interrupted by a knock on the door, the two pull away from each other as Maggie opens the door with a smile.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” she asks.

“Not too bad, given that I just popped a baby out of me,” Gloria says with a chuckle.

“Are you able to walk?” Maggie asks, “Carol’s downstairs with the others, if you’re too tired I can let them know.”

“I think I’ll be okay, I may need you to help me down the stairs though,” Gloria smiles.

Maggie chuckles and nods, going over to Gloria as she gets off the bed, “since you got attached, you hold onto her,” Gloria says to Daryl.

He scoffs playfully and gets off the bed as well, not denying that he did get attached to their daughter fairly quickly. The three of them make it out the room with Daryl carrying the little girl in his arms as they go down the stairs. Maggie gently holds onto Gloria as she takes each step and finally they’re on the ground floor. Gloria turns into what she considered the lobby of the Barrington house and she’s greeted by delighted smiles of people from Alexandria and the Kingdom. Carol is the first to go up to hug her.

“We came as soon as we heard it was happening,” she says as she pulls away from the hug, “how are you feeling?”

“Tired, exhausted, can’t wait to sleep,” Gloria says with a chuckle.

“I have some bad news for you then,” Rick says with a teasing smile, “you and Daryl aren’t gonna have a good night’s sleep for a while.”

“I don’ sleep much anyway,” Daryl mutters then turns his attention to their daughter who had woken up, “right? You’re gonna keep us up, aren’t ya?”

“I’ve never seen Daryl like that before,” Aaron says in awe as he watches the two.

“He was like that with Judith,” Michonne grins at the sight.

Daryl looks at the others who are staring at him, slight blush creeping on his cheeks, “what?”

Tara shrugs, “I just don’t think I’ve ever seen or heard you be so... gentle before?”

“Yeah, it’s amazing what kind of hold she has on you,” Rosita grins as she teases Daryl.

Eugene nods as he stands beside her, “I have to say, witnessing Daryl as amiable as he is right now is really a sight to behold.” 

Daryl purses his lips and looks to Gloria for help and she chuckles as she shakes her head, “alright guys, that’s enough, you’re embarrassing him.”

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Daryl,” Ezekiel smiles warmly at him, “I believe what the others are trying to say is that you are a natural with your kin.”

“You’re a natural, dude!” Jerry chimes in cheerily.

“Thanks..” Daryl mutters, his face still a light shade of pink.

“So!” Jesus starts, clapping his hands together, “Have you two decided on a name for your little girl?”

His question turns their immediate attention to Daryl and Gloria, patiently waiting for their answer. They all look eager to chime in with suggestions if needed. Gloria smiles at this and glances at Daryl.

“Go ahead,” he says with a small smile.

Gloria nods then looks at the others, mainly focusing on Maggie and Carol, “we decided to name her Sophia Bethany Dixon.”

Grateful smiles light up Maggie and Carol’s faces as they hear the name given. Gloria lets out a breath of relief when they thank her with a deep hug. She and Daryl had discussed it when they found out they had a daughter. Gloria thought it was only fitting to name her after Sophia and Beth to honor the girls. 

---

Sophia is now a few days old as Gloria places her in the crib beside Hershel’s. She’s finally drifted off to sleep after a crying fit. Gloria lets out a soft sigh then goes to check on Hershel and smiles at his little sleeping figure. She tucks them both in to make sure they’re sound asleep then leaves the nursery. She makes her way to Maggie’s office and knocks three times before opening the door.

“Hey Maggie-” Gloria says as she opens the door but cuts herself short when she doesn’t see her sister-in-law in the room.

Instead, she’s met by Jesus standing by the door, Rick leaning on the desk, Daryl sitting on one of the chairs placed along the wall, and Ezekiel and Aaron standing by the chairs facing the desk. Gloria blinks as they all turn to look at her.

“Everythin’ okay?” Daryl perks up when he sees his wife in the doorway as if he’s ready to ditch whatever conversation is going on.

“Yeah, I’m just looking for Maggie, wanted to let her know the kids are out,” Gloria smiles at him then glances around the room, “so what’s going on here?”

“Nothin’-” Daryl tries to speak but he’s interrupted by Rick.

“Shouldn’t she have a say in this?” Rick says, gesturing to Gloria.

Gloria furrows her brows in confusion, crossing her arms and leaning on the door, propping it open, “have a say in what?”

“We’re trying to decide who Sophia’s Godfather should be.” Aaron informs her.

“Godfather?” Gloria lets out a chuckle, amused, “let me guess, you all have amazing reasons for why we should pick you?”

“I’m a King!” Ezekiel exclaims.

“I saved your life,” Aaron reminds her.

“Daryl’s my brother.” Rick says matter-of-factly.

“Come on, you call me Jesus.” he says, giving Gloria a knowing look.

“Ya see what I had to deal with in the last hour?” Daryl groans.

She shakes her head as she lets out a laugh, “okay... Ezekiel, you’re gonna be too busy taking care of the Kingdom and looking after Henry. Aaron, as much as I am very appreciative of you saving my life, you have your hands full with Gracie, already. And Rick, being Daryl’s brother means you’re already her uncle. Plus, all of you are busy in your own communities anyway.”

Jesus looks at her with a grin, “does that mean I win?”

“I can’t say I don’t like calling you Jesus and being her Godfather. ” Gloria tells him.

As she speaks, the main door to the Barrington house opens and Maggie, Carol, Rosita, and Tara walk in. The women glance at each other as they see Gloria standing in the doorway of Maggie’s office, propping open the door with her body. 

“What’s going on?” Maggie asks as she walks towards her office.

Gloria turns to look at Maggie, “the guys are fighting over who’s Sophia’s Godfather.”

“My bet’s on Jesus.” Tara chips in, “his name, it’s Jesus!”

“Thank you!” he exclaims from inside the room, then grins cheekily, “and you were about to name me Sophia’s Godfather before they walked in?”

“Well, no,” Gloria chuckles as he pouts, “I was about to say that you’re going to have to fight Carol on the Godparent position.”

Gloria had this conversation with the women before Sophia was born. Maggie and Gloria had an agreement that since they were directly Hershel’s and Sophia’s aunts, it wouldn’t be fair for the others to give each other the title. Maggie had appointed Tara as Hershel’s Godmother. Rosita was perfectly fine with being their aunt. Daryl was more than accepting of Carol being his child’s Godmother. 

Rick, Jesus, and Aaron groan in disappointment, knowing that it was impossible to beat Carol in a fight, as Ezekiel grins happily, “oh glorious day! I have been named Godfather of the lovely Sophia Bethany Dixon! Haha!”

The others look at Ezekiel in confusion while Carol freezes at his words. Gloria glances over at Carol and notices her cheeks flushing a light pink. A grin spreads across Gloria’s face and her grin is noticed by the other women and they all turn to look at Carol. She looks at them nervously and fidgets, making the other women giggle. 

“Congratulations, Carol.” Gloria chuckles, patting Carol’s arm. 

She rolls her eyes playfully at her and smiles, “thank you, now if we can stop him from announcing it to the world, that would be nice.”

They laugh at her words as Ezekiel says his speech, announcing his relationship with Carol, earning a groan from her. Everyone except for Carol is immersed in Ezekiel’s poetic proclamation of love for her when a baby’s cry catches Maggie and Gloria’s attention.

“That’s Hershel,” Maggie says, instinctually heading towards the nursery, then a second cry can be heard.

“And he woke Sophia...” Gloria sighs as she follows Maggie into the nursery. 

---

A few months have passed since Sohia was born. She is now able to sit up with some assistance as she plays in the nursery with Hershel beside her. Gloria sits on the other side of her in case Sophia loses her balance and falls. Maggie comes into the nursery with two bottles of formula and sits down on the ground beside her son.

“Here,” Maggie says, handing a bottle to Gloria, “just so they don’t whine when they’re hungry.”

She chuckles and nods, “thanks, we both know how impatient these two can get.”

Maggie smiles and hums in agreement as they watch their children. Hershel and Sophia were both busy playing with the toys in front of them. As the two of them reach for the same toy, Hershel reaches it first but lets go of it when Sophia grabs it and lets out a small whimper when she isn’t able to get it. Hershel watches her as she giggles when she is able to get the toy then he gently reaches over to her and pats her head. The sight of brotherly affection brings tears to Gloria’s eyes as Maggie smiles in awe at the two. 

“Did you see that?” Maggie says, her voice full of delight.

Gloria nods, sniffling slightly as she tries to hold in her tears, “Yeah...”

Maggie looks over and her brows furrow in concern, “Gloria... what’s wrong? Talk to me.”

“Nothing... he just reminds me so much of Glenn...” she says with a soft tearful smile.

“There’s more to it than that,” Maggie reaches her hand out and holds Gloria’s, “there’s been something bothering you even before the war ended, don’t think I didn’t notice.”

Gloria looks at Maggie and sighs deeply, “I disappointed Glenn...”

Maggie frowns at this, “what makes you say that?”

“I let revenge, hate, and anger get to me, I killed a lot of people-” Gloria is cut off by Maggie.

“We were fighting a war, what did you expect?,” Maggie tells her.

“I became a cold hearted killer, Maggie...” Gloria lets out a breath, “I killed a lot of people on my own because I wanted all of the Saviors to die to avenge Glenn. I wanted them all dead so I did what I thought was right, I thought they were all bad people... but now I see they can be people we can even trust, like Alden, Laura... what if I killed people who didn’t deserve to die?”

“That’s the unfortunate thing about a war, people die. A lot of people die, even those who don’t deserve it, you were protecting what was yours, taking back what belongs to you. You did what you had to do.” Maggie tries to comfort her.

“What if I didn’t have to kill all those people? What if I only thought it was what I had to do because I was blinded by rage? What if I made the wrong choices?” Gloria says as a tear rolls down her cheek.

“Then you admit that you made a mistake,” Maggie reaches out and wipes the tear away, “admit that you made a mistake then fix it.”

“How? I killed a lot of people, Maggie... how do I fix that?” Gloria asks.

Maggie ponders for a moment then smiles softly, “do you remember back at the farm when I was mad at Glenn for telling everyone about the walkers in the barn?”

“How could I forget? You egged him.” Gloria says with a slight chuckle.

Maggie chuckles and nods, “I did, but then afterwards, you came up to me and gave me good reasons to give him a chance to explain himself. Did he ever tell you what he said to me?”

Gloria shakes her head, “he didn’t, and I never thought it was my business to ask.”

“He told me that he knows he screwed everything up with me by telling everyone about the barn, and that he knows there’s no going back in time to undo it, but he believes that he can make up for it by doing the right thing.” Maggie explains.

“That is such a Glenn thing to say...” Gloria chuckles, “do the right thing... how do I know what’s the right thing to even do?”

“I asked him the same thing when he said it, and can you guess what he said to me?” Maggie says.

Gloria ponders for a moment, “that his heart would know.”

Maggie widens her eyes in awe, not expecting Gloria to actually be able to guess, then smiles and nods, “exactly.”

Gloria smiles at Maggie then she looks at Hershel and Sophia as they share toys with each other. Sophia coos at Hershel as she hands him a building block and Hershel responds with a babble. Gloria’s heart had her answer, she’d start by properly raising Sophia and protecting her, making sure that she would know the right choices to make. That’s only the start but that’s how she would be able to make it up to Glenn. 

---

“Hey, she’s almost a year old,” Gloria says over her shoulder as she sits on the bed with a notebook propped open.

“Already?” Daryl responds, sitting on the bed and leaning on the headboard with Sophia bouncing in his lap, “you’re growin’ so fast.”

“Mhm, today’s day three hundred and fifty,” Gloria says as she writes the number on the top of the page.

She’d been keeping a journal since the day that Sophia was born. Gloria wanted to be able to keep track of her daughter’s daily progression, and to make sure she didn’t lose track of her birthday; if the adults weren’t able to have a birthday, at least her daughter would be able to have one. 

Sophia lets out a babble and points to Daryl’s face then begins to giggle. He raises his eyebrow at this and playfully eyes her.

“I think she’s laughin’ at me,” he says, earning a chuckle from Gloria, “are ya laughin’ at me? Huh? Ya laughin’ at yer dad?”

“Dada!” Sophia squeals.

Daryl freezes in place as Gloria snaps her head back to look at the two, “did she just... call you Dada?”

“I dunno...” he says in a whisper as he stares at her.

Gloria puts the book on the nightstand beside the bed then moves to sit beside Daryl, “Sophia, did you say Dada? Can you say that again?”

Sophia looks at her mom and blinks, letting out a few incoherent babbles. Gloria remembers that Harlan told her babies tend to babble things that sound like mommy or daddy when they’re around Sophia’s age but they might not have any recognition of what those sounds mean. She decides to test it; she waves her hand in front of Sophia to get her attention then points to Daryl.

“Dada!” she says again.

“You’re her first word!” Gloria exclaims happily.

Daryl grins and leans down to kiss her forehead, “knew ya were a daddy’s girl.”

“Don’t ruin the moment,” Gloria rolls her eyes playfully.

He chuckles then leans back as Sophia decides that she’s going to plop on Daryl and snuggle him, “Dada.”

Gloria smiles at the sight and kisses the top of Sophia’s head then moves up to kiss Daryl’s cheek. She adjusts herself so that she’s lying down beside him.

“I guess this is how you’re sleeping tonight?” Gloria says as she sees Sophia closing her eyes.

“Guess so.” Daryl says softly then carefully moves his arm to wrap around Gloria, pulling her close to him.

For the last two and a half years, life had been hectic for Daryl and Gloria to say the least. The outbreak that caused the end of the world was a blessing in disguise as they had only found each other after the world ended. Many would and have considered them an unpredictable couple, but together they fought through the odds. Whether it was fighting the walkers or the people who turned into monsters because of the outbreak, they would get through all of it together. They belong together. They are fated to be together. 

---

This was literally just a chapter of pure fluff.... AND I LOVE IT. I couldn’t really think of a better way to end this series, but like I said before, this is only a temporary end! I have some ideas for the next seasons ^^

I want to say a huge THANK YOU to everyone who’s supported this story, from the bottom of my heart, thank you so so so so much for reading, commenting, liking, and just being there for me throughout this story. I love you all so much! You guys are the best!

Please let me know what you thought of this chapter, I always love hearing from you~!

Taglist (please let me know if you’d like to be added/removed!):

@twdeadfanfic​ | @fandomfanatic97​ | @crossbowking​ | @watchmeaspire​ | @spidergirla5​ | @kamieshep | @letsstarsfalling​ | @molethemollie​ | @alicewinchester99​ | @neilox​ | @womanup22​ | @jodiereedus22​ | @theonlyone-meeeee​ | @theunofficialduke​ | @inlovewdxx​ | @delightfullykrispypeach​ | @mrsfortune1306​ | @wolfkg​ | @funeral-7​ | @wnygirl2012​ | @alispaceme​ | @themihala | @aavocadocloud​ |  @polkadottedpillowcase​ | @felicisimor​ | @depressedfrog2​ | @spacexkiddo0 | @rachelxwayne​ | @liadamerondjarin​ | @soraitmnt​ | @angelofthorr​ | @vampteefies​ | @lightning-butterfly​ | @huffledor-able541​ | @squigglylinesdotthei​ | @carnationworld​ | @supernatural79impala​ | @reichelhache​

[bellamyblake]

I dont wanna be mean but I Have been rewatching lately and I realized that Clarke's live is tragic it is but Bellamy's more Fucked up

in many ways i agree with this mostly because i’ve been thinking about it since he died a lot. 

and yes i do think clarke’s life is very tragic but what i do think also happened to her is that the SL itself punished her unnicessarily especially in the last season, in ways that...if you count all of eliza’s scenes, about 80% of them are her crying and it honestly got very very exhausting. even to watch. as good as she is and she is great, it gets repetitive. she sells it but you start wondering gd why?? you become indifferent at some point to it all.

that aside, i do agree because of a few major points.

bellamy’s never had a happy childhood. 

of course we don’t know what his life was like before O.ctavia was born. i like to think that maybe there was a glimpse of hope there. i think and hope too that bob wanted his filipino heritige respect though it never was but in my headcanon land he had a filipino dad who loved him dearly and who died tragically after which things went very wrong. but i believe he was loved dearly. 

yet canon and the writers i think tried to instill the idea that aurora slept with random men so neither his nor o’s father are known. however i do believe aurora must’ve loved him a lot when he was born and i think he was a mama’s boy before O was born and everything concentrated solely on her.

so yes, he’s had a very unhappy childhood. a childhood marked by mostly FEAR and that is no way for a child to live and whilst Clarke has had a tragic life we have seen her past and we know she had a family-a dad and a mom, a father who loved her dearly, she was clearly a dada’s girl, the apple of his eye, he understood her, they were connected, which is why she sees him so often in memories or when she is in situations where she almost *dies*. and as complicated as her relationship with her mother is, it’s clear abby’s love for her is very strong even if their relationship was strained by Jake’s passing.

so clarke had a family, she lived in Alpha where we know conditions were better and she was best friend with the chancellor’s son. i’d say up to the point where her father died things were probably pretty rosy.

meanwhile bellamy became a parent more or less at the age of seven. a child was placed in his hands in the way a mother passes a newborn to her husband, and he becomes responsible for a life that technically-

is not allowed to exist.

just let that whole part sink in cause that’s the tragedy of him.

he lived in absolute fear of the worst happening.  forced to become a guard so he could protect her, share rations with his forbidden sister so she could live and help his mother out.

then his worst fear happened.

because of HIMSELF!

the one moment he dared reach for happiness it was taken from him. and it killed his mom who he clearly loves very much and locked his sister who we know he loves beyond himself.

a year of absolutely lonliness, guilt-rideness and pain passes.

then he goes to earth and his sister who’s finally free decides to have a life of her own and split like every child does at some point, from her family. be free because she’s been locked up all her life and he’s left..confused?? doing irrational things, trying to control what he no longer can control.

trying to hold on to love.

because in all the pain and suffering he did have a family-his mom and his sister.

but now it’s gone.

then he grows to love and care for the 100. for clarke.

and he goes into a mountain to save them.

but instead ends up committing genocide.

meanwhile his sister runs off with a grounder (which...i have thoughts on o’s love life but i wont go there now).

and then he’s left alone by the one person he still had in his life. and let’s be real i love the blakes but they were never truly resolved. they came close to it in season 6 but it wasn’t truly done well. so i think it’s fair to say that from the moment he touches the ground, even though he does it for his sister-

he loses her.

and he only has clarke left.

but clarke leaves.

so he’s loveless, empty, broken and absolutely destroyed by the fact that he killed a mountain full of people some of whom were good and tried to save them.

he’s destroyed inside.

and then on and on-the pike manipulation, the massacre, more guilt, more pain. the death wave and a weightless loseless fight that bears no meaning but he tries he tries he goddamn tries

though he doesn’t know why, surely not for himself. for O? for clarke? for the others? for his people?

what is there left for him to do.

aurora blake raised no suiciders. no losers. he can’t kill himself as much as death seems alluring.

what i find the saddest is that he has no real love in his life. yes he has clarke and yes we know they were written as romantic but it was never canon canon so he doesn’t have this great epic love story that all the other characters have-clarke with L, o with Lincoln, raven with f/nn, jasper with maya, monty with harper, lastly john with emori which i think was the best written one.

and that is the tragedy indeed. 

because he IS the character who is the MOST heart even at his *head*-est and yet he is denied love. he’s denied a great love story (again bellarke-aside here). he is DENIED his heart being loved the way it loves, he is denied the gentleness of a soft, kind, filled with extremes-ups and downs, or even challenges, love.

he’s denied it.

the heart is denied love.

i don’t count e/cho. im sorry but that just as clarke killing him was done purely out of spite. there was no real love there, no emotion, no romance. it was a time jump relationship just like his one with gina. he’s REFUSED a great love story. 

he has it with clarke. but he’s denied actually going there too. 

i find it sad because love spills out of him in waves, all of himself he gives out, all of his softness kindness, even his flaws, he lets out in the open and says this is me, i am not ashamed of myself. i may hate myself but i love. 

and there’s no one to love him back.

and then in the end of course im saddest because we’ve seen the craziest shit on earth and he’s still denied understanding from his friends. but i wont go there because it hurts too much.

so yes clarke lost a lot. she lost L and she lost madi in a way and she lost her dad and her mom. but she’s had happiness in her life, she’s had a family, she’s had great love, she’s even had the cutesy teenage drama romance with f/nn and then a good love and then yes death and pain. she is separated from her friends, she is punished unnecessarily like he is too.

but she’s known it.

and she’s known the peace from those 6 years on earth. peace he craved and strived towards in the end. she’s had that with madi. whilst he’s spent that punishing himself over leaving her behind and once again trying to keep their people together in her abscence to honor her.

i’m sure he’s had happy moments. maybe glimpses. like bob said, glimpses of peace. maybe he’s had glimpses of happiness too. when he was baby boy and his mom picked him from his crib or his dad carried him arround or when he carried O around and talked to her. or when he was hugged by clarke.

but he should’ve had more. 

he deserved more. 

[dontshootmespence]

Through It All

Part 29

Summary: Now married, Spencer & Y/N navigate the D/s lifestyle. How will their relationship change?

Words: 1,728

Warnings: Pegging, scratching, handjob.

A/N: The next entry for @cm-kinkbingo​ run by my beautiful girlfriend @heycasbutt​. This fulfills my pegging square.

After what feels like an eternity (but is actually only a couple of days), you settle on your babies’ names: Morgan Diana and Blake Xing. Charlotte’s new room is all set up and you’re able to get started on the nursery for the babies. Well, adding to it. The Winnie the Pooh theme is something you still love and want to stick with, but you need double the crib space and double the dresser space, so as the weeks go by you add to their wardrobes with the help of family and friends.

Between Spence’s teaching, your job, parenting a toddler and getting ready to bring in not one, but two newborns, life takes on a well- life all its own. Through it all, Spence manages to keep you grounded, not always through sex, though you’ve been more than willing to be ‘at his disposal’ amidst the craziness. Aside from sex, he picks your outfits out every day, even down to what makeup you wear. He plans your weekly dates, down to finding friends and family to babysit Charlotte to carefully choosing where you’ll go and what you’ll do. He insists that you spend five minutes a day cuddling in bed just so you have time to breath.

You wonder whether he’s been able to breathe.

How Charlotte’s more than two years old now is beyond you. The time has gone by in such a way that you’ve been climbing up a mountain and sliding down it simultaneously, but after she’s in bed one night, just a few short weeks before the twins are supposed to arrive, you ask him how he’s feeling.

“What?” Spencer asks, a little taken off guard.

Grasping his hand, you maneuver yourself so you’re sitting in his lap facing him. “You’ve been taking such good care of me. Are you okay?”

Spencer closes his eyes and leans forward pressing the most chaste of kisses on your lips. “I’m a little overwhelmed. Nervous as all hell about parenting three kids under the age of three in less than a month. But I’m just focusing all that energy on you.” His hand slides up the soft cotton tank you’re wearing to bed.

Coasting your fingertips along his torso and underneath his chin, you tip his head up so his gaze meets yours. “Do you need to, or want to let go for a night?”

He allows his resolve to slip away for a moment. “Yea,” he whispers, lips full below his hooded gaze. “I think I’d like that.”

Smiling, you trail your lips along the side of his neck and wash your tongue over his pulse point, relishing in the sign that escapes him. It’s so rare that you’re the one in control, and you do prefer it that way, but it makes these moments even more heady that usual in an entirely different way. “Remember a while back, when we talked about me pegging you?”

By the glint in his eye you can tell he remembers and he’s willing, but you ask anyway. “Be gentle with me,” he chuckles softly.

“Always. What’s our word?”

Your whisper is featherlight, as is his reply.

Watching in awe as his control slips into your hands, you instruct him to undress and get on all fours while you go digging for some toys. Months back you’d bought a smaller strap-on in the event you got to do this. You weren’t about to use the kind he’s used on you. That’s thicker and a little intimidating for someone who’s never done this before. Instead, you pull out a thinner, short strap-on and a bottle of lube, throwing both on the bed behind Spencer’s cute little ass. He’s trying to steady his breathing. He’s definitely nervous, but he stays where he is. It’s one of the few times in your relationships he’s more than willing to flip the script.

“Relax, Spence. I’ve done my research.”

He chuckles and starts to relax as you strip and crawl onto the mattress behind him. Slipping the strap-on around your waist, you smile to yourself. Wielding the power on occasion is pretty fun.

In preparation for whenever this moment came around, you’ve been keeping your nails short. You squirt some lube into your palm and slicken one finger specifically. Doing this with your hands first is not really ideal, but you’re not about to start him off with a strap-on.

“I’m gonna start with a couple fingers first. You tell me when you’re ready for more.”

He doesn’t respond out loud. He just nods his head, but you allow it, pressing the tip of your pointer finger against his ass. You motion slowly, adding lube when necessary and suddenly slip past the tight ring. “Oh.” Spencer says. “That’s, um, wow.”

“Good wow?”

“Good wow.”

Watching how he reacts, you move your finger back and forth, taking in how his breath heaves and his balls tighten in anticipation. As soft moans leave him, his front half folding down into the bed, you introduce your second finger and chuckle to yourself when his eyes widen. “Honestly, I wasn't sure I was going to like this,” he says, swallowing thickly. “But I do. I really do.”

As you continue to move, hooking your finger randomly to see what he likes and what he doesn’t, you keep him talking. When he’s talking, at least with you, he’s much more relaxed. You ask him what he feels, where he enjoys the pressure. The right side gets him more than the left and the deeper the better. “Do you think you’re ready for more? It’s okay if you aren’t,” you add quickly.

His face is flushed red. So rare for him in this capacity. You love it.

“Yea, I think I am.”

“Good boy.”

While you lube up the strap-on with one hand, you rake your fingers down his back and across his ass. Pinkish marks appear a second in the wake of your fingers and Spencer hisses when you scratch across his ass.

Just as before, you slowly press the tip of the strap on against him, but there isn’t as much resistance as before. Still, you make sure to take it slow, helping him to relax by bending over him to reach around and grab his cock, stroking softly until you’ve eased in. “How’s that feel, love?”

He swallows hard before he’s able to respond. “Full.”

You giggle because you can tell. Even the strap-on isn’t a part of you, you can feel it move as he tightens around it. “You okay if I move?”

“Yes,” he says assuredly.

With all the grace you can muster (which admittedly isn’t much), you begin to thrust and revel in the way he groans. Pivoting to the right, you feel him tremble. Underneath the strap-on, you can tell how wet you are. Even though physically there isn’t much stimulation, Spencer’s reactions leave your breaths heavy and your movements slightly erratic at best. But it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that underneath you, Spencer is huffing and groaning. His body is slick with sweat. His tongue keeps coming out to wash over his bottom lip. His eyes are fluttering closed.

For the first time in a long time, he’s letting go - and watching that happen - that’s what’s getting to you.

“Fuck, Y/N, I-”

“Shh,” you whisper. “I’ve got you.” As you move, your thrusts and rolls become slightly more practiced, allowing you to return to the gentle strokes you were giving his cock before. With each thrust, you stroke your hand down the length and him and rub circles on the head of his cock with your finger.

Spencer starts bucking into your hand, a string of expletives leaving his mouth as he begs you for release. But you don’t give it to him. Not yet. He wanted to lose himself for a bit so you’re going to make it happen. “Not yet, Spence. Almost. I promise.”

You start to lose control yourself, simultaneously wanting to watch him unravel and keep on a string for as long as possible. When you finally can’t take it anymore, you scratch your teeth along his back and coax him into letting go. “It’s okay, Spence. Come for me. Let go.”

With your permission, his eyes shoot open and his body takes a hold of itself like it barely has any connection to his brain. He thrusts down into your hand and back into you at the same time, groaning as he does so. Each one long and drawn out. It’s like every buck and wave of his lithe form is his body’s way of giving his mind permission to let go.

“Oh, fuck!” He grits his teeth as he explodes into your hand and onto his stomach.

Careful not to hurt him, you ease out and undo the ties around your waist so you can toss it aside until later. His shockwaves subside and you collapse at his side. “How’re you feeling, Sir?”

He’s still a little shaky, buck naked and face down in the sheets, but he smiles and pulls you to his side. “Good. Really good. I mean, wow. Didn’t expect to like it that much.”

“Me either.”

“Yea?”

“Yea, I mean I didn’t orgasm or anything but just watching you lose it and knowing I was the cause. Fuck, that was just as good.”

“Welcome to my world, babe.” He waits a moment, settling himself into the sheets. “Can we just pass out here? I’ll help you clean up in the morning.”

“Yea,” you laugh, pulling at the thin sheet sitting on top of the fitted sheet. “Might wanna toss this to the side though. Don’t wanna get crusty.”

Spencer laughs out loud. “Sex is gross.”

“Yea it is.”

“Good thing it’s fun.”

---

In the following days, you catch up with Ai and Kyle; she tells you that none of her shirts fit anymore so she’s flashing midriff like a 90s popstar. And she’s in a hell of a lot of pain considering her center of gravity is royally fucked with two full grown babies walking around in there. But otherwise she’s okay.

“I just can’t wait to get these babies out of me,” she laughs. “I want to meet them. I want you to meet them. I’m just-

“Ai, you okay?”

“My water just broke.”

“Spence, it’s baby time!”

@heycasbutt @ultrarebelheart @katherineisagubler @proud-slytherin-ghost @randomwriter23 @fandom-queen67 @sixx-sic-sixx @xqueenofthecraziesx @aofay02 @groovyreid @criesinreid @jdougl-love @xreider @cringeemospntrashassbutt @prettyboyeffect @prettyboyreid @themanip @spencerreidsthings @augustgraceful @whollytaciturn @prisonreid @factualfic @jasmine-negron @snitchthewitch @ellabobella051419 @crazyforsstuff @kaatelyyynn​ @jane-dough @dreatine @bitter-post-millennial @adlerorzel-blog @hallieedrew @psychedelephantt @krisymccall996 @4ueijos @mclaujac @ray-likes-starwars @nurseemilyblog @slightlyvicked @she4567 @guesswhosback129 @princessdolan @happycreatorfangirl @fallwhisper @nyemadowell @sammy-jo1977 @sin-bin-and-tragedies @imsuperawkward @ahhahahaheehee @crispygiantsaladgarden @reputay-swift @pizzarollsfordayz @andiebeaword @timey-wimey-lovi @garbagecanfics @friedparadisetale @dereksbetaa @idontevenknow2 @holyfishloverfarm @nohemi2500 @typeshitbih @sadgirlhan @kmc217 @bigbuttsowhatuniverse @charmedfandomgal @im--blushing @dangerouspersonllamabagel @fichoe21 @yes-sir-hotchner @thefandomallrounder @mrsenos08 @walkerchick007 @letsdisneythings @winchesterqueenie @specialagentleigh @spn-wheresthepie @haileymew @bitchyoulied @geniusgub @urdicksmol @6lack6erry @slutlanna976 @downondilaudid​ @baileysb1tch @la-vie-en-amour1​ @letsdoit-tomorrow @eideticprettyboydrreid​ @lazynoodledragon​ @shybaby231 @aimzonicles97​ @grace-superpowers​ @softestlavender​ @ssa-dr-ladylock​ @drprettyboy​ @patricks-fabulous-face​ @tearosaria​ @shxdowofdarkness​ @marvels-gurl​ @gublergirls​

[amelialincoln]

Prompt: Can you please do a fic with Meredith and Maggie meeting the baby? Plz don’t forget to like and repost my fics if you enjoy, it makes all the difference! Also, please keep sending prompts and any questions. They make my day! Hope this lived up to expectations!💕

Guaranteed

Amelia was in awe of the tiny baby lying on her bare chest, his little head peeking through the neckline of her thin hospital gown. This baby was alive and breathing and not going to live for only forty-three minutes. She didn’t know whether she was relieved by this idea or even more scared, knowing that this baby would be a product of her own parenting.

“Hey, Mommy,” Link said softy, his forehead resting on the doorway as if he’d been standing there awhile. “You okay?”

“We’re good,” she answered before shrugging. “I can’t seem to get him to latch.”

“The nurse came?”

“Yeah,” she mumbled. “He was good for a bit but then stopped the minute that she left. I haven't been able to get him on since.”

“He’s sleeping?” Link asked.

“Yeah,” she replied, gazing down at the little resting infant on her chest. “He seems alright.”

“Maybe, he’s just not hungry.”

“Maybe.” Link moved to the bed, kissing her forehead and reaching behind her ear to tug at the elastic holding her hair in place. The chocolate curls came tumbling down from the loose bun.

“There we go.” He smiled. “I’m a lucky guy.” He met her deep blue eyes with a lopsided grin.

“I’ve never felt better in my life, sweaty and exhausted. Not to mention the horror movie scene going on below the covers.”

“They stitched you up?”

“While you were gone. Nothing like getting your vagina sutured without pain meds.”

“Amelia—” Link winced.

“Yeah, just you finally think the pain is over they inform you that they have to suture up all the perineal lacerations caused by your six foot two boyfriend’s baby coming out of your five foot three girlfriend’s vagina.” Link chucked, pulling Amelia’s hospital gown neckline towards him as he peeked at the little baby sleeping on her chest. “He wouldn’t fall sleep unless it was skin to skin contact. I had to take him out of his onesie and everything. You missed a lot of crying.”

“My kinda guy. Doesn’t settle for anything less than the skin to skin stuff.”

“Link.” Amelia rolled her eyes, stifling a yawn.

“You tired, babe? Want me to take him?” Link offered.

“Sure, but if he has a meltdown I’m leaving.”

“Oh so every time our baby cries, from now on, you’re just walking out?” He teased. “Don’t worry he knows his daddy.” As Link rolled up her gown and lifted the baby into his arms Amelia was shocked to see that he didn’t even stir. Instead, he only burrowed into Link’s chest further and babbled sleepily. “See? Daddy’s boy.” To which Amelia rolled her eyes. “Meredith and Maggie we’re asking about you and the baby. I told them I’d ask to see if you were up for a visit.”

Amelia’s eyes widened. “I completely forgot. Of course they can come meet him. It’s probably a good time since he seems so relaxed now.” She reached for her phone and sent a quick text to their sister group chat. “I’ll just get changed and maybe take a shower. Are they still at the hospital?”

“I’m not sure. They were in the attending lounge when I saw them. They could’ve gone home but I’m not sure.”

“Okay, well tell them I’m showering if they come and will be right out.” She leaned over to give their little boy a kiss on the forehead and Link a quick one on the lips. She entered the small bathroom attached to their room. Happy to get out of the thin and uncomfortable material of the hospital gown, she undressed quickly before stealing a look at herself in the mirror. She frowned as she studied her reflection. Her chest was enlarged, swollen and tender to the touch. Most likely from the failed attempts to get Jake to nurse. She ignored her stomach and was surprised to find her vaginal area discoloured with bruising. With Christopher her labor had been debatably easier and had experienced bruising but nothing like she was witnessing at that moment. Shrugging she turned on the shower and stepped in. She wasn’t shocked to find bleeding, which was minimal and normal.

She soothed her greasy scalp with the fragranceless shampoo and conditioner in the shower before washing the rest of her body cautiously and stepping out of the shower. She used the pathetically small towel hung up on the ring beside her before pulling on the pyjamas that Link had packed her. They’d decided on Jake Derek Lincoln after not only Addison’s husband, but the man who helped Amelia through her first pregnancy. Derek after the obvious. They’d talked about hyphenating their last names but it just seemed like too much of a mouthful and Amelia had made him promise that if he ever hurt her that she’d force him to sign off for it to be Shepherd immediately. To which he’d laughed before shrugging and saying that it didn’t matter that much to him anyways. When she opened the bathroom door she was surprised to find Meredith and Maggie in the hospital bed. Link glanced up at her from his chair.

“Still doing okay, babe?”

“All good,” she sighed, moving to the edge of the bed.

“Sorry, we couldn’t go home before seeing the baby. Maggie’s been complaining all day,” Meredith grumbled, a hint of joy, however, behind her eyes.

“I would’ve said you could come earlier—”

“It was worth it,” Maggie interrupted softy, her eyes not moving from the little bundle in her arms. “Hi baby. Have you guys decided on a name?”

“Jake Derek Lincoln, for now.” Amelia answered, narrowing her eyes at Link who chuckled.

“Until I screw up apparently,” Link teased, patting his lap for Amelia to come sit.

“Are you guys staying the night?” Meredith asked, eyeing the neurosurgeon’s obvious discomfort as she lowered herself slowly onto his lap. “Sorry, Amelia, come sit on the bed.” Amelia put a hand up and shook her head before leaning comfortably onto Link’s chest. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her legs up carefully.

“I’m trying to get Carina to let me go home. I feel almost safer in the presence of all of you than here,” she joked. “I just want to sleep in my own bed and we already have the crib set up and everything. Though, I doubt he’ll be leaving our arms for at least tonight.”

“Fair enough. You’re lucky your room is still yours. Since you’ve been at Link’s apartment so often Zola’s been begging for your room.” Meredith smiled before lifting the baby from Maggie’s arms and into hers.

“Hey...” Maggie whined. “I can go talk to Carina and then we could all leave together. We’re off until tomorrow.”

“Perfect,” Amelia nodded thankfully.

Prying the baby out of Maggie and Meredith’s grasp was almost impossible. Amelia had finally fallen asleep on the couch and Link has been attempting to convince them to give the baby up for the last half hour.

“You are the perfect baby,” Maggie cooed. She wasn’t wrong. Jake had hardly stirred other than to open his big blue eyes and gurgle happily, maybe grasping a finger before falling back into a motionless sleep. Although, to Amelia’s disappointment, was still having trouble relieving her of her swollen and sore chest.

“He has been pretty great today,” Link chuckled, running a hand distractedly through Amelia’s hair and wishing they could be upstairs so that he could be holding her and their newborn son. “I think they’re both pretty tired so we should probably head up now.”

“I could do this all night,” Meredith smiled, recalling on her days with Ellis curled up in her arms as Jake was now. “It’s weird to think these days are over...but probably for the best,” she laughed softy before handing Link his little boy.

“Thank you guys. Jake is really lucky to have a family like this to grow up in.” He was reminded of how little love had been shared between his parents during his childhood and promised silently to never raise his child the same way. As he glanced over at Amelia, sleeping soundlessly in his lap, he knew that it wouldn’t be difficult. “Hey babe,” Amelia yawned, her eyes opening into slivers. “Time to go upstairs. I’d carry you up but I don’t think I could manage you and the baby.”

“I guess those days are over,” Amelia mumbled tiredly.

“Goodnight, Amelia,” Maggie said as her and Meredith watched the two make their way out of the living room.”

“I can’t promise the kids won’t be all over the both of you tomorrow,” Meredith called. “They’ve been asking me about their new cousin constantly for the last couple of weeks. I’ll try to keep them at bay so that you can get some rest.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Amelia sleepily answered.

Once they were upstairs it took all of Amelia’s effort not to crawl into bed. She left Link to change Jake’s diaper and get him into pyjamas and walked into the bathroom. She changed into a loose pair of black shorts and an oversized t shirt. After washing her face, she examined the blood situation and returned to the room to find Link fast asleep with Jake babbling happily on his chest, playing with his father’s hair. “Oh so now you’re awake.” Amelia sighed. She lifted the baby into her arms and winced as Jake applied direct pressure on her chest.

“Usually when you complain about being sore a message helps,” Link teased, woken up by her groan.

“You’re not coming anywhere near my boobs for a very long time if this guy can’t get it together,” Amelia sighed.

“Well in that case let’s figure this out,” He smiled, pulling Amelia in between his legs and resting her back on his stomach. “I asked the nurse for some tips before leaving and she said you just have to try and cup it like this.” He wrapped an arm around her helping to guide Jake. “There we go buddy. Now here, Amelia, give me your hand. Like this, babe.”

“Oh,” she murmured as Jake finally latched on. “Why did you let me suffer through hours before telling me this.”

“Meredith and Maggie—”

“Could’ve waited!” Amelia exclaimed. Link laughed, burrowing his face in her neck apologetically and breathing in the sweetness of her perfume. Amelia relaxed into him. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” It wasn’t long before Amelia nodded off. Link removed the satisfied baby from her arms. Careful to not wake Amelia, he set Jake down, removing his scrubs and changing into a new pair boxers before crawling into bed. Not wanting to put Jake in his crib just yet, he placed the sleeping baby on Amelia, who cradled him in her sleep and wrapped his arms around her. Completely content with watching the both of them resting, he knew, that for himself, it would be a sleepless night.

[drakewalkerfantasy]

Flames of yesterday: Epilogue

Summary: 5 years ago they made a mistake. They were two broken men drinking away their love life issues, and one girl trying to help a friend. What the night leaves them with are two broken hearts and one nearly broken friendship. 5 years later, two are still broken and another one fixed. But what happens when they all meet again? Will it open old wounds and bring all the their insecurities rushing back?  Or will it mend the two hearts still looking for warmth, unable to find it after their parting?

Words: 4180

Authors notes: A crossover of Open Heart and The Elementalists, a collaboration series by @drakewalkerfantasy and @fluffy-marshmallow-heart

Thank you everyone who was with us from the beginning of this journey till the end or who joined later. I hope you enjoyed this series. 

Ethan x OH MC (Diana)

Beckett x TE MC (Oriana)

**Warnings: fluff, a lot of fluff, love and friendship**

NEW YEAR’S EVE

“Beck come on, they’re going to be here any second!” Oriana called up the stairs of their house. “Isabella is already asleep!”

A couple minutes later Beckett padded down the staircase and glared at his wife. “If you keep shouting like that, she’ll wake up! I just wanted to make sure she’s okay in her crib. She just started sleeping in it, after all.”

“I know, and that’s very sweet.” Oriana kissed him gently. “But I’m serious, you need to start opening the wine bottles and help me with the rest of the food.”

“You made enough food for an army. Why did you make so much?”

Oriana sighed. “Because I don’t know what Ethan likes! And you know I love to cook. You’ve never complained about the amount of food I’ve made before. In fact…there’s been several times that was an advantage for you…” She trailed off, leaning in to whisper in his ear. “You remember that chocolate fountain, right? With the strawberries and whipped cream?”

Beckett started blushing furiously. “That…of course, I remember that.” He slipped his hand around her waist, pulling her flush against him. “Don’t tell me you got all that again tonight, because I will lock that front door and we’ll spend the whole night…taste testing…”

“Mmmm I love when you get kinky.” Oriana replied, causing Beckett to chuckle. “Will you blindfold me again too?”

At that exact moment, their doorbell rang.

“Shit.” Beckett cursed, looking down at the giant bulge in his pants. “Why do you always do this to me.” He mumbled, trying to adjust himself to hide how turned on he got in a matter of seconds.

Oriana just shrugged. “You just make it so easy.”

She walked over to the door, opening it wide with a grin. “Hey guys! Come in! Let me get your coats!”

Diana and Ethan stepped into the entryway, removing their jackets and handing them over. After hanging them up in the coat closet, Oriana led them to the kitchen, where Beckett was hiding behind the island.

“Beckett.” Ethan acknowledged, reaching out his hand and shaking Beckett’s. “Always nice to see you. And Oriana, you look lovely as always.”

“Aw, thank you. It’s good to see you too. I made a ton of food, I hope you’re hungry.”

“Always.” Diana grinned. “Thanks for having us. Where’s little Isa?”

“Bed.” Beckett piped in. “Want some wine? We just have to keep the volume down.”

“I’ll take some.” Ethan told him.

“Do you have any sparking grape juice?” Diana asked hopefully.

Oriana smirked. “We do.”

Beckett looked at her, confused. “You know you’re not pregnant anymore, Ori, you can drink wine.”

“Force of habit. And I already bought it, so might as well drink up!” She replied cheerfully, handing Beckett the bottle. “Besides, don’t want any alcohol getting in my breast milk.”

He opened it and poured two flutes full, then turned back to Ethan. “What kind of wine do you like? We have reds, whites, sweet, dry, sparkling…”

“A Riesling would be excellent.”

Nodding, Beckett opened a bottle of chilled Riesling and poured himself and Ethan flutes. The four friends raised their glasses.

“To new friends.” Ethan smiled at Beckett and Oriana.

“To new love.” Beckett grinned proudly at his best friend, so happy she finally found what he had. He was thrilled for her.

“To family.” Diana added.

“And to embracing the future…whatever that may bring.” Oriana finished. The four of them clinked their glasses together and took sips of their drinks. Beckett then pulled out two casseroles from the bottom oven and 3 dips from the top oven, while Oriana pulled out bags of chips, veggies, paper plates, napkins, and silverware.

Ethan’s eyes widened. “That’s…a lot of food. You made all this yourself? We could have brought something, I’m sure you’re swamped with taking care of your little girl.”

“No, no, I love cooking. Besides, Beckett is always eager to spend time with Isa.” Oriana grinned. “I gotta tell you though…we’re both pretty tired and I’m sure she’ll wake up at some point considering she’s only a month old.”

It had been two months since the conference; two months since Ethan and Diana admitted their feelings for each other, and they had been inseparable ever since. They both signed a release at the hospital, much to Harper Emery’s disdain. It did not go entirely smoothly, especially with what happened to Declan Nash. However, Ethan had been right about one thing. They were getting the funding regardless of what happened. One condition was that Declan was never in the hospital when Ethan or Diana was, which was so often he would barely show his face. They’ve been in and out of legal to make sure the deal went off without a hitch.

Oriana’s labor had been a difficult one, and it broke everyone’s heart that she was in labor for two days before being rushed for cesarean, as the fetus’s blood pressure dropped significantly, but finally she gave birth to a healthy little baby girl that they named Isabella, and Isa as a nickname. They had all grown extremely close, and surprisingly Beckett and Ethan ended up becoming good friends in no time at all. Since Beckett and Diana were still interns, their experience was limited, especially in natal care. Despite Beckett having performed a cesarean on Dolores, he was not doing well emotionally with this at all. This was his wife, his world, this was extremely personal, just like Dolores had been to Ethan. So, Ethan was really there for Beckett when Oriana was having such a difficult time. Since she had to be put under anesthesia, he wasn’t even allowed in the room and he was wreck. Diana was unfortunately in the middle of a shift, and technically so was Ethan, but since he had a lot more pull, he was able to be there for them, and Diana appreciated it more than she could ever say. She and Ethan were practically inseparable outside of working hours, but in the hospital they kept their interactions brief and professional as to not make things awkward for the rest of the staff and interns. They would only bend that rule in Ethan’s office, with the door closed and locked, but even then they had to be quick so no one noticed they were gone.

Now, on New Year’s Eve, the four friends had decided to ring in the new year together. It was important for them all to be together that night and start off as good friends when the new year began. Everyone had readily agreed to the plan as Beckett and Oriana were often busy and exhausted taking care of a newborn, so they were not as sociable as they used to be. Although Diana and Ethan were both involved with making sure the new little family was taken care of, they did not want to overstay their welcome and make Oriana and Beckett feel like they have to entertain them instead of bonding together as a family.

“So.” Beckett cleared his throat, taking his wife’s hand. “There is something Oriana and I would like to ask you two, and perhaps we should have asked sooner but…”

Diana waved him off. “I’m sure whatever it is didn’t have to be decided right away.”

Beckett blushed a bit as Oriana squeezed his hand, encouraging him to continue. “Ori and I…we’ve talked a lot about this, and we were hoping…well, we’re asking…the two of you will consider being Isabella’s godparents.”

Diana’s hands flew to her mouth, her eyes filled with delight, while Ethan stood stunned. “A-Are you sure? We haven’t known each other too long and…I’d be honored of course, but I don’t want you to feel like just because you want Diana to be godmother that I have to be godfather. We’re not even married.”

“But you’ll propose at some point.” Oriana said confidently, causing Diana to smother a laugh. “Besides, even if you don’t get married, I’m sure you’ll stay together anyway.”

Beckett looked directly at Ethan. “As I said, we considered this very carefully and the truth is…” He trailed off, taking a deep breath. “You were there for me when I was losing my mind with worry. Not just anyone would do that. You’re…a really good man, Ethan Ramsey. And I agree with Oriana that you and Diana have an extraordinarily strong bond, and we’re not worried about your relationship.”

Diana sniffled, several tears escaping her eyes before she stepped forward and yanked Beckett into a giant hug. “Thank you.” She whispered, before turning back to Ethan. “Well? It’s up to you, but I believe they’re waiting for an answer.”

After a moment of hesitation, Ethan smiled widely. “Of course, I accept.”

Diana squealed in happiness as she kissed Ethan. After sharing a small nod, the two of them faced Beckett and Oriana again. “Actually…there’s something we want to tell you.” Diana said before sharing a joyful glance with Ethan, his fingers interlacing through hers’s, giving them a light squeeze of encouragement. “We are pregnant,” she rattled off, feeling how her heart skipped a beat when a silence hung in the air.

She could see how Beckett’s brows furrowed in confusion, trying to process news they just shared, looking between Diana and Ethan. They both could see how the realization settled at him, and his eyes widened, a happy grin spreading across his face. But before he could say or do anything, they heard the deafening cry of joy breaking the silence. Everyone’s eyes moved to Oriana, who was clapping her hands together excitedly.

“I knew it!!!” Oriana shrieked. “That’s the real reason I bought the sparkling grape juice! I’ve had my suspicions, and then you saying you wanted to drink that confirmed it for me. Oh my god, you guys!!! I’m so happy for you!!” She lunged forward, wrapping both Diana and Ethan in a hug.

“What? How did you know?” Diana asked in surprise, with both Ethan and Beckett furrowing their eyebrows in confusion.

“Okay, well first off, I just went through it, so I know a lot about it. Second, every time I’ve talked to you, you just seem completely exhausted. And last month when I brewed coffee, you wrinkled your nose and dashed off. You love coffee, and you definitely love the smell of coffee, so that was a huge sign.”

“Hmm, I guess…” Diana started before Oriana interrupted.

“And last, your boobs are already bigger.”

Diana’s eyes widened as Ethan started coughing.

“Ori!!” Beckett’s face was bright red. “What…how…do you stare at her breasts or something? How would you know that?”

“We went shopping together last week. Course, I was already suspicious, but when she tried on that form-fitting red dress, I was like ‘wow! Look out!’”

“Oh my god, that’s so embarrassing.” Diana muttered, her face turning the same shade as Beckett’s.

“No way, I’m sure Ethan is enjoying them.” Oriana teased.

“Oh my god! Ori stop!” Beckett exclaimed, the red on his cheeks spreading over his whole face, ears, and neck.

Oriana shrugged innocently. “Just sayin. You still enjoy mine plenty.”

Beckett’s mouth fell open as he turned away quickly. “I’m getting another drink.”

“I’ll join you.” Ethan said immediately, the two men walking away as fast as they could, neither one saying a word until they reached the kitchen.

“Welcome to married life.” Beckett mumbled as he poured new drinks.

Ethan chuckled under his breath. “Good to know.”

Beckett’s gray eyes met Ethan’s blue ones. “I’m pretty sure I know you well enough that I don’t have to ask this, but as Di’s best friend I’m going to. You didn’t get the ring just because she’s pregnant, did you?”

“No, I didn’t,” Ethan replied, not missing a beat. “I want to marry her. Actually, the day when she told me the news, I was taking her to her favorite spot to propose.”

“Why didn’t you?” Beckett asked, trying to figure out what possibly could change his mind.

“I wanted, but Oriana went into labor, and it didn’t felt right. We all were worried for her and the baby. And you needed us,” Ethan replied.

“Wait.... do you want to tell me that she is pregnant for at least two months, and you both didn’t tell us? She was the first one with whom we shared our news,” Beckett said, feeling a little bit upset that they didn’t share the news earlier, but no less happy for his friends.

“She wanted to tell you as soon as she shared the news with me, but not when Oriana was in the hospital, and then when Isa was born, we wanted for you to celebrate the life you created, not us,” Ethan replied, patting Beckett on the shoulder.

“Thank you,” Beckett appreciatively smiled at Ethan before looking towards the girls. “But still, you didn’t answer why didn’t you propose later? You had at least a month to do that.”

“Honestly?” Ethan asked, watching Beckett nod. “I started to question if she wouldn’t think I propose just because of the baby. And this is why a week ago I turned to you. I love Diana,” Ethan replied.

“I know. If I would doubt it, I wouldn’t help you,” Beckett noted. “So? Are you proposing tonight? Everything is ready if you are.”

“Yes, I’m. And--- thank you,” Ethan smiled, his hand wrapping around the small diamond ring inside his pocket. “I hope Oriana will not kill you when she finds out you knew for a week?”

“She will be too happy for both of you, that I hope she will not pay attention to this little detail,” Beckett laughed.

Meantimes, Oriana turned back to face Diana, with a huge grin on her face.

“So--- How Ethan took the news? Don’t worry if he freaked out when I announced mine to Beckett, he didn’t let me do anything. If it would be up to him, I probably would lay home flat all these 8 months since we find out I’m pregnant. Thanks to you never happened,” Oriana laughed, grabbing Diana’s hands in her’s excitedly.

“Actually, he didn’t freak out. He was shocked of course, but happy,” Diana said, smiling to her friend throwing a happy glance at the man she loved more than anything, who was leaning on the counter while talking with her best friend. The warmth spread in her chest while she started to fill in Oriana in how Ethan took the news.

It was a little bit more than 5 weeks since the conference, and today was their first day off together since they went back to work. During this time, they became extremely close to each other, physically and emotionally. And their love grew only stronger. Using an opportunity, Ethan asked Diana out to the place he knew is important to her. To the place where she shared the most important part of herself with him and told him everything that she and Beckett told months earlier to Oriana.

Diana felt nervous twirling in front of the mirror in her new yellow dress, anxiously checking the content of her bag for the hundredth time.

Ethan should be here soon. Thought she, after a moment hearing a soft knock at the door. Her face brightened, and she quickly ran to the door. Her eyes lightened up instantly, meeting Ethan’s, and their lips met as soon as he crossed the threshold, picking her up and twirling.

“Mmmmmm,” he breathed into the kiss, softly pecking her on the lips before placing her back to the ground. “I missed you,” he murmured against her lips before letting her go. Taking her coat from the railing, he helped her to put it on, linking their hands together.

After a while, they went into the park, heading to Diana’s favorite place, the place that brought both happy and sad memories. But today, Ethan was determined to change that, bringing more happy memories to this place. Oblivious, that Diana was full of determination to do the same. Entering the park, they headed to the wooden bridge over the river.

Ethan’s hand placed on the small of her back, when they both leaned on the railing, watching at the river flowing in front of them before turning to face each other.

“I want to...,” both started in unison, joining their hands.

“You first,” Ethan told her, bringing her hand to his lips, and placing a gentle kiss to the top of it.

“Okay,” Diana said, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes for a second before opening them again. “I... I’m pregnant,” she whispered, so quietly that he practically didn’t understand what she said, feeling her hand him two objects from her purse.

He looked at two things he was now holding in his hands, and his eyes widened when he looked back at Diana, his mouth fell open.

“When? How? I thought you are...,” Ethan started to speak, his heart thundering while the news slowly sank in and a feeling of warmth spread in his chest.

“I... I totally understand if you are not ready. We never discussed it after all. We even not been together for so long, so I totally understand, if you don't want to...,” she started to babble before he stopped her abruptly, by crushing his mouth on hers pouring in this kiss all the feelings, he had for the woman in his arms, leaving her breathless.

“Don’t think even for a second, that I will back out. Never. Actually, I wanted to...,” Ethan started to speak when Diana’s phone rang, and she apologetically took it out, seeing Beckett’s number on display.

“Sorry, I need to take this,” she said, kissing Ethan gently on the lips.

“Hey, how are...,” Diana started to speak, smiling until her smile faltered, and she furrowed her brows. “Wait... Beckett, calm down... Ori is in a hospital? Yes, I’ll get her stuff. Will be in an hour,” she said before ending the call.

By the time Diana stopped speaking, Oriana’s eyes filled with tears, and she rushed to hug Diana, wrapping her hands tightly around her pregnant friend.

“I’m so so so happy for you and Ethan,” she babbled, both girls sniffled together, attracting attention from men who were still standing in the kitchen area. Both instantly made their way back to the couch.

Beckett hugged his wife, kissing her forehead and watching how Ethan gently wrapped his arms around Diana, their eyes full of love. The same love he felt every day for his wife, the same he has seen reflected in her. And he was more than happy for Diana to finally get her happy ending.

They sat together celebrating the upcoming New Year, laughing quietly and sharing stories making both men blush from time to time. After some time, they heard a quiet cry coming from upstairs, and both young parents bolted up to their little princess. Muttering apologies on their way before disappearing, leaving Ethan and Diana alone.

“Want to come outside for a moment?” Ethan whispered to Diana before helping her to stand up, both leaving the house quietly.

His hands wrapped around her waist from behind, and he nuzzled her neck, breathing a crisp winter’s air together. They felt how the snow started to fall from the sky, the snowflakes fluttering around them, and they stood still enjoying the quietness of the night. After some time of silence, Ethan finally started to speak, turning Diana to face him. He cradled her face in his arms, gazing deep into her eyes, hoping that his and Beckett's plan, will work. He lowered his face, and his lips were just a whisper away, brushing Diana’s every time he spoke.

“Di, when I first met you, I never thought that it will lead us to where we are. That I will find in you everything I ever looked for. The day we met, I felt miserable, and I didn’t look for love. I looked for my pain to be taken away, but instead, I found more than I expected with you. I didn’t know that at this time, and it took me more than five years to figure this out. The time we woke up together for the first time, I knew we were meant to be. And that I’m not going to let you go. Not this time, not ever,” Ethan whispered, kissing Diana gently, her eyes becoming bigger with every word he spoke. Ethan’s eyes flickered to the tree in front of them, counting second for what to come. His heart pounding in his chest.

It was almost midnight, when Oriana and Beckett came back downstairs, Isabella babbling on his hands wrapped in multiple layers of blankets. The proud parents lovingly looking at their little girl, their hearts swelled with overwhelming love. Together they went to the window, watching at the snow slowly falling to the ground, noticing their friends standing outside.

“What are they doing? It’s probably cold, I’ll go call them in,” Oriana said, heading toward the door before Beckett quickly caught her hand.

“Give them some privacy,” he murmured, pulling her toward his chest, one arm wrapped around her, and with another holding their daughter.

Her eyes widened when she looked out the window once again. Gasping when she saw what happened next, looking at the tree lights sparkling to life. “Is he proposing?” she asked, her eyes meeting Beckett's.

“Yes, he does,” Beckett confirmed, kissing the top of Oriana’s head.

“Wait, did you know?” she asked, her eyes widened.

“Who do you think rigged the lights the right way?” Beckett smirked before quickly adding. “But only for a week! And I didn’t want to keep a secret, but...”

“Oh my God, this is why you were so literally obsessed with lighting that tree after Christmas?” Oriana squealed with delight, looking outside.

After Ethan spoke the last words, he gently turned Diana around to face the tree at exactly the same moment when it lit up, mentally thanking Beckett for what he has done. Her eyes widened, and she covered her mouth, her eyes welled up with tears, and she turned to face Ethan.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, her heart thundering, and she looked at Ethan standing on one knee, holding out a beautiful sparkling diamond ring from the white gold.

“Diana, will you marry me?” he asked, holding his breath. Watching how she frantically nodded her head, not able to say the words at first.

“Yes, yes...,” she finally breathed out. “Thousand times, yes,” she laughed, happy tears glistening in her eyes, while he slid the ring on her finger, kissed her hand, and stand next to her.

“I think this is our turn to go and join them,” Oriana chimed, lashing toward the door before Beckett could catch her.

“Coat,” he screamed after her, rolling his eyes with a smile, looking at his overly excited wife, taking her coat from the hanger, and handing it to her before she could leave the house. He clutched Isabella tighter to himself and wrapped his coat around both of them, protecting her from the crisp air.

In a moment, they joined their friends. Beckett shook Ethan’s hand, before crushing Diana in a tight but careful hug. Meantime, Oriana gave Ethan a warm embrace before rushing to Diana, pulling her in a bear hug.

“It’s almost a New Year,” Oriana squealed. “And we need to celebrate, I...” she started before Beckett interrupted her.

“Ori, do you really thought I didn't think about this and didn't prepare a bottle of the most expensive champagne to celebrate my friends’ engagement?”

“Beckett,” Oriana said, clearing her throat to cover the laugh that was bubbling from her. “Don’t you forgot that one of your friends, your best friend cannot drink as... she is pregnant?”

“Sh...,” Beckett mumbled, feeling how his cheeks flushed, stopping halfway when his eyes land on the fast asleep baby in his arms. “If someone would share with me her suspicions, we would have something alcohol free, and now we don’t. Sorry, Di.” Beckett said, smiling at her apologetically.

“What would have you done without me? Lucky for you, I have another bottle of sparkling grape juice, and we have a few minutes left, so I can get it before bells will ring and firework will go off,” Oriana said, running back in their kitchen.

“Beck, shouldn't we probably go inside so fireworks wouldn’t wake up Isa,” Diana asked worriedly, looking at the little girl in Beckett’s arms.

“You will be surprised when you will find out under which level of noise babies can sleep,” Beckett chuckled, looking at his wife, who finally emerged from their house with the bottle of juice just in time to join them.

The bells first rang as the first burst of fireworks lit up the night sky. The snow was still falling all around them as they raised their glasses for everything good to come in New Year; for their friendship, love, and families. Four hearts that finally found love.

Tags: @annekebbphotography @gardeningourmet @zigortega4life@eileendannie @alesana45 @thequeenofcronuts@friedherringclodthing @mfackenthal @coffeebeandragon@drakewalker04

@feartheendlesssummer @elainew13 @the-soot-sprite@brightpinkpeppercorn @paisleylovergirl @dottie-minerva-mikas@emichelle @symonde @kendrasgue​ @pbmychoices​ @flyawaybooks​

@elles-choices​ @lilyofchoices​ @boneandfur​ @walkerismychoice​ @hopelessromantic1352​ @confessionsofabrokegirl​ @msjpuddleduck​ @desiree-0816​ @lapisreviewsstuff​ @sonsie0613​ @universallypizzataco​ @perriewinklenerdie​ @cordoniasmost​

[danrdarrenc]

All I Ever Wanted

This is my version of the time jump, i.e., the story I would have written for Will and Sonny. Also, I know the jump is only a year but it worked better if I set it a few months beyond that.

February 2021

“Aunt Kayla! Are they are alright?” Will asks frantically, catching sight of Kayla coming out of the nursery.

“Yes,” Kayla says simply, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Cara and Ada are perfectly healthy. Rebecca seems to have cared well for them despite…” Kayla trails off.

Will sighs with relief as Sonny says, “Thank you, Kayla. Can we see them?”

Kayla nods, gives them another little smile, and leaves to check on other patients.

“Let’s go,” Sonny says, taking Will’s hand. “Let’s go see our daughters.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

November 2019

“It’s so quiet,” Will said from where his head was pillowed on Sonny’s chest.

It was their first night in their new house and Ari was staying with Gabi for the night so that Will and Sonny could get settled in the house themselves before settling her. They also thought it would do Gabi some good to spend the night with Ari, take her mind off of Stefan, even if Ari still didn’t quite understand what had happened.

“You know, the mansion is so big that I didn’t actually realize how many people were living there. But now that we’re alone, I realize it was a lot,” Sonny answered, his fingers trailing paths along Will’s arm.

They lay in comfortable silence for awhile, Will half-asleep, when Sonny said absentmindedly, “We should have another kid.”

“What?” Will shifted his head to look at Sonny.

“Let’s have a baby.”

Will stared at Sonny for a minute but then his face split into a grin. “You mean it?”

“Yeah. Of course. Is that something you want?”

Will nodded. “Yes. Yes.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Will said on a laugh.

Sonny laughed too and kissed Will.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

February 2021

“Hi there, sweet girl,” Sonny coos, peeking over the edge of Cara’s nursery crib.

“They look so peaceful,” Will whispers, peering down into Ada’s crib. “So perfect. I can’t believe we almost lost them.”

“We didn’t, though,” Sonny says quietly, taking Will’s hand where it rests on the edge of both cribs. “They’re here and they’re safe and we’re going to take them home just as soon as Kayla says we can.”

Will nods, swallowing the lump in his throat.

Sonny pulls his hand away from Will’s to shift behind him and hug Will from the back. Sonny hooks his chin over Will’s shoulder and they watch their baby daughters sleep in silence.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

February 2020

“Should we tell Ari?” Will asked over dinner. Earlier in the day they had received word from their surrogate, Rebecca, that the implantation had gone well and they would know in a week if it had taken and she was pregnant.

Sonny shook his head. “I think we should wait until we know she’s pregnant. No point in working her up if it didn’t take.”

Will nodded his agreement. Then, quietly, “I hope it took.”

Sonny’s face split into a grin. “Me too.”

Will grinned back.

* * *

April 2020

Will was in his office at the house when his phone beeped with a text message from Rebecca. His hand hovered over his phone nervously. He wasn’t sure he could read another disappointing text.

It had been two months since their first try; that and the next one hadn’t resulted in a pregnancy.

Before he could read it though, he heard Sonny shout from the family room where Will had left him watching TV. Excited, Will stared down at the screen where the words “I’m pregnant!!” blazed up at him.

Sonny ran into the room. “We’re having a baby!”

“We’re having a baby!” Will echoed jumping out of his chair to hug Sonny.

They laughed together and kissed through their smiles and Will abandoned his work for lunch and champagne.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

February 2021

“We’re home,” Will announces, pushing his way through the door, a baby carrier in his hand. Sonny is behind him with the other one.

A patter of footsteps comes running to greet them. Ari appears in the family room just as they put the babies down on the floor. Gabi enters a minute later, having followed Ari at a slower pace.

Ari stops a few feet away, wary, Gabi behind her.

“Do you want to come meet your sisters?” Sonny asks.

Ari nods but makes no move to go any closer.

“Come here,” Will says, and holds out his hand for her. He smiles encouragingly at her when she still seems nervous.

Finally, Ari takes Will’s hand and tentatively moves closer to her fathers and the new babies. Gabi follows behind.

When she’s standing over them, Will says, “Ari, these are your sisters, Cara and Ada.”

“Cara. Ada. This is your big sister, Ari,” Sonny says.

“You can touch them,” Will says.

Ari looks at him, her eyes wide.

“Here. Like this,” Will demonstrates, brushing his finger lightly against Cara’s cheek.

“You want me to do it with you?” Gabi asks.

Ari nods up at her mother.

“Here. Come here.” Gabi shifts them so they can sit on the floor next to Cara’s carrier. She puts Ari in her lap and takes her hand. Together they run the back of Ari’s hand across the baby’s cheek and gently tickle at her stomach.

“They’re beautiful,” Gabi says, a genuine smile radiating her face. “I’m so happy for you guys.”

“Thank you,” Sonny says and then shoots Will a look.

“What?”

“Will you be their godmother?” Will asks.

“Of course I will! I’d be insulted if I wasn’t.”

The three of them laugh together and lapse into comfortable silence, as Ari hops off of Gabi’s lap and finds her way to Sonny where he’s sitting with Ada.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

April 2020

“Ari, sweetie, can we talk to you for a little bit?” Will asked, knocking on her playroom door, interrupting her tea party with her Barbies.

“Am I in trouble?” she asked.

“No, Sweet Pea, you’re not in trouble,” Sonny answered, carefully moving chairs away from the table to make room.

Will and Sonny both folded themselves onto the floor across the table from Ari. Ari waited for one of them to speak, looking back and forth between them. Will looked at Sonny, who gave him an encouraging smile and nod.

“Ari, sweetie, would like a little brother or sister? Is that something you would want?” Will asked.

Ari nodded her head violently, her blonde hair bouncing on her shoulders.

“Yeah?” Sonny clarified, relieved.

“Yeah!” Ari confirmed.

“That’s great,” Sonny said, as there was a knock on the door.

Will and Sonny both waved the woman standing in the doorway into the room.

“Ari, this is Rebecca. A couple months ago we asked her to be your brother or sister’s mommy, and now she’s going to have a baby,” Sonny said, in the way they had agreed Ari would best understand the situation.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ari,” Rebecca said with a smile sitting on the floor next to Sonny where he had made room for her.

“Hi,” Ari answered tentatively.

“Your Barbies are very pretty. Do they have names?” Rebecca asked.

And just like that, Ari warmed to the new, if temporary, addition to their family.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

March 2021

Although Jack and Jen have been gracious enough to provide Will three months of paid paternity leave from The Spectator, Will has offered to write articles from home, if for no other reason than to keep his mind and his skills from rusting. Julie and Doug, too, have been gracious, permitting Sonny as flexible a schedule as will allow for the manager of Doug’s Place.

Still, they need to be more awake they usually are these days.

“I forgot how exhausting newborns can be,” Will says, collapsing into bed beside Sonny, who is half asleep.

Since bringing the twins home, they have kept to a pretty tight schedule of alternating middle-of-the-night feedings but after three weeks, the sleep deprivation is getting to them both.

“Me too,” Sonny mumbles into his pillow.

“Hey.” Will pokes Sonny, who opens an eye to look at Will. “I think we need to change our plan.”

“What’d’ya mean?”

“We can’t keep doing this. Neither of us is getting any sleep. I think we need to alternate nights not feedings. That way one of us can sleep through the night each night and be functional in the morning.”

Sonny nods, his eyes drifting closed again.

Will chuckles. “Why don’t you go back to sleep. I’ll take the rest of the feedings tonight.”

Sonny nods again and drifts back into unconsciousness.

Will smiles softly down at his husband and then pads out of the bedroom. He checks on Ari to make sure the babies haven’t woken her, as they have sometimes in the past couple weeks, and then makes his way to the kitchen to make himself coffee. If he’s going to be up every two hours, he might as well use the time to do some writing.

As it turns out, Will’s idea of alternating nights instead of feedings is a good one; following the switch, their daily lives and schedules become easier to manage, the one who had slept the night before picking up slack where the other is lacking from sleep.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

May 2020

“Do you think Ari’s going to feel abandoned when the baby’s born?” Will asked one night over dinner, a couple weeks after they had told her that Rebecca was pregnant.

They were alone in the house, Ari with Gabi, and they were having a night in, dinner cooked by Sonny, movies, lovemaking.

“What?”

Will stirred his pasta with his fork nervously, not looking at Sonny. “She’s been our only focus for so long. Do you think she’s going to feel abandoned when the baby comes?”

Sonny didn’t answer right away, pondering Will’s question. “I don’t think so. She’ll be seven in a couple of weeks. Seven and a half by the time the baby’s born. She’s old enough to understand what’s going on. Plus, she seemed really excited when we told her. I think she’s hoping it’s a girl so she can use her as a living doll.”

Will laughed, comforted slightly by Sonny’s words. But his face still betrayed his concern.

“Hey,” Sonny said, taking Will’s hand over the table. “I don’t think we have anything to worry about. She has Gabi and so many people in this town that love her and would be ready to pick up slack if we fall behind. But I think Ari will turn out to be a good little helper.”

Will smiled at the thought and tried to enjoy the rest of their evening alone.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

April 2021

Although Will had worried that Ari might feel abandoned, a worry that multiplied when they found out Rebecca was pregnant with twins, Sonny had been right. At almost eight, Ari is eager to help take care of the babies in any way she can - especially dressing them and feeding them bottles.

She’s the best little helper they have, and she has a real knack for calming them down when they’re crying. Neither Will nor Sonny is certain exactly how she does it, but more often than not, when the babies start mewling, Ari has them settled within minutes and without effort.

“We really need to figure out how she does that,” Sonny says, sitting down on the couch next to Will, who’s reading a book.

The babies had been fussy all day, barely taking their bottles and not sleeping. It was a day when they were both home, and Will and Sonny had both tried everything they could think of to get the girls to settle. Nothing had worked.

Despite all their efforts, Cara and Ada remained irritable all day, until Ari prances into the house with Gabi and makes a beeline for the babies’ room. Within minutes, Ari has gotten them to settle.

“Did you tell her some trick we don’t know about?” Will asks Gabi, who is staying for dinner.

“No,” Gabi answers, shaking her head. “But Rafe always said that Arianna was the only one who could ever calm me when I was fussy. Maybe it’s a sister thing.”

“Allie did have a knack with Sydney,” Will comments.

Gabi shrugs.

“They’re asleep,” Ari announces, appearing in the family room.

“Thank you, Little Lady,” Will says, flashing her a grin and holding his arms out for her.

She obliges, crawling into his lap for a cuddle. “Do you have homework to do?”

Ari nods.

“Okay. How about you do your homework for a little bit and then we’ll have some dinner. Does that sound like a deal?”

Ari nods again.

“Alright. Go get your backpack and we’ll get you set up.”

Will kisses her hair before she hops off his lap to retrieve her bag.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

July 2020

“Twins?!” Sonny asked, confirming what Kayla had just said.

They were at Rebecca’s 13 week scan, making sure that the baby was progressing properly.

“Yes. See,” Kayla said, pointing at two spots on the sonogram screen. “It looks like two of the implants took this time. Congratulations.”

“Twins,” Will whispered, dazed but happy.

Sonny grinned at him and laced their fingers together.

“I’m so glad it worked this time,” Rebecca said, smiling at them.

“Thank you again for doing this,” Will said.

“You don’t have to thank me. This is what I’ve always wanted to do. Bring joy to families like yours.”

Sonny squeezed her hand in appreciation.

* * *

“Ari, sweetie, remember how we told you Rebecca’s going to be having a baby?” Sonny asked.

Ari nodded as she licked her ice cream.

“Well, she’s actually going to have two.” Sonny said.

“Two?”

Will nodded. “Twins. Like Johnny and Allie.”

“Will I be able to play with them?”

“Of course you will,” Sonny answered.

“Okay,” Ari said, unfazed, and licked the ice cream off her hand that had slipped from the cone.

* * *

They were in the middle of painting the nursery when Sonny got the call.

“Uncle Jack? Whoa. Slow down. What?”

Will stopped what he was doing, a paintbrush hanging in midair.

“What?” Sonny repeated, his voice small.

Will dropped the brush when he saw how pale Sonny had turned.

Will hurried to take the phone. “Uncle Jack, it’s Will. What happened? Shit. We’ll be right there.” He hung up the phone. “Sonny? Hey.” Will tried to get his attention, but Sonny was paralyzed with shock. “Sonny,” Will tried again, with a hand on his face.

Sonny looked at him, dazed. “I’m going to drive you to the hospital, okay? I’ll call Gabi on the way to take care of Ari.”

Still dazed, Sonny followed Will.

Jack was waiting for them when they arrived.

“What happened?” Sonny asked immediately. His shock had worn off in the car.

“As I said on the phone, there was a car accident,” Jack responded.

“Are my parents alright?” Sonny’s eyes were wide with fear.

Kayla appeared before Jack could answer. “Sonny?”

“How are they?” Sonny asked her instead.

“Your dad is in surgery right now. It looks like he has a punctured lung and broken ribs but he should be alright.”

“And Adrienne?” Jack asked.

Kayla’s face dropped and Sonny swayed where he was standing. Will wrapped his arms around Sonny’s waist from the back to steady him. Jack had a hand on his shoulder too.

“Adrienne didn’t make it. I’m so sorry, Sonny, Jack. She was gone when she arrived. There was nothing we could do.”

A sob escaped Sonny’s throat.

“I’m going to go check on Justin. I’ll be back in a bit.”

She left and Will helped Sonny to one of the chairs. Jack sat down heavily next to them and buried his face in his hands.

* * *

The funeral was a week later, as soon as Justin was deemed well enough to be discharged from the hospital.

Sonny’s brothers came in from Arizona, said their goodbyes to their mother, supported their father and brother through the day, and left Salem again the next morning.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

June 2021

“I can’t believe they’re six months old already,” Sonny says, dropping his head onto Will’s shoulder as they sit on the couch watching TV and rocking the bassinets lightly.

“I know.”

“I can’t believe Ari is eight. How did that happen?”

“I don’t know.” Sonny laughs lightly.

They lapse into comfortable silence until Will says quietly, “I’m happy, you know that right?”

Sonny lifts his head to look at Will curiously.

“This is all I ever wanted growing up. A stable home, a family without drama and constant fighting.”

Sonny nods. “I know.”

“I don’t think our life is boring.” His saying that to Sonny still haunts Will, even after all these years.

Sonny blinks, his lips parting slightly, Will’s thoughts clear.

“I know,” Sonny repeats. “You don’t have to apologize for that, Will. It was a long time ago. We’re different people now.”

Will nods and kisses Sonny.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

August 2020

“The babies both look perfectly healthy,” Kayla said with a smile. “Would you like to know the gender?”

Rebecca said “Yes” before Will and Sonny had a chance to even think about it.

Kayla gave her a strange look but ignored her and waited for Will and Sonny to respond. They looked at each other, communicating silently, and then Will said, “Yeah.”

“Congratulations. You’re having two beautiful baby daughters.”

“Ari will be thrilled,” Will said immediately and Sonny laughed genuinely and whole-heartedly for the first time since Adrienne’s death.

* * *

“Son?”

“Hmmm?”

They were lazing in bed, enjoying a Sunday morning without Ari, who had spent the weekend with Gabi and Rafe and David. Will’s head was pillowed on Sonny’s chest and Sonny’s fingers trailed circles along Will’s arm.

“I’ve been thinking about names for the babies. I thought maybe we could name one after your mom.”

Sonny didn’t immediately respond. After a while, he said, “I’d like that. She’d like that. So would Dad.”

Will kissed Sonny’s shoulder. Thinking about Adrienne was still painful for Sonny but it was getting easier.

“Maybe the other one can be after Caroline,” Sonny said.

Will shifted his head to look at Sonny. Sonny smiled softly at him.

Will returned the smile. “Grandma would love that.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

September 2021

The six of them - Will, Sonny, Ari, the twins, and Chocolate, the brown and white beagle they had gifted Ari for her eighth birthday - are at the park, enjoying the last vestiges of summer that are quickly turning into fall.

Ari is running around chasing after the dog, throwing sticks and rolling around in the grass with him. They’ll have to thoroughly wash Ari’s clothes tonight but the joy on her face and in her laugh makes it worth it.

Sonny pushes the stroller back and forth from where they sit on the bench watching Ari and Chocolate.

“I wish my mom were here,” Sonny says suddenly.

Will watches Sonny, waits for him to say more. It has been a hard year without her, especially when Sonny wanted her support in the two weeks after the twins’ birth when everything happened with Rebecca.

“I know,” Will says gently, slipping his hand into Sonny’s free one.

“She would love to see this.” Sonny nods at the babies, Ari and the dog.

Will kisses Sonny’s temple. “She’ll always be here with us,” Will says, nodding at Ada.

Sonny smiles softly but sadly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin the mood.”

“It’s okay to miss your mom, Sonny,” Will says.

Sonny closes his eyes and leans into Will. They stay like that for a long time, until the sun is setting and Ari comes wandering over to announce she’s hungry.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

November - December 2020

Rebecca moved into their spare bedroom as she entered her third trimester. Kayla suggested she be mostly on bedrest for the rest of the pregnancy, and so Will and Sonny catered to her as best as their schedules allowed. As she lived with them, Rebecca became a part of their daily routine and their daily lives. Ari’s adoration of her was not a small part of Rebecca feeling like part of the family.

Without them realizing what was happening, Rebecca ingratiated herself into making decisions about the babies in perhaps a way a surrogate shouldn’t. She gave her input about the color the nursery should be, even though it was already painted a light pink with green balloons, she advised what baby products they should be buying, and she even boldly suggested names to place on their final list.

* * *

They celebrated Will’s 28th birthday with a celebration at the house, so Rebecca could join them for a couple of hours. Will’s family and Justin celebrated with them, and the party ended up doubling as a celebration of Jennifer waking up from her year-long coma.

Towards the end of the party emotions ran high when Will and Sonny announced the babies were being named after Adrienne and Caroline.

* * *

Thanksgiving dinner was just the five of them - Will, Sonny, Rebecca, Gabi, and Ari.

* * *

“Are you going to have a nanny?” Rebecca asked Will one morning in early December when he brought her breakfast.

“I don’t know. We haven’t thought that far to be honest.”

“If you want, I could be their nanny for a bit until you figure it out. They say it’s good for newborns to be breastfed anyway.”

“I’ll talk to Sonny about it. Thanks,” Will said with a smile. “I’ve got to get to work. Will you be alright until Sonny comes to check on you for lunch?”

Rebecca nodded.

“See you later.”

* * *

They skipped the annual Horton tree trimming that year, opting instead to spend the day at home with Rebecca, so she wouldn’t be alone on Christmas. Gabi joined them to round out their little family celebration.

“Thank you for this,” Rebecca said, indicating her necklace, as they settled her back in her bed. “You didn’t have get me anything.”

“You’re having our babies. It’s the least we could do,” Sonny said.

She smiled at him and then yawned.

“Get some sleep,” Will said.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

November - December 2021

“Happy birthday,” Sonny says into Will’s ear.

Will grins, still half-asleep.

Ari with Gabi, Lucas and Kate had readily agreed to take the babies for the night, so Will and Sonny could spend the morning of Will’s birthday alone. They’re all meeting up in Doug’s Place for lunch later today.

Sonny peppers Will’s face, neck, and shoulder with kisses. Will hums, content.

“Morning,” Will says and turns around in Sonny’s arms. “This’nice,” Will mumbles, eyes closed, burrowing his head half into the pillow and half onto Sonny’s shoulder.

Sonny wraps his arms tighter around Will’s waist and kisses Will’s hair.

When he wakes up again an hour later, Will is alone in the bed. “Sonny?”

“Happy birthday,” Sonny says from the doorway, carrying a tray.

“What’s this?” Will teases with a smile, sitting up against the headboard.

“Breakfast in bed,” Sonny says, placing the tray carefully on the bed and climbing in next to Will.

There’s two plates of pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon, two glasses of orange juice, and a single rose.

“This looks amazing,” Will says, pulling Sonny in for a lingering kiss.

“Nothing but the best for my husband,” Sonny says when they pull apart.

Will smiles, eyes sparkling, and digs into the food.

* * *

Thanksgiving they spend at the Brady Pub, where the Bradys and Hortons have all gathered to celebrate the holiday.

* * *

The twins’ first Christmas is a bright and cheerful celebration, and Will and Sonny each hang one of their ornaments right next to Ari’s and underneath their own.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

January - February 2021

They rang in the new year at home, anxious that Rebecca could go into labor at any minute.

* * *

As Rebecca’s due date neared, Will and Sonny alternated days off of work so that at least one of them was home with her in case she went into labor.

Will was in his office at The Spectator when Sonny called, frantic.

“Rebecca’s in labor! We’re on the way to the hospital.”

“I’ll be right there.” Will gave Jen, who was back at work, a hurried explanation and rushed out on her wave.

“Sonny!” Will spotted him pacing outside the delivery room. “Where’s Rebecca?”

“They’re prepping her or checking her dilation or something,” Sonny said, grabbing Will’s hands.

“Sonny? Will?” Sarah popped her head into the hallway. “You can come in. She’s ready.”

They hurried inside hand-in-hand and quickly shoved their way into the scrubs Sarah handed them.

Rebecca was screaming, Kayla encouraging her. Will and Sonny each settled on one side of her and took one of her hands. Almost immediately, she squeezed their hands as another contraction ran through her.

An hour later, Cara and Ada were settled in their fathers’ arms.

“Everything looks perfect and normal,” Kayla said with a smile. “I’ll give you some privacy.”

“Do you want to hold them?” Will asked Rebecca when Kayla had left.

“Can I?”

Sonny nodded and handed her Ada. Carefully, when she had Ada balanced in one arm, Will placed Cara in the other.

“They’re so beautiful,” Rebecca whispered, tears rolling down her face.

“Yeah. They are,” Sonny said, choked up, and laced his fingers with Will’s across the bed.

* * *

Two days later, Will and Sonny arrived at hospital to bring the babies home to find them gone.

“What do you mean they’ve been discharged?” Will asked the nurse.

“About an hour ago,” she said and clicked the mouse on the computer. “To a Rebecca Vale.” At Will and Sonny’s alarmed looks, she said, “She said she was their mother.”

“Well she’s not,” Sonny hissed, pulling his phone out and ringing Rebecca. “She’s not answering her cell or the house.”

“Of course she’s not,” Will replied, shaking his head and banging his fist on the nurse’s station.

“What’s going on here?” Kayla asked.

“Your staff let Rebecca walk out of here with our daughters,” Sonny barked.

“What? It specifically says in their file that she’s a surrogate,” Kayla said, double-checking the computer.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Johnson. She said she was their mother,” the nurse said, distressed.

“Why don’t you go do some rounds, Taylor,” Kayla said, not unkindly. “We’ll discuss this later.”

Close to tears, the nurse hurried away.

“Eli,” Will said into his phone. “I’m reporting a kidnapping.”

* * *

“Are you sure you’re alright keeping Ari?” Will asked Gabi.

“Will, she’s my daughter,” Gabi said. “You and Sonny focus on getting those beautiful babies back.”

Will’s face fell and Gabi pulled him into a hug.

* * *

“Can you think of any place she might be hiding?” Eli asked.

It had been three days and so far all searches of Salem and the usual hiding places had been unfruitful.

“I don’t - we don’t - I guess we don’t really know a lot about her,” Sonny answered, sighing and rubbing his hand over his face.

Neither of them had slept much in the past three days; they were both exhausted.

Will dropped his head back against the couch, worn out and close to tears.

* * *

As February blew into Salem on a blizzard, Rebecca had been on the run with Cara and Ada for almost two weeks.

Will and Sonny had slept fitfully and eaten sporadically and only because survival required it. Will used all of his contacts at The Spectator to help with the search and Eli had actually enlisted the help of John and BlackPatch.

Finally, a few days before Valentine’s Day, Rebecca made a mistake.

“We got a hit on Rebecca’s credit card at the train station in Chicago,” Eli told Will and Sonny over the phone. “We’ve already alerted the train station and Chicago PD. I’m on my way there now. I’ll keep you posted.”

Two hours later, Eli called to say they had Rebecca in custody and the babies were at the hospital with Kayla getting checked out.

“Thank god,” Will said, relieved, as he hurried after Sonny to their car. “We’re on the way to the hospital right now.”

At the hospital, Eli filled them in. “Rebecca confessed to kidnapping the twins, said she loved them and couldn’t let them go.”

Sonny swore under his breath.

“How do we know she’s not going to try this again?” Will asked.

“I’ve already spoken to the DA and she’s ready to prosecute her. She’s behind bars.”

“Thank you, Eli,” Will said.

“I was just doing my job,” Eli said with a smile. “I have to get back to the station. Will you be alright?”

They both nodded and he left. A minute later, Will spotted Kayla coming out of the nursery. “Aunt Kayla! Are they alright?”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

January 2022

Doug’s Place hosts the twins’ first birthday party. Hortons, Bradys, and Kiriakises populate the restaurant - Sami, a mostly fully healthy EJ, Lucas and the kids have come in from Italy - and Ari bounces around asking if anyone needs anything, like the little helper she’s been in the eleven months.

“Daddy, can I play with the babies?” Ari asks, swinging her feet on one of the barstools.

“They’re asleep right now, sweetie, but you’ll be the first one to know when they’re awake,” Will says, tickling her.

She squirms away, laughing, and hops off the chair to hide behind Sonny, who’s talking with Justin.

Will laughs and shares a grin across the restaurant with Sonny when Ari tells him what happened. Seconds later, Sonny walks over to Will, brandishing the baby monitor in his hand. Ari trails behind him.

“They’re awake,” Sonny says, heading to the office where they had set up the babies’ portacrib.

“Can I come?” Ari asks, bouncing on her toes.

“Come on, Princess,” Will says and Ari runs towards the office. Will and Sonny follow at a slower pace.

Five minutes later, Will and Sonny emerge from the back room, each with a baby in their arms. Ari walks alongside them, tickling at the babies’ feet.

“The guests of honor are awake,” Sonny announces and the entire room bursts into “ohhhs” and “awwws” and “hi theres”.

Chairs are pushed back and plates abandoned as family members meander over to say hello and kiss Cara and Ada. They’re not fussy today so they quickly get passed around: Marlena, Kate, Justin, Jennifer, Ciara, Eric, Brady, Sami, Lucas, Roman, and Kayla each gets a turns with at least one of the babies.

Eventually, the twins end up crawling around on the floor with Ari chasing after them.

When it’s getting late, after they’ve sung “Happy Birthday” and cut the cake, and the twins are lagging, sitting calmly on the couch with Sami holding Cara and Lucas holding Ada, Will clinks a knife against a glass.

“We, uh, we just wanted to thank everyone for coming,” Will says to the crowd. “That’s it. That’s all I have.” Will laughs along with his family. “Yeah. Just thanks.”

After that, the party begins to break up, guests staggering out one by one.

“We’ll see you tomorrow?” Sami asks, EJ and Lucas behind her. Allie, Johnny, and Sydney are on the couch, entertaining Ari.

Will nods, rubbing Cara’s back as she falls asleep on his shoulder. Sonny is next to him, Ada already asleep in the carriage.

“This was a great party, William, Jackson,” EJ says.

“Thanks,” Sonny responds.

“Johnny, Allie, Syd, we’re leaving,” Sami says, as she heads to the door.

“Bye bye,” Lucas whispers to Cara and again to Ada as he passes the stroller.

“Ari, sweetie, time for us to go, too,” Sonny says as Will carefully places a sleeping Cara into the stroller.

Six hours later, Will and Sonny crawl into bed together and are asleep within minutes.

[let-it-raines]

Indirect Deposit Extra

So, here's about 2,200 words of extra to Indirect deposit (AO3 | Tumblr) that is literally of Killian having to take his kid to one of his lectures. That’s it. That’s the story. It’s for @thejollyroger-writer and @captainsjedi because right when I finished the story they told me that they absolutely had to have this. I mean, those might not have been their exact words, but that was the gist. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this little drabble!

“Um, Dr, Jones, can we ask why you have a baby strapped to your chest?”

“Ah,” he sighs, closing his eyes for a moment as he feels his daughter move in her wrap. When he looks down, Sienna is still sleeping, and he hopes it stays that way for the next hour and fifteen minutes even though she’ll likely wake to be fed. “So my wife is still on maternity leave and had to go into work unexpectedly today to deal with one of her cases. We don’t have a daycare for Sienna here yet because the one we used for our older daughter isn’t near our new place, and alas, I had to bring her with me. I hope you guys don’t mind.” “Can we see her?” Savannah asks, her face lighting up in the same way that half the class does while the others not so subtly roll their eyes. “She’s asleep right now, but I can show you some pictures.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and mirrors it to the projector while he looks for some to show. It’s a bit of a dangerous game mirroring his phone to the screen. His pictures are likely fine, but he knows that somewhere in there are a few more risqué pictures of his wife and possibly a few family moments that he’d rather not share with his students. They’re private, precious, and he’s learned to treasure the memories, the one photographed or not. He missed two months of Sawyer’s life, and he is never missing anything again, especially now that he’s got three ladies who are the light of his entire world. “And don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. No one ever cares about their professor’s personal life unless they want to waste time.” “Yeah, but you talk about your family a lot. We like them. And babies are cute.” “Until they scream.”

“Amen to that,” he laughs as he looks up to Luke in the back before clicking on a picture he took of Emma holding Sienna on Sunday while they played with Sawyer in the park. That’s far too many S’s, but he likes his daughters’ names. He only got to pick out one of them, but they’re perfect. The names, not the kids. He loves them, but the sunshine and roses of it all began to fade on about night thirty-four of wailing and refusing to eat.

Lights of his life.

And the people who keep him up at night.

Maybe he thinks they’re a little perfect.

But Emma looks so beautiful in this picture, her hair mixing in with the sunlight and emerald eyes actually shining, and she’s got this smile on her face...God, it’s a smile he loves so damn much. And Sienna looks so ecstatic to be outside even though she’s only ten weeks and doesn’t really know. Her blonde peach fuzz shines a little too. She doesn’t have nearly as much hair as Sawyer did when she was born, and if she did, it wouldn’t be nearly as bold. Genetics are so odd that his children could look so like he and Emma and so not like each other. Of course, he and Emma don’t exactly look alike. “So this is my wife, as you guys know, and this is Sienna Rose Jones. And yes, I realize she’s the cutest baby you’ll ever see, and if you say otherwise, I’ll fail you.”

“What about your other daughter?”

“She never hears a word of this, Mr. Ramirez,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes a bit at his favorite student if he were to have favorite students before switching to a picture of Sawyer in the middle of an attempt to get into Sienna’s crib. It was all fine, but Sawyer definitely was having a bit of an issue having another kid around for awhile, but she seems to have adjusted to it. Instead of showing that picture, though, he finds one of her when they went to a pumpkin patch two weeks ago. She’s in a blue jumper, one that brings out her eyes, and she has paint covering the red and white stripes of her long sleeved t-shirt underneath her. Her hair is long enough to need to be braided or pulled up every day, and Emma’s been teaching him how to braid hair in different ways. She says it’s for their kids. He knows it’s so that he can play with her hair since she enjoys that.

“This is Sawyer, my oldest,” he continues, tracing his finger over the picture. “We’d gone to a pumpkin patch and she got to paint a pumpkin. I believe it was supposed to be a minion, but really, all it did was get the paint all over her clothes.”

“How old is she now?”

“Three and a half, growing like a weed.”

“How’d you meet your wife?” Lola asks him, and he smiles to himself. They’re trying to distract him, and he’s going to fall into their trap. He’s in a good mood today, even with the chaos at home and Emma freaking out over a kid in one of her cases possibly having to go to foster care (he knows that’s why she went in, why he’s got his daughter strapped to his chest right now while his other is at her pre-school) if she didn’t go in and try to clear things out.

“So you guys really don’t want to read A Christmas Carol today?” His class groans, each and every one of them, and he stifles his laugh before looking down at Sienna to make sure she hasn’t woken up. He keeps waiting for it. She has to. There’s no way that he’s going to get away with having a quiet baby for his entire lecture. “Oh come on, you are all ridiculous. You’re university students who are reading a simple book because I wanted us to have a break before we delve into your essays.”

“It’s not even Halloween yet, Dr. Jones, and we’re reading a Christmas story.”

“Yeah, well, no offense to you all, but I won’t be teaching you all over winter break. I’d say you could come over to the apartment, but my wife would kill me.”

“The old ball and chain, yeah?”

“And five points docked off Brannon’s essay. I’d dock more, but, well, I believe it’s unethical. Plus, you are already screwed if you think that being married is some kind of torture where your wife controls what you do.”

His students quietly laugh, none of them wanting to get too much in Brannon’s face and all of them likely scared that he’ll dock points off of their essays too. He’s lax, but he does have his limits. Usually they’re academic. And he’s not going to dock the points, but Brannon doesn’t have to know that.

“So your wife?” Lola asks him again as she twists her hair up into a ponytail.

He clicks his tongue before looking down at his phone and immediately going to find a picture of Emma on their wedding day. No one would ever know that it was their wedding day from first glance, but he does. That’s what matters. Emma’s dressed in a pair of jeans and a pale pink blouse, the sleeves flowing off from the elbows. Her hair falls down in front of her, the slight waves draping over her shoulders and her chest. Her hair is wonderful, glorious even, and he’ll never quite be over it, even when it gets in his face when they’re sleeping or doing more enjoyable activities that have led to their children.

Well, child.

The other got here in a way that would make a damn good television show. Jane the Virgin kind of stole their thunder, though.

Not that he watches Jane the Virgin.

(He does.)

But in the picture Emma has this bright smile on her lips, one that takes up her entire face, and it’s just after they’d gotten married at the courthouse, Sawyer having a meltdown while the ceremony was being done. It had been a disaster, but it had been the best disaster of his life.

He wouldn’t change it for a thing.

“So this is my wife, Emma,” he starts, sitting down on his stool and adjusting Sienna. “You all know a lot about her from my stories, some of you have seen her pictures on my desk, more of you would if you showed up to my office hours, and if you’re lucky, you might get to see this beauty in person one day.”

“She’s far too pretty for you.”

“Matthew Ramirez, you are lucky I like you because you and Brannon are walking on thin ice. Except Brannon was wrong, and you’re right.” He kicks at a pull in the carpet, looking down at his loafers and making a note that he needs a new pair. Maybe for Christmas. “But anyways, Emma and I lived in the same apartment building. We were across the hall from each other and kind of knew each other, but it wasn’t until she lost her key and the landlord wasn’t available to let her in her apartment that we really began talking.”

He leaves out a lot of the truth when he tells this story to anyone that is not family, but it’s not because he’s somehow ashamed over how he and Emma became friends or how Sawyer was conceived. It’s because it’s personal, and he’d rather not have all of his students and then all of the people they speak to knowing a story that he wants to treasure with Emma. Their story is unconventional, but it’s theirs.

Some things should be kept private.

“She’s this spitfire who is as brilliant as she is gorgeous, as funny as she is kind, and as caring as she is cunning when she needs to be. And she’s not a ball and chain, Brannon. She’s by and large the greatest thing to ever happen to me, and I’m glad to be committed to her and my daughters for the rest of my days. Now, who wants to read some Dickens?”

His class goes as normal, even if his students never really settle after their distractions. It doesn’t help that Sienna wakes up with ten minutes left absolutely wailing, her face turning as red as a tomato. He tries everything short of feeding her right then, but when she doesn’t stop crying, he knows that’s what she needs. So with a sigh, he releases the class early, telling them to finish the book for the quiz on Tuesday. They groan, but it’s a short read. The quiz is to help them, not hurt them, but college students, like toddlers and newborns, often whine without much reason.

Well, there’s a reason, but sometimes it’s simply that they don’t like something.

He takes Sienna to his office to feed her before packing up all of his things (plus an extra diaper bag that weighs more than the actual baby) and loading up in the car to go home. When he opens the front door to the apartment, he’s greeted with the sound of Sawyer belting out the words to the PJ Masks theme song and Emma joining along with her, her voice a little more soothing. There are toys all over the floor despite him cleaning on Sunday, but honestly, he doesn’t care. This is his life, one he stumbled into and then chose for himself, and despite – or maybe because of – every single bump (pregnancy bumps included) in the road, he can’t imagine his life going any other way.

“Sawyer, I think someone is home who needs a big hug,” Emma prods, poking Sawyer in the back until she turns and looks at the door, her eyes blowing wide before she drops the toy microphone she was holding to run toward him, jumping on his leg at the same time that he puts Sienna’s car seat down.

That will never get old. Ever.

“Daddy,” she yells, laughing as he scoops her up and covers her face in his many tickly kisses (her words, not his) as he can. “I went to school today.”

“That is very impressive, little love, but I’ll have you know that your sister is the youngest university student to ever exist in the Jones household, possibly the world.”

Sawyer looks at him with her brows furrowed and lips pursed, like she doesn’t have any idea what he’s saying, and she doesn’t. He knows that she doesn’t, but Emma does. So he’ll get to talking to his daughter later, get to talking about things she actually understands, but first, he’s going to kiss the holy hell out of his wife so that their ten week old feels embarrassment.

If she’s going to be a university student at the place where her dad teaches, she’s going to need to be able to handle it.

[thefandomlesbian]

An Education of the Heart

Summary: "It's easier if Lana thinks of him as Mary Eunice's baby rather than her own. If she thinks of him as Mary Eunice's, and of Mary Eunice, maybe she will manage to forget the evil which created him. Everything about Mary Eunice is pure, and gentle, and kind. She knows if anything will destroy the malevolence inside him, Mary Eunice will." In which Mary Eunice adopts Lana's baby, and they all get the family they deserved.

AO3 (Tumblr ate the formatting, so please read on AO3 for optimal experience.)

From the moment his cry pierces the air in the hospital room, Mary Eunice is there at her bedside. "It's a boy!" Lana wants to glare at the doctor, but she can't manage the strength. The nurse carts the baby away. People harry over her—she doesn't pay much attention to them. The morphine has numbed her all over, and she floats in a pleasant, exhausted haze for an indefinite amount of time, Mary Eunice's hand in her own, gentle fingers wiping her sweaty brow and tucking her stringy hair behind her ears.

She awakens when the nurse brings the baby back to them. He's howling. Mary Eunice rises from her chair. "She's resting," she says, gentle but stern. "She doesn't want to see him. I'll take him when they're ready to be discharged." The nurse attempts to side-step around her. "She's sleeping," Mary Eunice says again.

"Not anymore," Lana mumbles, still groggy. She rubs her eyes with one fist like a toddler stirred from a nap. The numbness has worn off, and her body aches. As she pushes herself up, her ass squishes in the pad they've strapped on her, all of the blood running down and out of her burning genitals. A string of wires attaches to her hands and tugs them back. "I told you I don't want to see him." Now, she has the strength to glare, and she fixes the nurse under a dark look, but the woman doesn't bow under the pressure.

"Please." The nurse rocks the inconsolable newborn, a blue cap shielding his bald head. In the wrap of blankets, Lana can't see his face. But the whole goddamn hospital can hear him. "He's allergic to the formula. We have a specialty shipment coming in tonight, but it's going to be a few hours—he's hungry."

Mary Eunice intercedes. "No," she says. "There are half a dozen other women in this ward. Can't you ask one of them?"

"I can't ask a patient to nurse another patient's baby."

"Fine," Lana says. Anything to shut him up. The horrible wails of the baby are enough to send her blood pressure up; a thin sheen of sweat has erupted on her since he entered the room. "Give him to me." Mary Eunice gapes. A certain sadness lays in her azure eyes, a certain pity, a certain love—all of the things she had shown on that night, those months ago, when she had agreed to this arrangement, when she had kissed Lana for the first time. What they are now, Lana isn't sure, but she knows this will change all of it.

The nurse hands her the baby. She opens the front of her gown with clumsy fingers, and at the sound of an intercom, the nurse flees the room. She doesn't look down at him. Instead, she presses his cheek to her breast. His cry interrupts into a gasp, almost of surprise. He's astonished I would provide for him. A hand paws around her nipple before he latches. He nurses greedily, scarred from the first hours of his life starving him. Lana thanks whatever mercy rests in the heavens, however limited, for a good supply; she remembers, vaguely, her doctor telling her something about insufficient supply being common. (More, she remembers snapping at him that he was half-brained if he thought she had any intention of breastfeeding this baby. She hopes he doesn't find out about this.)

Some part of her is afraid to look at his face, so she gazes at Mary Eunice, who has averted her eyes in deference. "Are you sure you want to do this?" she asks.

"I'm sure."

There's an emergency down the hall. Everyone is racing around and shouting. When the baby detaches himself from her breast, she pushes him away, and Mary Eunice takes him without hesitation, propping him up on her shoulder and patting his back until he gives an audible belch. From the corner of her eye, Lana spies a dimple. He's smiling. Mary Eunice grins back at him, goofy as a thrilled dog. She knows he's smiling on reflex, rather than socially, but the interaction eases a stressed tangle in the pit of her stomach. If she knew any modicum of joy anymore, she supposes she would feel it now. She doesn't quite manage a smile of her own. But she thinks she'll get there. I hope. "What are you going to name him?" she asks.

Mary Eunice blinks in surprise. As the baby begins to sleep, she stands to close the door and muffle the sounds of panic down the hall. She cradles him against her chest, easy and soft. "I thought you would name him."

"You're his mother. You're naming him."

Mary Eunice frowns. "Right. I hadn't considered…" She stares down at him, as if she can read his personality in his squishy, red face. "Oh, I don't know! Every cat I've ever owned was named Patches." Lana chuckles at this, quiet and dry, because it matches Mary Eunice so well. "What do you think?" Lana holds up a hand, shaking her head, but Mary Eunice isn't accepting the answer of refusal; desperation lies in her eyes. "Lana, please. I wasn't expecting this. You've got to help me."

She knows Mary Eunice has decided to do this out of love for her, and out of gratitude, she says, "I like the name Johnny," with a sigh. It goes on the birth certificate, eventually; the document names him Johnny McKee, no middle name, and it's the only document Mary Eunice receives which has Lana's name on it instead of her own.

"Lana, I have to ask you something—and if you say no, that's okay, I'll understand." Lana glances up at her. "I know this is hard for you, but… I'd like you to be his godmother, if you're willing."

She blinks, long and slow, to Mary Eunice. "Yeah," she says. "I will." She doesn't know why she agrees. Perhaps it's because she appreciates her friend. Perhaps it's because some part of her wants to be close to her son, to keep an eye on him, to monitor the situation and keep track of the lies Mary Eunice tells him. He will never know where he came from. That's the way they want it, and they can protect his identity best by keeping him close. She knows it's better this way, where she can watch and still be detached. "Come here," Lana says. "I'm cold."

Mary Eunice sits beside her and tugs the blankets up over her, tucking them around her lap. She guards the baby, keeping the soft blanket wrapped around him, obscuring his face. With her pressed so near, Lana has the courage to glance down at him. "He's ugly."

"Lana!" Mary Eunice bursts out into a fit of giggles at her blunt words. She covers her hand with her mouth to muffle them, trying to keep from disturbing the peaceful infant.

Sheepish, she shrugs, averting her eyes. "I mean to say he's not cute. I was expecting him to be cuter. I didn't mean to insult your baby." It's easier if she thinks of him as Mary Eunice's baby rather than her own. If she thinks of him as Mary Eunice's, and of Mary Eunice, maybe she will manage to forget the evil which created him. Everything about Mary Eunice is pure, and gentle, and kind. She knows if anything will destroy the malevolence inside him, Mary Eunice will. "He's just… ugly."

"Babies come out ugly. You'd be pretty pruny, too, if you sat in a tub of warm water for nine months."

"Touche." Lana reclines on the pillows. At first, she stares up at the ceiling. Then, she looks down at the mattress, opening her hand in the hopes Mary Eunice will take it. She does, keeping Johnny resting in the crook of her other arm. The back of her hand bears a deep red bruise, darkening to purple with each passing moment. "Did I do that?" she asks. Mary Eunice responds by taking the hand away and wrapping an arm around her shoulders instead, holding her close. Lana rests her cheek on her shoulder, too tired to resist. "I'm sorry," she says.

Mary Eunice kisses her temple. "Don't be."

Some part of Lana feels guilty for the way she lies in the other woman's embrace, but she has endured too much to begin denying herself things. She loves Mary Eunice. It's a different love than what she felt for Wendy, not as romantic; this love is borne of friendship and gratitude, respect for the support Mary Eunice has given her, for the meals she received, for the hugs through her nightmares. She knows Mary Eunice acts as a form of recompense, that Mary Eunice will never forgive herself for the atrocities the sanitarium committed—she left the church in protest, after all. But Mary Eunice acts out of love, as well, and the feeling is mutual. Lana nuzzles her cheek like the baby rooting in search of a teat. Mary Eunice provides a soft kiss for her, the second one they've shared. Lana exhales, long and deep. The house will be empty when she returns. Mary Eunice has prepared her apartment for the baby. I'm afraid to be alone. "Can I come home with you?"

Burrowing into her greasy hair, Mary Eunice whispers, "If that's what you want. I set up the crib in my bedroom."

"Oh." Lana has no interest in sleeping in the same house with a crying newborn, let alone in the same room. "Never mind."

"I'll come check on you," Mary Eunice says. "Dinner once a week?"

"Mhm." Lana falls asleep there in the crook of her arm, nestled like a much larger counterpart to Mary Eunice's son—the baby she has adopted as her own.

…

Mary Eunice makes good on her promise—better, in fact. She works as a nurse, and every day, after she picks up Johnny from Kit's house where Grace and Alma serve as babysitters, she comes by Lana's house. Most nights, she cooks dinner. Sometimes, she allows Lana to order a pizza, and they spread out on the couch and watch television, Mary Eunice entertaining her growing son. They keep sharing their kisses. Mary Eunice is the only person who can touch Lana without making her shake, and Lana drinks in her physical presence like a drug, the way a plant drinks in the sunlight and the nutrients from the depths of the soil. Each night, when Mary Eunice leaves, Lana misses her, and she eagerly awaits the next night for her to return.

She's there when Johnny speaks his first word. "Ma!" he says, holding up his tiny arms and gazing at Mary Eunice with unfathomable adoration—the same adoration Lana feels for Mary Eunice. Does she know she is so loved? she wonders. As Mary Eunice laughs and weeps tears of joy, she cradles her son. He babbles, thrilled at the happiness his speech has brought to her. "Ma! Ma!"

Lana never doubts how much Mary Eunice loves Johnny. She doesn't regret her decision. She can't bring herself to love him, except for the slight fondness she develops, as if she loved Mary Eunice enough to occasionally walk her dog. Give it time. He is her godson. What she cannot provide in affection, she grants in financial stability—after all, her book sells out, and she wants for nothing. She buys him clothing, toys, and books, more books than she can conceive of; she forgets all of the titles she purchases, first baby books, then children's books, and eventually she caves to buy any book she reads that she likes, giving it to Mary Eunice to fill a shelf for when he's older. When Mary Eunice comes to her, meek and apologetic, for help with the bills which a single mother with no high school education simply cannot afford, Lana kisses her hard and makes her promise never to feel shame for needing help.

Johnny is almost two when Lana touches him for the first time, quite by accident. Lana and Mary Eunice are in the kitchen, working on spaghetti, while he plays with his stuffed animals in the living room, talking to himself, fully immersed in his pretend play. "Where did the pink unicorn come from?" Lana asks. Mary Eunice ogles at her like she has sprouted a second head until she clarifies, "The toy. That he's playing with. Don't look at me like I'm nuts."

Mary Eunice shakes herself. "I just spent ten hours in the psychiatric ward. I was about to swear I'd brought the crazy home with me." Lana laughs and lays a hand on her shoulder, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. Mary Eunice turns to catch Lana's lips in her own, a peck exchanged between the two of them. "He does toy trades with Julia. She doesn't like all the pink stuff Kit gets her. She likes the toy trucks Johnny doesn't play with. He says pink is his favorite color, so they share."

In the living room, he talks aloud to his toys. "Go go go!" He charges around in circles, clutching the pink unicorn, running away from an invisible foe. "I think we're safe, Effie," he says to the unicorn.

"He's got an imagination, doesn't he?" Lana observes.

Mary Eunice brightens. Lana doesn't always like to talk about Johnny—and sometimes she can't do it without remembering, and on those days, Mary Eunice apologetically asks Kit and his family to watch Johnny for the night and spends time with Lana alone—but she always glows with pride whenever Lana invests some interest in her child. It warms Lana's heart to watch her sparkle with delight. "He does! When I got there today, they were playing house! Thomas was the daddy, Johnny was the mommy, and Julia was the dog."

"The dog?" Lana echoes. Mary Eunice giggles. "Not—Not the daughter, or the sister, or the second mommy—" After all, she thinks, Thomas and Julia have two mommies. "—but the dog?"

"The dog," Mary Eunice repeats. "Johnny said Thomas wouldn't let them have any babies. Thomas only wanted a dog." The living room quiets, and they both turn their heads in suspicion, only to see Johnny sticking his tiny bare feet into Lana's high heeled shoes from the book signing she'd attended that morning. He balances with his arms outstretched. He has a thick shock of brunette hair and eyes the same dark chocolate hue as Lana's, and his tan skin has fat brown freckles smattered all over his face and arms from exposure to the sun; he looks nothing like his mother, all things blonde and pale and fair and fine. "Johnny, sweetheart, be careful!" Mary Eunice calls.

Lana waves her off. "Let him play."

But the sound of his name summons him, and he hobbles into the kitchen in Lana's shoes, taking too large steps and sliding off of the heels no matter how he tries to keep his balance. As he toddles past her, arms reaching up toward Mary Eunice, he stumbles. "Oof!" Quick as lightning, on a reflex as thoughtless as kicking her knee, Lana swoops down and grabs him by the shoulders to keep him from falling. She catches him and holds him at arm's length, his feet sliding out of the shoes. "Auntie!" he says, eyes big as saucers. She stares into them, the same color as her own, but she feels no connection to him. Cold trickles through her blood. Is that wrong? He carries her blood in his veins. Should she not love him? Should she not feel some semblance of familial intimacy toward the child who had grown in her womb?

Johnny notices none of her internal monologue. He pitches her into a hug as big as his small arms can manage. This kickstarts her voice, which had vanished somewhere deep in her throat. "Are you alright?"

He nods, still clutching her tight. "Thank you."

Mary Eunice clears her throat. She bears a tender look. Lana knows she saw the scars resurface on her face. "Johnny, you need to clean up your mess. Put the shoes back where you found them." He grunts in response. "Now, Johnny." At the stern reminder, he severs from her and picks up the shoes, carrying them back into the living room.

A gentle hand presses on the small of Lana's back. It softens the knot of pain in the pit of her stomach. "I'm sorry," she says. "He likes hugs. I'm trying to teach him to ask first."

"It's fine." Something about Mary Eunice's words comforts her. Perhaps knowing Johnny hugs everyone spontaneously, not just her.

"You could've let him fall. It wouldn't have upset me."

"I know." Lana flashes a smile. It isn't quite genuine, but it's enough for Mary Eunice to embrace her and murmur a word of gratitude. Lana wonders why Mary Eunice thanks her—if she feels so compelled because of the shoes, or if her whole life has moved her to feel indebted to Lana, if she cherishes the slice of family Lana allowed her to create so much that she must thank Lana for the circumstances of their existence. Lana doesn't ask. She merely kisses her and trusts that it is enough.

…

Six months later, Mary Eunice stumbles into Lana's house after a long day at work alone with her eyes red-rimmed and her chest trembling. Lana sweeps her inside and slams the door in her haste. "What's wrong? Where's Johnny?" Mary Eunice breaks off into an inconsolable sob and buries herself into Lana's arms, her whole face giving way into mourning. No, no, no… Lana's blood freezes. Her stomach aches. She drags Mary Eunice to the couch and wraps her in the blanket there, trying to calm her shivers. "Mary Eunice? Talk to me! Tell me what's wrong!" She pinches her hands at the tops of Mary Eunice's arms, resisting the urge to shake her when she reaches for another hug. Lana refuses to cave. "Tell me what happened," she repeats. "Has something happened? Are you hurt?" Mary Eunice shakes her head. "Is there something wrong with Johnny?" She can think of nothing which could shake Mary Eunice to her core like this.

But again, she shakes her head. "No, he—he's at Kit's—" She sniffles hard. "They said he could have a sleepover." This time, when she tries to hug Lana, she wraps her into a tight embrace, kissing the top of her head. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." Mary Eunice shakes in her grasp, weak as a baby bird battering its wings.

"It's fine." Lana wipes the tears from her eyes. "What can I do?"

"Just hold me."

She does until the sun goes down and their bellies rumble and their mouths burn from the dryness. "What happened?" Lana dares to ask again, once Mary Eunice has calmed into a lull, almost asleep. "Did something happen at work?"

She nods thoughtfully. She glances up at Lana, but she doesn't hold her gaze. "There was a woman," she says, "expecting triplets. An older woman." She shudders; no matter how Lana holds her, she can't bring warmth back to the chilled body in her arms. "They lost two heartbeats in the delivery room. They did a caesarean, trying to save the last one—she came out crying, but she was so weak…" Mary Eunice drifts off, teeth chattering. Lana tucks a piece of blonde hair behind her ear, cherishing the soft texture. "They tried to bring her back for ten minutes. Nothing worked. Then they took all three of them away from the mother—they didn't even let her hold them."

Lana hides her face in her hair. "I'm so sorry." Mary Eunice's each breath heaves. "I wish you didn't have to see those things." She knows the deaths at the hospital bother her. But Mary Eunice is unlikely to find a better paying job, and she struggles enough with the bills as it is. "You do so much good. You know that, right? That you help people."

Mary Eunice hums in agreement. "I know." Her voice cracks, and she forces herself to ease. "I didn't want Johnny to see me turn into a basket case, though."

Laughing in spite of herself, Lana strokes her hair. "That privilege is reserved just for me, right?" Mary Eunice gives a broken sigh and nods. "I'll take it." We don't get enough time alone together, anyway. It's the only downfall, knowing Johnny eats away at Mary Eunice's time and separates them where otherwise they could be together. "I love you," Lana says without much thought.

"I love you, too."

"Are we having a sleepover, too?"

"If you'll have me."

"Always."

That night, Lana's bed is filled with woman, and they can't help themselves from dancing beneath the sheets, bare skins pressing together, sweat mingling, tongues tasting places they never dreamed. Mary Eunice makes heavenly sounds, and after she reaches her peak and eases back down from the high, she rests in Lana's arms. "Lana?" she murmurs. Lana grunts. "Was that… Did we just make love?"

Lana realizes Mary Eunice has never had sex before. "Yes," she says. She doesn't tease her for her naivete. "We did."

"Can we do it again?"

Blinking in surprise, Lana asks, "Right now?" with some incredulity.

"No, just—sometime. If you want to."

"Of course."

It becomes a tradition, every other Friday, for Johnny to spend the night at Kit's house with Julia and Thomas so Mary Eunice and Lana have some alone time. (They offer to return the favor, but Kit respectfully declines, and Lana wonders if any of them are happy together.) They make love ferociously, like the world might tear them apart if they don't hold fast to one another. Lana learns to feel the fire in Mary Eunice's kisses, and she leaves marks on her girlfriend's body under the clothes where no one else can see. They memorize the ripples of an orgasm, how each muscle quivers, how the skin twitches. Lana aches on the days between their two days of the month, wanting nothing more than to beg Mary Eunice to come to her and join her on the bed, if only to rest together, if not to make love.

Once, she brings it up. Mary Eunice lies under her arm on the couch, but her shoulders are stiff, and in the silence, she whispers, "I'm sorry." Lana turns off the television and looks at her. Mary Eunice averts her eyes. "I'm behind on rent again." Lana kisses her, hoping to assuage her shame at the request—implied but not explicit. It doesn't ease her sorrow. "I don't mean to keep asking you—one day, I'll pay you back, I swear—"

"No—don't worry about it. Don't." A desperate look tints Mary Eunice's face. "It makes no difference to me. You're worth more than any amount of money. And I have plenty." She dabs at the single tear that has fallen from her girlfriend's eyes. "Don't cry. Please." She clears her throat. "You can move in here if you want."

The blurted words take Mary Eunice aback. "Lana…" She realizes too late bringing it up in this conversation is the wrong place and time. "If—If that's what you want," she hedges, drifting off.

Lana shakes her head. "No. No, forget it. I didn't mean it that way." Relief follows. "But I have a place here for you, should you need it." She knows she doesn't want to live with Johnny. She struggles enough seeing him so often, and Mary Eunice knows it, sees how she strains to maintain even the slightest of courtesy with him. She adores Mary Eunice, but learning to like her son is a never-ending battle. "I just miss you."

"I'm here four days a week."

"At night," Lana says.

Mary Eunice bites the tip of her tongue. "Oh." She rests her head on Lana's shoulder. "You can stay at my apartment whenever you want," she says. "With me. Johnny has his own room now. He never makes a peep at night. We have to be up early, but if you want to stay with us…" Lana agrees. She gets a key to Mary Eunice's apartment later that week. She doesn't stay over often, but sometimes, she awakens from a nightmare in the middle of the night and drives herself down the street, lets herself in the front door, and crawls into bed with her girlfriend. Mary Eunice never questions her. She only scoots over to make more room.

…

Johnny starts school when he's five. He's a year behind Julia and Thomas, who both help him with his homework. At first, Mary Eunice drops him off at school in the morning, and Grace or Alma picks them all up afterward, and she picks him up at Kit's house on her way to Lana's, but it doesn't last. She keeps Johnny home from school the day she hears what happened to Grace and Alma. She calls into work. Her boss tells her it's her last sick day if she wants to keep her job. She agrees. Kit arranges the funeral on a day she doesn't work, and afterward, she clutches at straws to make arrangements for Johnny. Kit gives his kids a key to his house and tells her Johnny can stay with them, like before, but she sees the shadow on his face. She has never paid enough for the daycare they provided, and now, he has lost both mothers to his children. She pleads with her boss to change her hours; he begrudgingly agrees, giving her shorter shifts with fewer days off, so she can get Johnny to and from school twice a week. Twice a week, she lets him go home with Kit's kids.

She never asks Lana to accommodate the fifth day; Lana simply does it without question. Mary Eunice drops him off at her house in the wee hours of the morning before work and finds him there when she gets off, usually buried in his homework or a book. She kisses her girlfriend with a greeting of gratitude each time she finds them like this. Once, she promises to find something else, but Lana shakes her head. "Let me help," she says.

Johnny's school makes things hard. When he's six, he asks her for the first time, "Is Aunt Lana my mommy?" The question knocks all the air out of her, and she whirls around, eyes wide as she regards her son, nothing but innocence written on his face. "All the other kids have mommies and daddies," Johnny explains, "but I don't have a daddy. And Margot told me that mommies and daddies usually kiss and spend a lot of time together, like you and Aunt Lana, so I thought, maybe, Aunt Lana was my mommy, too."

A sigh, equal parts relieved and troubled, leaves Mary Eunice's lungs. "No, sweetie," she says, "Aunt Lana isn't your mommy. She's your godmother." Perhaps it was uncouth of her to appoint a non-Catholic the godmother of her son, but Mary Eunice has given up most of church traditions. She attends every Sunday, and she prays faithfully, but she knows what she forfeited when she chose to walk away from her position as a nun. "Not every kid has a mommy and a daddy. Some kids just have a mommy or just have a daddy, and that's okay."

It sates him temporarily. When he's nine, he asks her again, more forthright. "Mom? Why don't I have a dad?" She tries to dodge the question, but he's too smart for that—he spends his days with his nose in a book, and he says he wants to become a writer. He's slight for his age, and he wears glasses which put Lana out more money than Mary Eunice likes to consider. "I—I know you say I just don't have one, but everybody has one, and—where's mine? What happened to him?"

Mary Eunice clears her throat, and then she lies through her teeth. "I'm sorry, sweetie." She sits on the couch with him. "Your father was a soldier in the war. Do you remember learning about that in school?" He nods. "We weren't married. He wanted that, but I didn't. I wasn't ready for that. I didn't find out I was pregnant until after he was back overseas. And he never came home."

Johnny is crying. Her heart breaks. The truth would hurt him more. But watching him mourn a man who never existed stings. "Why didn't you tell me about him?"

"His family doesn't know about me, or about you. And we have Aunt Lana. I'm in love with her, now."

"She's not a dad."

"I know. I'm sorry."

He hugs her, and she hugs him back, kissing his forehead and sweeping his thick hair out of his eyes. He likes it long, he says; she worries he says that because he doesn't want to spend money at the barber, but she doesn't challenge him. "Mom? Why do some people like men and some people like women?"

She shrugs. "Some people are left-handed instead of right-handed, honey. There isn't a reason. It just is."

"Did you used to like men, then? With my dad?"

She sucks her teeth. She has never known the touch of a man other than her own son; she can't imagine loving anyone in that intimate way except Lana. "No, sweetheart, I was just confused," she says, because it's easier to explain. "But I love you very much. Where you come from, what happened to your father, those things don't matter to me. Do you understand? I don't think you're a mistake."

"I understand." He hesitates. "Is it okay if I like men?"

Her heart skips a beat. "It's okay for you to like whoever you want."

He nods, considering. "What was his name? My dad?"

Mary Eunice answers without thinking, mind on auto-pilot, just wishing for the conversation to end. "Oliver."

She later relays all of the lies to Lana so they'll be consistent. "You couldn't have picked a different name?" Lana fumes. "Millions of names—you could've picked any random one from the Bible! It would've been believable!"

She holds up her hands in self-defense. "I panicked! I wasn't expecting him to ask me anything! I'm not a very good liar!" Perhaps it was naive of her to think for so long that Johnny would just accept his life without a father, never questioning his own origins, but she hadn't prepared any fibs to hold him off. "I thought I had a few years left before he would…" She drifts off. Her heart sinks, and she utters a soft sigh. "I was foolish enough to think I would be enough for him." Lana takes her by the hips and tugs her close, murmuring a reassurance, but even her arms can't banish the sorrowful notion from her mind. As Lana kisses her neck, Mary Eunice tilts her head to grant her better access, but she asks in a whisper, "Do you think I made a mistake?" Lana stops and holds so many questions in her eyes, but she doesn't ask any of them. "Do you think—maybe, he would've been better off if we had let him go?"

Lana touches her cheek, cradling it in her hand. She shakes her head. "I don't think there could be a person on this earth better for him than you are. Or better for me. That's the truth."

"Doesn't he deserve a father?"

"He has God. He has you." Lana caresses Mary Eunice's lips under the pad of her thumb. "When you've got God and you've got Mary, you know you're Jesus." Mary Eunice laughs until Lana kisses it away.

…

One day, when Johnny is eleven, Lana's phone rings in the early afternoon. She answers it. "Lana?" Mary Eunice asks. "I'm sorry, I—someone called in, and I can't go home. I've got to cover her shift." Her voice shakes; Lana can hear the exhaustion, imagine it in her azure eyes, and regret poisons her blood. "Could you please pick up Johnny from school? I'm so sorry, I already called Kit, but he's out of town for the week—"

"I can do it," Lana says. "Don't apologize." She always tells Mary Eunice this. It never stops her from apologizing over and over again. "What time will you be home?"

Mary Eunice heaves a sigh. "Tomorrow morning," she whispers in a defeated voice. Lana bites back a snarl. She knows it will only hurt Mary Eunice if she lashes out now. "Tell him I'm sorry. And—oh, he's been struggling with his math homework. Sixth grade math has me stymied, but if you know how to—"

"Mary Eunice," Lana placates. "This might surprise you, but I'm not a terrible babysitter, okay? I'll help him with his math. Maybe I'll even decide he deserves to be fed." Mary Eunice sputters on the other end of the line. "I love you. Take care of yourself."

Her voice is warm in spite of its tiredness. "I love you, too, Lana. Thank you."

At three, Lana drives to the junior high and pulls through, and at the sight of her car, Johnny approaches, a frown on his face. "Aunt Lana? Mom is supposed to pick me up today, isn't she?" His life is a tangle of inconsistencies, and Lana wonders if he deserves a steadier means of living. No, she decides. No one has ever left him at the school; Mary Eunice has to juggle him with her job, but she always ensures he has a roof over his head and food in his belly. Maybe something else would be ideal, but he has never gone hungry.

"Somebody called in at the hospital. You're crashing with me tonight."

His eyes brighten. "Cool!" He slides into the front seat beside her, pushing his too-large glasses up on his nose, which magnify his saucer-like eyes. The sunlight filters onto his freckled face. He has a bruise on the underside of his jaw, which makes Lana trouble her lower lip between her teeth. "Can I read at your house?"

She chuckles, raising an eyebrow. "You can do whatever you want after you finish your homework," she tells him, though he doesn't usually require the prompting; he's a good student. She thanks Julia and Thomas for wearing off on him. "What happened to your face?"

"What happened to your face?" She chokes at the sharp retort. "Sorry—I didn't mean that, I was with Sam—it's hard to turn it off." He massages the bruise on his jaw. "Please don't tell Mom."

Lana has priorities which don't involve Johnny being a smart-ass. He's a reader, after all; he's bound to develop a sense of sarcasm. "Already forgotten. Who hit you?"

He shrugs. "Nobody." She looks at him from the corner of her eye as she drives down the street, careful to observe the droves of children crossing the street on their walks home. At her unwavering look, he sighs. "Tobias Wendell," he mutters. She recognizes the name. "He won't leave me and Sam alone. Him and his cronies. They're a bunch of Socs."

In spite of herself, Lana snorts at the reference. "That would make you a Greaser, then?"

"Stay gold, Ponyboy."

She laughs, and he grins. Like his mother, he sparkles when he's happy; he has a certain glow he takes when the people around him reassure him of his worth. "You're a nerd," she says. "Don't worry about the bullies. One day, they'll be working for you. They'll be your cronies, so to speak. Nerds always get their revenge."

His smile fades a little, but it remains on his face nonetheless. "I don't want anyone to work for me." His feet drum on the floorboards of the car, tapping out a rhythm to the rumble of the motor, syncopating whenever she uses the turn signal. The radio hums, low and soft; she can't remember how long it's been since she turned it off or changed the station. "I want to be a writer, like you."

"You want to be a journalist?" Lana asks.

He nods. "Not a television one, though. You have to be good-looking for that. I want to write books. True stories."

"Where are you going to start?"

"I want to write a book about Mom."

"You think Mom's that interesting?"

"You don't?"

She chuckles. "Most people would say I'm biased." But his interest concerns her. Mary Eunice has lied to him about everything—he doesn't know she was ever a nun. He doesn't know she ever worked at Briarcliff. He thinks she met Lana in high school; he thinks they've been friends since forever and lovers since his conception. If he probes, it could all fall apart. The whole web could unravel. Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive. "Do you like to write fictional stories, too?"

Johnny doesn't notice her intentional shifting of the subject. "Yeah! Mrs. Summers says I'm the best creative writer in my class. She always reads what I write as an example. Tobias hates it." He seems to draw a great measure of joy from miffing his enemy through his academic superiority. "Me and Sam—"

"Sam and I," Lana corrects on reflex.

"Sam and I are writing a comic together. He's doing the art. And I'm writing the dialogue and the script. Sam's a really talented artist." Johnny's eyes haze, all dreamy, and Lana smiles at him at the sight. "I really like him," he says, a quiet afterthought. "Most boys don't like boys, do they?"

Lana shrugs. "Most boys like girls, I think. But that doesn't mean he does. I used to think your mom liked boys." Your mom used to be married to the biggest man of all time. Your mom used to be married to God. "You never know. You're still young. You'll figure it out."

Johnny nods, but his thoughts race across his face. "Mom says I'm not supposed to tell anyone about you and her, because most people don't understand. What if Sam doesn't understand? What if he doesn't want to be my friend anymore? I still want to be his friend, even if he doesn't like me back."

"Sometimes that's just a risk you have to take. But if he's the type of person who will be angry at you for who you love, is that really the type of person you want to be your friend?" He grunts with agreement at her words.

That night, Lana orders a pizza for them. She brings it to the kitchen table where Johnny has sprawled out with all of his books. He's chewing the end of his pen, staring at a blank piece of paper in a notebook, only his name written at the top; he only glances up when she opens the pizza box. "Oh! Thanks. Pepperoni! Mom hates pepperoni." He picks up one piece with no hesitation, getting red grease all over his hands.

She sits beside him and takes a small piece. "I know. Cheese pizza is boring." She lies to him; she knows Mary Eunice only fibs about liking cheese pizza because of how she feels about money and spending it on unnecessary toppings. "Writer's block?" she asks. "You've been staring at that piece of paper for almost an hour, you know."

He nods, the corners of his eyes creasing. "We have to write an essay about our dads," he mumbles. Oh. "I kept blowing it off, but it's due tomorrow…" Suddenly, the vigor with which he seizes the pizza disappears. His enthusiasm about the pepperoni leaves him, instead a sorrow in his eyes. "I tried to ask Mrs. Summers for a different assignment, but she didn't understand what I meant when I said I didn't have a dad."

"Shitty teacher," Lana says. As he winces at her curse, she apologizes. "Write about your mom."

"I can't. We did an essay over our moms last month. We had to give a presentation and everything, and—ugh, everyone's going to look at me stupid and sorry if I get up in front of them and talk about my dead dad. I don't even have a picture of him to show." He scuffs his toes over the carpet and wipes off the corners of his mouth with the napkin, staring down at the blank piece of paper. "Do you think I could just make something up? Not something too cool, or anything, but just so I don't embarrass myself."

She gives him a soft look. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about, you know. Not everyone has a normal family. If you tell everyone the truth, I guarantee there's at least one other kid in that room who will feel glad that they're not the only one without a dad." She can't believe it's been almost ten years since she caught him from falling in her kitchen, since his tiny arms hugged her so tight. He still likes to give hugs. She has learned to keep herself from tensing, and he has learned to ask first. She doesn't look for a connection in his eyes anymore. She isn't his mother, and she doesn't feel a maternal bond for him, but she loves him the way she should love her godson—perhaps a muted form of love, but present, nonetheless. "Does that make sense?"

He nods. "I still don't know what to write about." He flips the pen in his hand between his fingers. "I have to write about something. Thomas said I could write about Uncle Kit, but I thought that would be weird, since they both wrote about him last year…We all get enough shit from the other kids without making it weird." Lana glares at him for the curse word, and he says, "What? You just said it."

She arches an eyebrow. "I'm allowed to curse. You're not."

Drumming his fingers on the table, he nods, too preoccupied with the assignment to fathom a good response. "Can I write about you?" he asks.

She blinks, taken aback by this suggestion. "What if the teacher wants you to write an essay about your godmother next?" she counters.

"Please, Aunt Lana? If I can't write about you, it's just Aunt Alma and Aunt Grace, and then people really will make fun of me if I tell them one of my old babysitters killed the other one, and Thomas and Julia will kill me. We don't have any other family."

That's not fair, Lana. Let him write about you. Part of her still resents him, his existence, and the thought of him conceptualizing her as a parental figure stings. She severed herself from him from the moment of his birth to give him the best chance at a normal life. But is she not the closest thing to a second parent he has ever known? "You can write about me," she says. "But on one condition." He waits with bated breath. "Make me sound really cool, okay? None of that moody pre-teen lame parent stuff. Make me a real badass. Deal?"

He grins from ear to ear. "Deal!" He high-fives her, and then he sets to work on his essay, pizza left to the wayside.

When he finishes, he brings a book to the couch. This is what she likes best about Johnny, the silence they can share. He doesn't demand for anyone to entertain him. She turns the page of her own book, not expecting him to say anything at all—usually he sits beside her and opens to his bookmarked page, and they spend the final hours waiting for Mary Eunice to get home from work in silence, interrupted only if he encounters an unfamiliar word or concept—but instead, he looks up at her before he even opens his novel. "Aunt Lana?" She dog-ears the page of her book and looks at him. "Can I read your book?"

She frowns. She doesn't understand the question—she thinks he refers to the book in her hand, which she has only gotten halfway through. "I'm kind of in the middle of it."

"No—I mean, the one you wrote."

"Oh." Her blood shivers. He hasn't made her skin freeze like this in a long time, but the chill aches now. She changed Mary Eunice's name in her novel, knowing he would likely one day hear about her book, if he didn't read it himself, but something inside of her smolders at the thought of allowing to Johnny to read about his own father unknowingly. "You'll have to ask your mom." She decides this is the best answer. "You should wait until you're older. You'll understand it better, then."

"It's a true story, isn't it?" She nods. "How much older? I like true stories."

She chuckles at him. "Fifteen," she says. "If your mom says it's okay."

"How would she know if it's okay? She only ever reads her Bible. She never reads good books. It's so boring."

"Don't talk about your mom that way." Lana swats him on top of the head with a rolled up newspaper she'd used to flap the flies away. "She doesn't read well. You know that. Spelling is hard for her. The letters get all jumbled up in her head." She knows Mary Eunice isn't slow, but she also knows Mary Eunice is ashamed of her lacking academic capabilities, the frustrations which drove her to drop out of school and into the arms of the church.

Johnny tries to take the newspaper away from her, but she snatches it back before he can seize it. "I know," he says. "Sam has dyslexia, too. I didn't mean it that way. Just that she doesn't enjoy a good book."

Lana places the newspaper back on the end table, safe out of range to keep them from getting into a sword fight with it. "She does, though. She doesn't like to read with her eyes, because it frustrates her, but she loves to hear you tell stories. That's why she enjoys church so much." Johnny regards her with wonder mixed with confusion. Lana clears her throat. "Church is just glorified storytelling, isn't it? It's the only way she can get someone to read to her without having to ask for it." The epiphany sinks over his face, enlightening him with each inch it travels across his skin. His eyes share the color of Lana's, but his expressiveness comes from Mary Eunice without a shadow of a doubt. Lana needs a moment to collect herself with the next words she speaks, a half-lie, but the important part is true. "I read my entire book aloud to her when she was pregnant with you. From front to back. She was the first person to hear every word, before it ever touched a shelf. She loved it."

Several weeks later, Mary Eunice comes armed with the full plot of the Outsiders, Johnny's favorite book, prepared to debate in the defense of her favorite character, the soft young man who shares her son's name. While Johnny spends the night at Sam's house, Lana and Mary Eunice draw swords, the fictional Johnny versus Dally, the rough around the edges greaser who martyrs himself in grief. They bicker, and then they debate, and then they wrestle, and at some point, their clothes come off, and Lana whispers, "Dally is better," right before she dips her tongue into her girlfriend's belly button. Mary Eunice howls with laughter. Lana never admits to giving Johnny the tip, but each time Mary Eunice approaches her with a new book completed, she thanks the meager mercy of the heavens for giving him a heart as soft as the woman who adopted him.

…

In the summer before his sophomore year of high school, Johnny appears on her doorstep on the hottest day of the year, carrying a gallon of milk in each hand and a heavy backpack weighing him down. She opens the door to let him in. "Johnny—" She sweeps him with her gaze, sunburnt and sweating, flushed from head to toe. "What the hell? It's too hot for you to be outside—what are you doing with two gallons of milk?"

He waddles through her door, panting heavily. "It's cooler out there than it is in the apartment," he mutters. Lana lifts the backpack from him—it's cool to the touch, but weighed down, filled to the brim with frozen and cold goods. "The jackass landlord killed the power. He said we have until next week—" Tears sting the corner of his eyes, filling them, and he chokes up. He stops talking until he can manage it without weeping. "Mom just went grocery shopping yesterday. I got as much as I could out of there, so it wouldn't all melt—the meat might be spoilt, I don't know. The whole apartment turned into an oven. I thought my face would melt off before I got out of there."

Following him to the kitchen, Lana unzips the backpack and empties it on the counter. "You should've called me." He opens the fridge and the freezer, temporarily letting the cold air fan over him before he begins putting away Mary Eunice's frozen edibles. "Why didn't she tell me she was behind again?"

He sighs. "I don't know. Honestly, I think she forgot this time. Her goddamn boss—he's working her six days a week." Lana's heart aches. She has seen less of Mary Eunice lately—and more of the dark circles under her eyes when she comes around—but she hadn't realized the gravity of the situation. "Seven when he can wrench it out of her. Sixty-five, seventy hours a week. He's threatening to get rid of her if she can't keep up, and she thinks she needs the money. I offered to help, I did, but she won't take anything from me—" His voice breaks. "She's afraid I won't be able to go to college, she wants me to save—I don't even want to go to college if she's still going to be living like this without me—"

"Hey." Lana places a hand on his arm. "You're a good student. You're going to college. You'll get good scholarships if you apply for them." His skin is hot to the touch. She can't tell if the tracks on his face are from tears, sweat, or snot. "I opened a savings account for you when you were born. It hasn't been touched except for deposits since then. Your mom knows that it's for you. You don't have to worry about affording college."

He averts her eyes from hers, staring into the fridge. Goosebumps have appeared all over his arms and legs. "What's going to happen to her?" he asks. "When I'm gone?"

"I'll take care of her. Whatever she wants. If she wants to keep her apartment, or if she wants to move in here—I won't let her want for anything. Don't worry about her." He shudders with a half-suppressed sob. Mary Eunice has never told him that boys don't cry, but he learned it, anyway, at school, and even with their reassurance, he finds it hard to let himself break. "Do you understand? It's your mom's job to worry about you. Not the other way around. I'll take care of her." Johnny shivers, covering his mouth with his hand. "Go sit down," she says. "Read for a little bit. I'll put this up, and then I'll run to the bank so your mom can pay the rent and utilities when she gets home."

He obeys her, resting there on the couch with fat tears running down his cheeks. When she finishes putting away the salvaged frozen goods, she brings him a bottle of water. His hands shake too hard for him to open it, so she cracks it open for him, and he drinks with the same fervor he demonstrated when she nursed him after his birth. "Don't make yourself sick," she cautions, and then he slows down, but he still has less than half of a bottle left when he finishes. "You can take a shower, if you want. Cool off a little."

He nods, eyes averted, swollen and sorrowful. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to barge in on you like this."

"If there's ever an excuse to barge in, I think baking in your own house is it."

A tiny, wry smile creases his lips. "Thank you." She leans back, preparing to stand, but he asks, "Aunt Lana?" and she pauses. His lower lip trembles. "Can I hug you?" She nods.

He's wet from head to toe and smells like a boys' locker room, but he buries his face in the crook of her neck and weeps. She pats him on the back. Through his shirt, she can feel the ribs of his slight form; he still has grown no taller than her, and she wonders if he will remain like her, or if he will go through another growth spurt to look more like his father. She prays not. "It's okay," she soothes him. "It's okay. I promise." She mops a hand through his sweaty, dark hair, which falls around his shoulders.

By the time Mary Eunice comes to her house, Johnny has fallen asleep on the couch. Mary Eunice unlocks the door with her key and enters to Lana draping the couch throw over him and tucking a pillow under his head. "Lana? What's he doing here?" Her eyes are wide with fear. "Is he hurt?"

Lana shakes her head and greets her with a kiss, but Mary Eunice dodges it; she doesn't mess around where her son is concerned. "He's fine," Lana says. She tucks a stray lock of blonde hair behind Mary Eunice's ear. "The power went out in the apartment. He packed up all of the frozen goods and came here." Mary Eunice's face falls, and she closes her eyes, a shaky sigh leaving her lips. Lana offers a tender kiss right to her lips. She caves, shuffling near to Lana and hugging her, too weak and exhausted to clutch tight. "It's okay. You can pay the rent and the utilities tomorrow."

The reassurance doesn't keep Mary Eunice from weeping. Lana tucks her into bed and then sits beside her, offering her own chest as a pillow; she knows Mary Eunice is too tired to make love now, even if Johnny weren't just a wall away. Mary Eunice shivers. "I'm sorry," she weeps. "It doesn't matter what I do—I'm always behind on something…" She sniffles. Snot runs all over the front of Lana's shirt. "I'm no good at this, Lana, I never should've left the church." Lana hushes her, more out of fear of Johnny overhearing than anything else, but it still unsettles her, her hopelessness. "Sister Jude was right. I'm just—I'm just stupid. I can't even read, how am I supposed to be raising a child?"

Lana kisses the top of her head, but she doesn't interrupt. She allows Mary Eunice to finish. "I'm a horrible nurse. I can't stand up for myself, I get paid less than everyone else, I'm a total doormat, but if I say anything, he'll f-fire me, and then I'll be in deep shit."

"No, you won't. You'll be here, with me." Lana smooths her hair back. "You've just got a few years before Johnny goes to college, and then you can move in with me. Once he has his own place, you can leave behind that horrible apartment forever."

Mary Eunice shakes her head. "I'm not going to be able to send Johnny to college! He's always trying to help me pay the bills—I don't take it, but I know sometimes he puts it in my purse and he thinks I won't notice, like I won't notice twenty dollars magically appearing there."

"You don't have to send Johnny to college. I have a savings account for him. You know that. It should be more than enough to cover tuition and board with some left over. I've been putting as much as I can in it with every paycheck since he was christened."

Big azure eyes flick up to her, mesmerized, awestruck by her words. Her pink lips, swollen from weeping, buffer against one another with shock. She grunts a few broken syllables before she manages to say in a squeak, "But…" She blinks hard. "I thought you pulled from that when you paid our bills—it's got to be almost empty by now, as often as I can't make ends meet."

Lana shakes her head. "No, sunshine, no." She uses her thumbs to wipe away the streaks of tears on her cheeks. "I haven't touched that account since I opened it."

Mary Eunice touches Lana's cheek, cradling it in her own palm. "But—that was all for Johnny, because otherwise I would live with you… because you're his godmother…"

Nuzzling into Mary Eunice's palm, Lana kisses it. "It was for both of you. You're my family now." She doesn't think of Johnny as her son, but she loves him. She isn't certain when it developed. The days when she can't stand to see him, when his presence makes her chest swell with anxiety, are few and far between. Perhaps the long-term exposure has numbed her at this point, or perhaps she loves Mary Eunice so much that she must by default also love her son. He's just like her, now. She can almost forget the unholy union which bore him when she sees them together, sees how he mirrors Mary Eunice's mannerisms, the way he teases his hair, the way he shivers when he cries, the way he burrows his face into her neck and wraps his arms around in that way when he hugs her. "I love you, Mary Eunice."

Mary Eunice cries some more. She resists taking the money Lana gives to her, protesting, "I can't—I can't take anything else from you," until Lana kisses her and tucks the money into the pocket of her skirt. She accepts the kiss and heaves a wearied sigh. "Johnny's birthday is next month."

"He can have whatever he wants."

"You can't buy it." Lana blinks in surprise. "He wants to read your book," Mary Eunice explains. "He says you told him he can read it when he's fifteen—I just wanted to make sure it was okay with you before I gave him my copy. If you think it's okay… I trust you."

Lana traces the faint freckles on her neck with her index finger. "Either he's going to read it now, with our blessing," she says, "or he's going to sneak and read it behind your back, or he's going to wait until he's eighteen and read it then."

"Johnny's not like that."

Arching an eyebrow, Lana chuckles. "Don't be naive. He's a teenager who likes books. Be glad he's not a teenager who likes drugs." Mary Eunice laughs, nuzzling into Lana's chest, stringing her arms around her neck. "When I was his age, I would do anything to get my hands on the book I wanted. Nineteen Eighty Four was a big forbidden title, then. Anything by Mark Twain. Once, I started babysitting just so I could get out of the house long enough to finish the book I was reading without my parents noticing."

Mary Eunice snorts. "You sound like a horrible babysitter."

"Oh, I hated it. All of the kids hated me. I could never keep a job."

"You're okay with him reading it, then?" Lana nods. "Thank you. I won't let him ask you any questions. But I can't stop him from giving you a big hug, because you know he'll want to."

Lana grins. "I know."

They celebrate Johnny's birthday with a cake. Lana gives him a stack of books, which makes Mary Eunice give her a withering look. "You better get him a bookshelf for Christmas. He can use the library, you know. It's a ten minute walk from here." Johnny eagerly tears into the tall stack of books, picking up each one and devouring the back cover and smelling the new book smell.

Wrapping an arm around her waist, Lana kisses her neck, and the frown vanishes from her face, replaced by her usual smile. "He gets a bookshelf for Christmas," she promises, "only because this apartment looks like a tornado went through the library and deposited half of the books here in a random order." At the bottom of the stack of books, Johnny lifts up Maniac. Mary Eunice swats Lana, a peeved look of, That's what I got him! on her face. "I thought he deserved his own copy. Make it worth more in a few years."

Johnny flips open the front cover. "To Johnny," he reads aloud the note she has written in the inside of it, "thank you for your patience in the years I wasn't able to share this with you. I know you've heard rumors, and I appreciate you keeping an open mind. I'm ready, now, for you to know my story. With all my love, your godmother, Lana Winters." He hugs her so tight, she can hardly breathe, and before he relinquishes her, he peeks at Mary Eunice with wide, pleading eyes to ask, "Mom, can I—"

"Absolutely not! No reading at the dinner table. I don't care that it's your birthday."

For the next three days, Lana hears radio silence from Johnny. On the second day, Mary Eunice comes to her house from work. "Is it okay if I stay here tonight?" she asks. "I know Johnny won't have gotten his nose out of that book yet. He told me this morning not to worry about dinner."

Lana kisses her. "I'm glad to have you." Mary Eunice's wearied body receives all of her love, though she doesn't offer her own in return. Lana doesn't mind. She knows her girlfriend works too hard for too little; she doesn't want to be another stressor in her life. "He starts school after Labor Day, right?" Mary Eunice nods. "So a few more weeks." She hums. "I'm sorry, I know you're tired. I'll shut up."

"Mm…" Mary Eunice blinks up at her with groggy eyes. "I like hearing your voice when I fall asleep." Her eyelashes drag across Lana's skin. "I like it when you hold me like this." She kisses Lana's neck, a light thing. "I want to do this every night, once Johnny goes to college. I want us to be like this, for real."

"I promise," Lana says. "You'll get as much of this as you want."

Her eyes shut, drifting lazily but landing hard enough for Lana to know they won't open again. "Will you read to me?" Mary Eunice asks. Lana opens the book on the bedside table and begins to read right where she left off in the middle of the chapter. Within minutes, Mary Eunice falls asleep.

On the third day, while Mary Eunice is at work, Lana sits outside in the fair weather, summer turning to autumn, and reads out in the breeze where she can enjoy the end of the bitterly hot summer. She sees him coming, because he's running—he's always been a quick kid, but he's all legs, so it's easy to pick him out like a baby horse that hasn't yet grown into itself. She stands to greet him, but he wraps her up in another hug like the one he gave her on his birthday. All of the muscles in her back tense; she didn't have time to prepare herself, and her body shudders its distaste at the sudden arms around her. He breaks apart at the feeling. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—Are you okay?" He's been crying. She nods and hugs him—for the first time in his life, she hugs him, and they both relax.

She takes him inside. "Do you have any questions?" she asks.

"Mom said I wasn't allowed to ask any questions." But his eyes burn with curiosity, the insatiable need of any reader to know more than the writer revealed in the book.

Lana flashes a smile. "I won't answer if I don't want to, alright? You can go ahead and ask." She wonders if she will regret allowing him this freedom, but she knows the questions will eat him alive if he doesn't ask them; they will come out, eventually, and she prefers to hear them now.

He bites his lip. Then, he says, "Wendy," and Lana wonders how long it's been since she heard someone else say that name. She decorates the grave once a month, sometimes with Mary Eunice at her side, never with Johnny accompanying—she cannot bring herself to take the son of Wendy's murderer to her gravesite. "Was she… your girlfriend? Before Mom?" Lana nods. "Is that why you never sold the house to move in with us? Because she picked out this house?"

Part of the reason. Lana wants to say, so she does. "Part of the reason." I still have days when looking at you is unbearable. No matter how you're your mother's son, I have days when I see him in you. I have to be able to get away from you without hurting you. "It isn't safe for your mother and me to be together in an apartment. It would be much easier for someone to catch us if we lived so close to other people, and a landlord could throw us out without notice. It's safer for us here."

"Oh." He drums his toes in the carpet and curls them there, tangling with the shag fibres. "Did your baby have a name?"

Lana shakes her head. Lying is almost too easy. "I was giving him away. They had already positioned an adoptive family for him anonymously, but I never met them. It was their loss, not mine." Perhaps it sounds cold. It is cold. She doesn't care. She needs to be as honest with him as possible, so she is.

He pauses, thinking long and deep. Then he asks, "Why didn't you talk about my mom at all? Where was she? Why didn't she get you out of the asylum—or notice you were missing?"

Again, she lies. "She was busy with your father, then. She knew about me and Wendy, but she wasn't sure about herself, yet. She was confused. And she was very, very sorry when she heard what had happened to me. She stayed with me until you were born, a week after my baby."

"If you and Mom are together, is it possible they could try to put you both back in the sanitarium?" Johnny bites his lip; Lana can read the fear in his eyes, the panic at the notion of losing his mother to the legal system. Don't frighten him, she cautions herself.

"It's possible, but I doubt it. They confined me because I was nosy and wouldn't stay out of their business. It just so happened that they had grounds to hold me, legally, and a person willing to sign me over."

"Do you resent her for that? Wendy?"

"I don't resent her for anything, no." Lana drums her fingers on the arm of the couch, nervous with the direction the conversation had taken. She hasn't talked about Wendy in so long. At the mention of her, her heart aches with longing, and she wishes Mary Eunice were here for her to discuss her hurting parts. "She wouldn't have been put in that position if I hadn't gone to the asylum in the first place."

He hesitates. "Are you saying you blame yourself?"

This question gives her pause. She has to avert her eyes from his face to consider what he asked her. He asked it with such gentleness, like he didn't want to ask it at all, and his face is as soft as his mother's, as understanding, as loving. "Not as much as I did at one time," she answers after a silence. "But—yes. It's something I'm working on. Something your mother helps me with a lot."

A frown tickles his lips before tugging them down into a full pout, an internal debate playing on his face while he decides whether or not he can ask her his next question. Lana braces herself, but she expects worse than what he asks. "Do you love her more than my mom?"

Lana shakes her head. "Not more," she says. "Just differently."

That answer sates him, and they prepare dinner for when Mary Eunice gets home.

…

In the last week of summer, Johnny practically lives at her house. "Sorry," he says one day, backpack filled with books. "We just got new downstairs neighbors, and they have a newborn baby, and I can't focus—I don't mean to—" She waves him off into silence and ushers him into the house. "Thanks. Sam's on vacation. I hate just sitting around the house alone. My manager doesn't need me at work enough. My brain is wasting away."

"Clearly not, if you've read that many books." Lana gestures to the backpack. "Is that this week's load?"

"Last week's. After I finish this one, I'm going to walk to the library and take them all back."

"Alright. I was about to start lunch. Any preferences?"

"Is starving until Mom gets home a preference?"

Lana laughs. "No, it's not. You'll eat my tasteless food, and you'll enjoy it. That's your punishment for never leaving here." He rolls his eyes. "When did you become such a smart ass? You didn't get it from your mom."

"It's all the books you gave me. They made me smart enough to develop sarcasm." But in spite of her teasing, Johnny leaves his book in the floor and heads into the kitchen with her. He has learned to help Mary Eunice cook. "Are we making spaghetti?" She shrugs and nods, and he puts a pot of water on the stove to boil while she warms the sauce in another pan on the stove. "Mom loves spaghetti. I think it's her favorite meal ever."

She makes it so often because it's cheap. Lana doesn't tell him this; Mary Eunice finally agreed to let him give her part of his paycheck, and she knows he's proud of himself for providing a little to support his family. "Then you'll have to help me make it just the way she likes it," she says instead.

After lunch, Johnny spends a few hours finishing his book while Lana scripts the next episode of her show and the topics she wants to explore when filming begins again. "I'm going to the library," Johnny tells her. "I have the list of what I'm looking for, so I should be in and out quick." Lana hums, not really listening to him—he's fifteen, after all, more than old enough to take himself to the library and back without her breathing down his neck. She isn't sure what time it is when he leaves.

She is sure, however, when she looks up from her script and the clock reads five PM, that he should have returned by now. She stands from her hunched position over the table, popping her back, and walks to the window, peeking out at the late afternoon sky. As far as she can see, no one travels the sidewalks. This isn't good. She goes to the telephone and asks the operator, "Can you connect me to the library?" When the librarian answers, she says, "Hi—this is Lana Winters." She hopes the librarian has seen them in the library together enough to feel comfortable giving her information about his whereabouts. "My godson, Johnny McKee, is he there? Or have you seen him? He walked there awhile ago, and he hasn't come back yet."

The librarian tuts, like she's trying to remember. "I saw him, I did, but it's been an hour ago, at least. Diane? Did you check out Johnny McKee? Teenage boy, shoulder-long dark hair, skinny as a maypole, big honking glasses." Lana can't hear the other woman's answer, but the woman on the phone says, "Yes, he was in here, but he checked out forty-five minutes ago. We'll have someone glance around outside for him, alright? See if he wound up reading under the trees or something."

Lana pinches the bridge of her nose. Fuck. "Yes. Thank you, thank you." She clears her throat. "Bye." She hangs up the phone. Both eyes on the clock, she waits ten more minutes, praying, hoping, for Johnny to stumble through the front door, or for the librarian to call her back and confirm she had found him. I lost Mary Eunice's kid. Her heart in her throat, she watches the second hand tick by, every sixty seconds burning her. It isn't like him to wander off. Johnny had never made friends easily. He stuck close to the few kids he had known since entering school, Julia and Sam and Thomas; he would never take off with total strangers. He was a mama's boy. Lana paces, her hand in her hair, across the floor of the living room. What should I do?

She looks up to the clock again. Mary Eunice gets home in half an hour. She clears her throat and tilts her head back. No, she can't wait for Mary Eunice to get home. Scribbling a note, she writes, "Gone to the library. Be home soon," and signs her name before she darts out the front door and heads down the street she knows Johnny takes to the library. "Johnny?" she calls each time she heads down a new block. "Johnny?" It takes her twenty minutes to reach the library, but she sees no sign of him. Oh my god. Lana paces outside the front of the building, hoping for him to make an appearance, but he doesn't; people filter in and out of the library, all of them ogling at her where she sweats and dances from one side of the sidewalk to the other.

Finally, a man approaches her. "Ma'am, can I… help you?" She glances up at him. He has his wallet in his hand. "I've got a dime, if you need to make a phone call. Are you waiting for someone?"

She shakes her head. "No—No, I'm fine." I'm not fine. I've got to head back home. I've got to keep looking for him. I've got to call the police. "Thank you." She walks away from her, a slight jog in her step as she escapes the clutches of the well-intentioned man. The humid late summer air clings to her, beading on her skin alongside her sweat. She marches down the main street, peeking at every house and business. "Johnny?" she calls, her voice growing in desperation and in volume.

At the mouth of a side alley, she spies a sneaker—a red sneaker, one she recognizes, because she bought it for him. "Johnny?" She screams his name down the alley, which ends in a dead end and dumpster; her voice echoes back at her. She hears him before she sees him, not a word but a bellow of pain. Without thought, Lana races down the alley, her shoes crunching in old glass; he rounds the dumpster, blood running down his face, and greets her, but he stumbles, and it slows him enough for two other boys to jump on him. She lunges forward to catch him, some part of her remembering the piece of herself which had scooped him up when he was a toddler and kept him from falling on her kitchen floor when he tried to wear her high heels, but she falls short, and he lands on his face on the asphalt.

Johnny thrashes where he lies on the ground in the mess of broken glass. One boy smashes his bleeding face onto the ground. The other sits on top of him with both knees. But they look at her, gaping, the expression of uh-oh palpable on their faces. Johnny tries to wriggle enough to look at her. "Aunt Lana—" His voice breaks off, weeping. The boys have torn his clothing and left gashes all over his body. "Watch out, there's—" The boy slaps him so he shuts up.

A third boy saunters around the dumpster with a switchblade in his hand. Lana's breath hitches in her chest. She doesn't run—she can't. She won't leave Johnny here. If she runs—and it's unlikely she can outrun three teenage boys, she knows—every minute she spends trying to call the police is a minute they can kill him. The boy fingers his knife. "Keep the faggot quiet," he says to his henchmen.

"Tobias—" Lana remembers this name. "Tobias, we should get outta here, before the cops show up!" He ignores the other boy and instead approaches Lana; he stands a head taller than her, brawnier across the shoulders, a fat gut wobbling whenever he walks. When she must crane her neck to look at his face, he halts, near enough for her to smell his cologne, but she does not take a step back. She doesn't even blink. Her heart thunders so loud, she almost can't hear the boys speak. "Tobias, leave 'er alone! She's just an old broad! You know the rules—we don't mess with girls."

"Maybe it's time the rules change." His shadow blocks out the sun, blotting out the sky; he covers her the way Thredson once did. He holds the knife out to her. The blade touches the surface of the skin on her throat where she already bears a scar—where another man tried and failed to slit her throat. "You don't have much fight in you, do you, old lady?" His foul smelling breath wafts across her face. "How much fight can I wring out of you?"

"More than you've got," Lana mutters.

One of the boys on the ground curses and flings backward, gripping a bleeding hand where Johnny sank his teeth into the fleshy palm. "Don't touch her!" Johnny shrieks. "Don't touch her!" His desperate scream holds no threat, only pain, but he bucks against his last restraint like a frightened wild horse bound in a lasso for the first time. "Leave her alone!"

Tobias turns his back on her. "Dude, I told you to keep the queer quiet!" Like a cat, Lana pounces on his back. The weight catches him off-balance. He dives to the ground, catching himself with his hands; the blade cuts into his palm, and he howls like a wounded animal caught in the trap. He grapples for her, rolling beneath her, trying to get on top of her and pin her down. "Crazy bitch!" Lana drapes, weak and useless, over him for a moment, just long enough for him to pitch her to the side so she can seize the knife by the handle.

Johnny wails her name, bleating like a lost lamb, but his voice dies off in retching. She bounces back to her feet, brandishing the knife at the three boys; she starts by pointing at the one who has just stomped on the crotch of Johnny's pants so he collapses in his own vomit in the broken glass. "Are you done?" she asks in a low whisper. The two younger boys nod, but the third holds his head tall, jaw set, both eyes pinned on the knife, trying to figure out how he can win it back from her. "If you ever lay a finger on my godson—ever again, or any of his friends, or his mother, or anyone else you think would get to him—I swear to god, I will castrate you with this knife right here and make you eat your balls, and you can explain to your mothers why they won't have any grandchildren. Get the hell out of here."

The two younger boys dart away. The third remains. "Bitch, you don't even know how to use that." He takes two confident steps toward her. Johnny tries to wrap himself around the boy's ankle to hold him back, but the boy kicks him square in the face without even looking down. Lana waits for him to reach for her, which he does. She snaps the knife down on the back of his exposed arm. "Ow!" Snapping back, he withdraws his bleeding arm. "What's your problem, you psycho bitch?"

"My problem?" Lana stands back and laughs bitterly. "I don't have a problem. You're the one who picks on smaller boys so you feel better about your tiny cock." His face fumes bright red. He lunges for her. She side-steps and hooks out her leg so he stumbles. Shoving him from behind, he lands square on his face. He groans, long and deep. "Get the hell out of here, before I decide to call your parents and tell them what you were doing back here—where you really got that cut, and what happened to your father's switchblade."

He doesn't need any more motivation. As he stumbles back to his feet, he staggers back up the alley, not so much as glancing back at her or Johnny. Folding the blade back into the handle and tucking it into the pocket of her skirt, Lana kneels beside Johnny. He peeks up at her with awestruck eyes, brown and loving. "You found me," he whispers. Blood runs out of his mouth and from his nose. "That was really badass." She takes him under the arms. He winces as she struggles to lift him, but neither of them utter a complaint. Once she props him up in a sitting position, she moves his head by the chin, looking at his cheek, where the broken glass ground his flesh to a pulp. "Please don't tell Mom," he whispers.

"What?"

"I—I don't want her to worry…" He coughs. It makes him wince and touch his own sore chest. "Tell her I got hit by a car or something…"

Lana touches the other cheek, cut but not as horribly as the other cheek. "I've got to tell her the truth. She deserves to know." Fat tears roll from his eyes. He hisses as they burn in all of the cuts covering his face. "Come here. Lean on me. You've got to stand up." She hoists him under the arms, and he fights to climb to his feet, whole face twisting in agony, one hand flying to the crotch of his pants. Vomit streaks down his torn clothes; the stench permeates from him. "Are you okay to walk? Is anything broken?" He shakes his head as his pallor whitens.

A walk which usually takes fewer than ten minutes takes them thirty-five minutes, gradually slowing as all of the adrenaline leaves Lana's wearied body. She aches from tussling with the boys like a teenager again. Her body burns. She regrets letting the largest boy drop her so effortlessly just in an attempt to get the knife from him. When they stop to rest at one stop sign, less than a block away from Lana's house, he whispers, "You didn't have to fight for me like that." He reclines his head on her shoulder. With each passing minute, he grows heavier, and Lana doesn't know if it's because her muscles are tired or if it's because he's leaning harder on her, struggling to hold up his own weight. "You could've run off 'n called the cops. I wouldn't have been mad. I was worried they were about to kill you."

"I was worried they were about to kill you," Lana counters. "I couldn't have left you there. Three on one isn't a fair fight. It might have taken ten or fifteen minutes for the cops to get there. There's a lot that can happen." His long hair frames his bleeding face, swollen lips and twisted nose gleaming like the setting sun. "Besides," she says, a teasing afterthought, "Mary Eunice would kill me if I let anything happen to you."

He chuckles, sad and weak. "Thank you," he croaks, voice thick and nasally with his own blood.

On her porch, Lana struggles to open the front door, fumbling with it with weak, sweaty hands before it opens. She staggers into the house, dragging Johnny behind her, where he can barely lift his feet. Mary Eunice stands from the couch, turning off the television. "Thank God, I was starting to worry—" She cuts herself off mid-sentence at the sight of the two of them. "Oh my word."

The last few feet between Lana and the couch seem insurmountable, but she manages, shoving Johnny onto it. She sways on her feet. Mary Eunice catches her from behind. "Lana! Lana, sit down—oh, my goodness, what happened?" Mary Eunice holds her, so instead of collapsing, she folds over on top of herself in the floor. "Johnny? What happened to you both?"

He lifts his head from the couch. "Tobias," he murmurs. Mary Eunice sits beside him on the couch, making a faint noise. "He jumped me on the way home from the library…" His eyes drowse. "Aunt Lana found me, when she realized I was gone, and—totally kicked their asses, it was so awesome, Mom." From the faint keening Mary Eunice produces, she doesn't share Johnny's definition of awesome. He leans against her.

Mary Eunice looks down at Lana in the floor, and she crawls to the edge of the couch and struggles to pull herself up. Mary Eunice meets her halfway and drags her up. "Lana?" she whispers. "Are you okay?"

"I'm almost fifty years old and I got drop-kicked by a teenage football player," Lana mutters, but she rests her head against Mary Eunice's. An arm wraps around her waist. "I've never been better." She plants her dry lips on the side of her face, a soft kiss. Mary Eunice kisses her, real and desperate and sad and frightened. "We're okay." Lana brushes her shaky hand along her lover's face. "We're okay. Nothing's broken. We just need to rest a bit, and then we'll wash up."

Johnny, likewise, reclines on his mother, breathing through his open mouth. "Mhm," he agrees. "We're okay, Mom."

Mary Eunice bows her head to kiss the top of his head, an arm around either person. "I love you both." She shakes with tears. Lana wants to kiss them away and squeeze her grief and helplessness right out of her, but she can barely lift her head. "I'm so sorry. I—I'm going to call the school on Monday. I'm going to talk to them. This can't happen again. If they won't do anything about it, I'll send you to a different school."

"Don't worry about it, Mom. Aunt Lana scared 'em good. Besides, Tobias jumps on anybody who can't outrun him."

"I'm your mom. It's my job to keep you safe." Mary Eunice's voice breaks. "I have to protect you."

Lana snuggles against her in spite of her own sweaty, overheated body. "Then make him join the track team. Nobody will run him down ever again. Right?" She's half-drunk on her own exhaustion as she says this, but to her surprise, Johnny sees the validity of the idea, and Mary Eunice cheers for him finally joining an extracurricular activity.

Johnny is the fastest kid on the track team without a shadow of a doubt. Lana drives him to his practices when Mary Eunice can't get out of work, but his mom makes it to every meet. They make banners bearing his name. They become the rowdiest parents in the bleachers. He wins state, and he does it again, and then he does it again his senior year, making a record of the student with the most state wins under his belt. At his last competition, Thomas and Julia pile into the bleachers as well, all screaming their support for Johnny McKee, number thirty-three, running five paces ahead of all of the other sprinters.

He wins an athletic scholarship and an academic scholarship to his first-choice college in Augusta. When he leaves, Mary Eunice turns off the air conditioning in the apartment and unplugs all of the appliances, emptying the fridge; she moves in with Lana. On the first night, they make love. Their fingers have memorized the maps of one another's bodies by now, but it's always something new for them, always a new sensation or a new level of adoration. "You should quit your job," Lana says, lazily drawing shapes on Mary Eunice's back.

She looks at Lana and chuckles. "Johnny's coming home for Christmas, you know. And for the summer. I'm still paying rent on my apartment." She eases her head on top of Lana's breast, tongue flicking across its bud with a teasing show of effort.

"You can get a part-time job and save up for that. He'll be ready to move out in two years at the most." Lana gazes down at her. "He'll be glad to see you quit it." Mary Eunice questions her with an arched brow. "Once," she says, "he came here crying because you were overworking yourself. Because you didn't feel like anything you did was good enough, and he didn't know how to help you." Mary Eunice's azure eyes soften into goo with affection for her son. "He'll be glad to know that place isn't abusing you anymore."

The next day, Mary Eunice walks away from her career for the second time in her life, this time leaving her job of eighteen years. That night, they crack open the champagne. "Somehow I keep leaving workplaces to take care of you," Mary Eunice teases over the bottle, winking to her girlfriend. "How do you explain that?" Lana wraps her arms around her from behind and kisses her neck. Mary Eunice giggles and whirls around. "I feel so free! I'm never going to have to see my horrible boss again! It's just us, now! We can talk about whatever we want—" She cuts herself off, and her eyes widen. "We can make love on every solid surface in this house, oh, Lana, the possibilities are endless!"

Lana bursts out laughing, but Mary Eunice pushes her against the counter. "Oof," she says as her butt strikes it. "You're serious?"

"I'm dead serious."

"Aren't you going to get bored of me eventually?"

"Never." Mary Eunice lunges for a kiss, which Lana grants with a grin. She nibbles on her lover's lower lip. "Mm, Lana…" She breaks the kiss. Her stomach rumbles aloud. A blush courses over her cheeks, faint and pink. "But maybe, after we eat?"

They make love on the couch, rather than in the kitchen, as they both agree it's easier. Afterward, Lana flicks on the television, and Mary Eunice lies on top of her, both of them watching a rerun of The Twilight Zone. "Am I supposed to feel bad?" Mary Eunice asks. "That Johnny is gone? Empty nest syndrome, or—whatever it is they call it?" Lana looks at her, a question in her eyes. "I miss him, of course! I miss his morning hugs. I miss hearing him and Sam talk on the phone before bed every night. I miss him waking up in a thunderstorm and getting in bed with me, because—because he hates the sound of thunder…" She drifts off, looking wistful. "But I'm not—I'm not destroyed, without him. I thought I would feel empty with him gone. I miss the sound of his voice, but at the same time, I'm—I'm so relieved that I made it this far. That he's a good man, and he doesn't know anything about himself."

Lana brushes a lock of hair behind her ear. "You know," she says, "when he was born, I looked at him, and I thought, 'If anyone can crush all of the evil out of this little bastard, Mary Eunice can.'" Her eyes widen, appalled, but she doesn't interrupt. "You did it. You made him a good person. He's soft, and he's gentle, and he's kind, and he's smart. I could never have treated him with enough compassion to bring out all of those traits in him."

Mary Eunice's shocked look softens. "I never expected you to care about him at all," she admits. "It took me awhile, even—once the newness wore off, you know. First, I was like a kid who got a new babydoll, and I was happy with my new toy, but then I realized that the babydoll actually needed its diaper changed for real. It scared me to death, wondering—wondering what I had gotten myself into. If I could help him at all, if I could make him happy…" She quivers with a breath, the way Lana always knows she's about to cry. Lana laces her hands around her waist. "When he was eight months old, I had this horrible dream that he was a grownup, and I walked in on him—he was cutting you up into pieces. And he turned to me, and he just jumped at me, and I woke up in this cold sweat wondering if one of us would be his first victim, and it—it took me months to get over it. I moved him into the other bedroom and started locking my bedroom door, like he was going to get out of his crib and kill me."

Lana wipes the tears from her cheeks. "But then, when he was two, he caught a frog, and he—he was so little, he didn't know he was squeezing too hard, I wasn't watching him close enough. Until he started crying, because it was dead. And he just held it all close, like you hold a baby, and told it how sorry he was. I still remember how he said, 'I didn't mean to kill it, Mommy!'" She laughs, wry and sad. "And—I wasn't afraid anymore, after that. He was so upset he had hurt that frog. It just broke his heart. I knew, then, he had a bigger heart than I had ever imagined."

Lana curls her fingers in her girlfriend's hair, stroking it, combing through it. "I always thought you loved him at first sight. You always acted like it. Like you adored him. Like I had given you the gift you had always wanted."

Sad, round eyes land on her face. "Oh, Lana. I knew if I let you think anything else, you would never stop blaming yourself for giving him to me." Her pink lips form a smile, tender and loving; Lana doesn't think anyone has ever looked at her with such love in their eyes, and here she is, basking in Mary Eunice's sunlight, drinking in all of the nutrients she provides. "I never wanted children at all. Even when I was a girl, I wanted to be a nun, and when I lost that, I tried the next best thing. I didn't want to take him."

This stirs inside of Lana, some kind of unholy stew of pain and guilt and regret. "Then why did you do it? I told you you didn't have to—I told you I was putting him up for adoption—"

Mary Eunice caresses her cheek. "You wouldn't have been happy like that. You never would have stopped wondering where he was, what had happened to him, if he had gotten adopted or if he was just in foster care." Lana chokes at the thought, tears stinging her eyes. "You never would have stopped worrying about him finding out who he is and where he came from. If I took him—you said it yourself. I had the best chance of keeping everything from him, because I know the real story." She brushes the pad of her thumb over Lana's eyelids, kissing the single fallen tear from her cheek. "I took him because I loved you, Lana. Because I couldn't dream of a world where I didn't make your life as easy and painless as I possibly could. And you gave me my wonderful son, and I love him more than I ever loved God, and I won't regret any choice I made for as long as I live."

Lana's inconsolable tears fall from her cheeks, and Mary Eunice holds her so close, she only tastes the smell of her girlfriend's perfume and the heat of her naked skin. Mary Eunice teases her body with hands trailing over her breasts and slipping between her legs, not seeking sex but rather distracting her. "I never would have asked if I had known—" Mary Eunice kisses her. All of her love pushes deep into her mouth, fervent and honest. Lana shivers. What if she hadn't given Johnny to Mary Eunice? Where would they be now? Would they still be together? Tears slip from her eyes. Her legs tangle with her girlfriend's, and she bows her head in a melancholy resignation, bare arms locking around Mary Eunice's neck. "I've been with you longer than I was with Wendy," she whispers.

"Oh, Lana, I'm so sorry." Their bare breasts brush. "I love you so much."

"I love you, too." She buries her sorrows into the stomach of her beloved, sharing orgasm after orgasm, until they both doze into exhaustion.

…

"Hey, Mom?" Johnny asks. They're in their apartment, cleaning up the last of everything. Johnny has an apartment in August with Sam now; he's moving there permanently at the end of the summer. "We have things in the attic, right? It's been years, but I swore I saw you up there once. I can get anything down so you don't have to climb the ladder." He tugs on the string on the hatch door leading up into the attic so the door swings down. He catches the ladder and unfolds it all the way to the floor.

Mary Eunice spies him from where she's sorting through her collection of things from his childhood, all of the assignments she had saved—the first story he wrote, a drawing he had made in art class in the first grade labelled "me and mi mom," all of his report cards which professed him a straight A student even after the subjects were lost on her and her lackluster academic record. "Be careful, Johnny!" she calls without second thought. She has her nose buried in an essay he wrote when he was eleven about the Outsiders, fighting her way through every word with narrowed eyes.

Johnny climbs up into the dusty attic and reaches to tug on the light bulb, which clicks to life and casts the dark place in a dim, yellow light. A few boxes lay scattered around, lids tucked on securely, and a few plastic bags hold old clothes and toys. He tosses down the soft things first, knowing they won't break, and then he approaches the first of the boxes, lifting the lid to peek in at the sorts of things inside. Toy soldiers, horse figurines, collectibles, all things wrapped in newspaper meet his eyes; he unfolds a particular ceramic piggy bank, hand-painted. He grins at it in its many colors. He remembers when his mom splurged to buy them two of these piggy banks, blank with accompanying brushes and paints, and they spent the day each painting a piggy bank for the other. Flipping it over to look at the cork on the bottom, he reads where she wrote in black paint, "Love, Mom." She still has the one he painted for her in her bedroom—he's seen it when using the bathroom at Aunt Lana's house on her nightstand.

Wrapping the piggy bank back up in its newspaper, he hoists the box onto his shoulder and scales down the ladder, placing it beside the bags of toys. Then he climbs back up into the attic and, curious, peeks into another box to find more collectibles and things from his childhood. In the third box, he finds the same. Only when approaching the fourth box, labelled "Johnny" on the side, does he get a foreboding feeling, like his mother wouldn't really want him to look in this box. Oh, don't be silly, he thinks to himself. It has my name on it. He lifts the lid of the box.

Where the rest of the boxes had newspaper to protect the contents, this one doesn't. It's a large stack of documents with faded text. "Old taxes," he mutters, putting them aside and digging deeper into the box. Dragging it into the light, he shuffles through the papers to find a series of pictures snapped on an old Polaroid. The first is a baby—he assumes himself, because the back reads "Johnny McKee, born August 19, 1965" in his mother's elegant script. The next few pictures are the same, him, naked in some pictures, diapered in others, wrapped in blue blankets. One image only holds a hand blurring the lens, the background apparently hospital bed. A distorted face makes up the top corner, dark hair framing the woman's face. Johnny frowns. But Mom is blonde… Another picture shows him, smothered in blue blankets, held to a woman's chest, but the arms are tanner with fatter, more frequent freckles than his mother's.

Under the photographs, he finds more documents, all bearing his mother's familiar signature, though faded by the years of resting in this dark attic. "This document recognizes a formal recognition of legal guardianship for Mary Eunice McKee over the infant Johnny McKee on this day, August 22, 1965, until he comes of age," he reads aloud. "What the hell?" I'm not adopted! Mom told me all about my dad! Aunt Lana, too! He realizes Aunt Lana has never actually told him anything about his father—she never met him—but she's told him plenty of stories about when his mother was expecting him, and that's practically the same thing. A few more documents, as he flips through them, mark her as his legal guardian, adopted as a ward of the state, taken into her care.

At the very bottom of the box, a document stained yellow with age rests. The bold print at the top of the page reads, "Record of Live Birth. Commonwealth of Massachusetts." Johnny lifts it up to the light to make out the faded print. "Johnny McKee, born August 19, 1965, 7:17 AM. Massachusetts General Hospital, Boston, Massachusetts, 02114. White, male, firstborn." None of this is news to him. But beneath it, under the title of mother, where his mother's name and information should be, he finds nothing of hers. His stomach sickens. "Lana Winters, born October 16, 1932. White female born in Georgia. Resides at 303 Ninut Lane."

Johnny rips his gaze from the birth certificate to the pictures again, first gazing at the arms holding him. Those arms, does he know those arms? Are those Lana's arms, still young and brown? He has never paid enough attention to her physique. But the other picture, with the hand in the lens, the distorted face in the corner, framed by dark hair. Brunette hair. Like mine. Johnny seizes the box and slams the lid on it, dropping it and scrambling down the ladder in a sprint for the bathroom. He collapses over the ceramic bowl and vomits. "Johnny?" The sound of his retching draws his mother's attention—she is still his mother, he doesn't have sufficient reason to doubt her yet—and she follows him into the bathroom. "Johnny! My word, are you okay?"

Her cool hands caress his face. His skin has heated up all over, and as she washes his face with a cold washcloth, he croaks, "Mom?" and hugs her tight. She's softer now than she has been ever before in her life, plump from the leisurely days spent at Lana's house. Lana. The thought of her name makes his stomach flip, and he gulps to keep from vomiting again as his mom strokes his long, dark hair. I don't look anything like her. He gazes up at Mary Eunice. Her blonde hair, her blue eyes, her fair porcelain skin with a faint dusting of freckles like someone spilled a salt shaker—none of those things match his body, his dark hair, his dark eyes, the fat freckles which cover him from head to toe just like the freckles on the arms of that woman in the picture, the woman who had given birth to him.

He pushes back from the hug. "What's the matter?" she asks. He scans her with his eyes in disbelief. "Johnny? Do you need to sit down?"

"I'm adopted."

Mary Eunice blinks as he blurts the words. No, no, no… Her heart flounders in her chest like a fish. He's nineteen. She's made it this far. She's raised him. He can't learn everything now! "You're not adopted, honey. Where would you get an idea like that?"

The nervous, hysterical pitch to her voice indicates her own disbelief. "Don't lie to me." Johnny withdraws, folding into himself. She reaches for him, but he retreats and shrugs her hands off of himself. "Mom, don't—don't lie to me, please, just tell me the truth—" He shivers with unshed tears, shoulders quaking, voice thick. "Don't tell me any more lies."

She gazes back at him. Her heart breaks. Lana, I'm so sorry. She swallows hard, closing her eyes, hoping for everything to disappear. Maybe she will wake up and he'll be five again, ready to play at the park after a long day at work. Maybe she'll blink and he'll be the toddler slipping in Lana's high heeled shoes. Maybe she'll turn around and hold a tiny baby again. Anything, anything, would hurt less than this. "What did you find?" she asks, not because she wants to hide things from him, but became she needs to know where to begin.

"Pictures—someone, not you, holding me, in a hospital bed—documents formalizing my adoption—" He cuts himself off, choking on his words. "Your name isn't on my birth certificate. Aunt Lana's is." She blinks, long and slow, at him. I could've told him he was adopted. I could've told him he wasn't mine. I can't tell him he's hers. She reaches for him again, hoping he will let her touch him, praying he will let her show him her love. You are mine, she wants to say. You have always been my son. But he pulls away. He hesitates, tears and snot streaking his face, before he whirls and around pushes past her. "I can't believe this." Johnny doesn't shout—he has never raised his voice at her, never learned such a coping mechanism, but the brokenness inside of him makes her wish he had screamed at her until her eardrums exploded. "I can't believe—you—" He doesn't stop in the hallway, making a beeline for the door.

Mary Eunice jogs to catch up with him. "Johnny! Johnny! Wait!" She catches him by the elbow. He tries to shake her off, but he won't use any strength, and she clings tight like a child to a favored teddy bear. "Wait!" she pleads. He's as tall as she is, now, slight from his athletics but wiry. He still allows her to drag him away from the door. "Where are you going? Why—" She blinks back tears. Don't cry, don't cry, you can't cry right now. "Johnny, please…"

He glares down at her, but he doesn't glare like Lana; he shares her eyes, the things she loves most about her girlfriend and her son, but he doesn't know how to give them the vitriol Lana can squeeze into a single gaze. "I need to talk to her! I need to know where I came from—I need to know who my father is—Why did she give me away? Why did she give me to you? Where is my dad?"

Oh, Johnny. Mary Eunice places both hands on his forearm, squeezing it. "Johnny," she whispers, slow and soft, hoping the sound of his name will help him realize the answers to the questions he has. Her eyes refuse to hold the tears any longer. They slide free without her consent. "Lana has known she was a lesbian since she was ten years old." His eyes don't hold the recognition she seeks, however horrible and volatile. Is it too late now? Is it too late to invent a man? Someone Lana loved, who left her? Mary Eunice has told too many lies to try to build another one now. "You already know who your father is." Her voice is a bare whisper, shaking. She wipes her nose with the back of her hand. "You read about him."

His dark eyes, almost coal, glitter like gems in his face. She reaches up to wipe away his tears as they fall, cupping his handsome, tan face in both hands. "No," he says, a gruff denial. "That baby died, it was born dead, she told me so herself, I asked her, she said I could ask her and I did—" His words choke him. He seizes into a shudder. "I'm not, I can't be—"

"Sweetheart…" He wrenches away from her. "She lied. She lied to protect you, so no one would ever suspect what you are! She wanted you to have the best chance at a normal life, she knew people were watching her and knew you would never escape that shadow—" Mary Eunice stops reaching for him when he rips away again, tucking her arms around herself to keep herself from trying to hug him on reflex. He has never not wanted her to hug him before. "Johnny, I'm sorry."

"Were you ever going to tell me? Were you just going to let me live like this? Not knowing who I am?"

She closes her eyes. "I know who you are, Johnny," she whispers. She wants to hold him. Part of her wishes a thunderstorm would rise up, would shake the apartment, so they could hide under the blankets and cuddle again like they did when he was small and so afraid of the thunder and lightning. "You're smart, and you're gentle—you're funny—" Her breath hitches. "You're kind, you're loving, you're—you have so much compassion, so much generosity, you're so soft, you give such good hugs, you tell me wonderful stories, you're never too busy to talk about my boring day—" She wants to continue listing his wonderful traits, but her ragged sobs rip from her chest, and she only manages to gasp a twisted, "You're my son," before she hides her face in her hands.

He doesn't hug her. His voice is as broken as she feels on the inside. "No. I'm not."

She hears his feet on the floor, headed for the door again, and she lunges, grabbing him. God, please, please, make him understand… "Johnny," she begs, "please don't go to her, you'll only scare her, you'll only hurt her. She never meant for you to know, please don't go to her, please—"

He shakes her off. She stumbles, dizzied by her own desperation, and catches herself on the wall. "You don't get to tell me what to do!" he snaps. "You're not my mother."

The apartment door slams shut behind him. "No, no, Johnny…" Mary Eunice crumples in the floor, landing on her knees. Her whole stomach and chest aches like from a heart attack, the worst pain she has ever felt, utter agony, and she twists a few times in the carpet, wondering if something is wrong inside of her, if the stress of losing him has ruptured her stomach or broken her heart. "Oh, Johnny." I need to get up. I need to call Lana. She can't bring herself to get up. Her stomach flips, sick, but it reminds her of how Johnny's anxiety makes him sick, too, how he got it from her, and she has to gulp to keep from vomiting right there in the floor. I need to warn Lana. She's going to be so upset. Hugging herself, she presses her face down, mashing it into the carpet. Her body aches and throbs.

She lies there in the floor, clutching herself, for an indefinite amount of time, until her tears have run dry and her head throbs enough for her to close her eyes, drifting off to a fitful sleep. Eventually, Lana will realize she hasn't come home and will come looking for her. Until then, she doesn't have the strength to move. And, like she expects, the sound of the door creaking open awakens her, though she doesn't move, afraid to greet her girlfriend and receive the blunt end of her tongue in return. A heavy body drops to its knees beside her. "Mom?"

Both eyes pop open. "Johnny?" Her voice cracks. "You came back…" She tries to sit up, but her head spins from lying in the floor for so long. He catches her around the middle and tucks a pillow under her head, tugging up a blanket over her body. "Johnny, I'm so sorry." She blinks a few more tears from her eyes. "I never meant to hurt you, I never…" She shivers.

He puts an arm around her waist and pulls them close. "I'm sorry, Mom. I shouldn't have left like that." She gazes into his warm brown eyes, cast in late evening light filtering through the window. "I shouldn't have said any of that. I didn't mean it, I swear, I'm sorry."

She touches his face. It has a stubbly surface now, not soft like it was when he was a child. "I'm not upset, sweetheart." He smiles, weak and watery. "Nothing scares me more than the idea of losing you. You're all I've got, you and Lana…" She shakes her head, pain quivering inside of her. "Is she okay? Did she throw you out? Is she mad?"

"No, no, I—I didn't say anything. About that. I just…" He sighs. Mary Eunice studies the planes of his face. How many times did he run to Lana's house as a child? How many times did he seek shelter with her? Call her for the homework which rendered his mother stupid and helpless? "I sat in my car, looking in her window, thinking, trying to figure out what I wanted to say—because first I wanted to be mean, but I couldn't do that, and I know it always freaks her out if I go in crying, but I couldn't stop…" He wipes his eyes. "She came outside and asked me if I was going to cook in my car all afternoon or if I was going to come inside. I guess she'd been watching me for awhile from the window, because she already had the pizza ordered."

This makes Mary Eunice chuckle, sad and wry; she can't smell the garlic on his breath for her clogged nose, but she knows Lana always buys Johnny a pizza when he's sad, the way a grandmother might bake cookies and brew tea. "The kind you like? Pepperoni?"

Johnny nods. "Mhm. She asked me what I was upset about, and I told her we had a fight, and you were still here. She wanted to know if you were okay, and I said I thought so. And that was it, really—we ate, and she gave me something to read, and then I said I wanted to spend the night here with you, so she gave me these blankets. Our last night here, at home." Mary Eunice grins, but she doesn't stop wiping her nose. Johnny pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and dabs at her nostrils for her. "Do you remember when I was little, and Thomas told me if I blew my nose, all of my brains would fall out my nose, and I was afraid to blow my nose for years?"

Her sad chuckle blooms into a genuine laugh. "How could I forget? I had to chase you and pin you down to get that booger buster up your nose and suck all the snot out."

He lies down beside her, resting his head on the pillow, their faces inches apart; his breath wafts across her face. "Will you tell me everything now?" he asks. "Why did you take me? Why…" A shadow of confusion crosses his face. "Everything I know is a lie, and I've known you for nineteen years, and I don't know anything about you. Nothing that's true, anyway."

"Oh, Johnny." Has she deprived him of something by lying to him? Has she deprived him of her own truth? "It's a long story," she says, first, a warning. "I'll tell you if you want to hear, but I don't want you to be bored."

"I'm never bored, Mom. I love long stories. True stories."

With this in mind and in her heart, Mary Eunice tells him everything, the truth, as much as she knows it. "I didn't meet your Aunt Lana in high school," she says. "But everything else I told you about me, then, that was true. I didn't do well in school, and I dropped out when I was sixteen. I ran away from my aunt's house. I didn't—I didn't have any friends, though. I didn't go to work. I went to the abbey. I told them I was ready to serve, and I joined them."

"You were a nun?" She nods. "Like… A real nun? For real?"

A grin breaks her face. "What's so unbelievable about that? Nuns are people under the habit, you know. They're not just walking robots dressed in black snapping rulers and blabbering Bible verses."

He rolls over, gazing up at the ceiling, shaking with laughter. "I don't know, I just can't imagine you—I don't know, being mean to anyone, or being that excited about Jesus, or—maybe I just assumed lesbians and nuns were totally opposite creatures!" She swats him playfully on the chest, and he catches her hand and pushes it away. "What happened, then? Why did you leave?"

"After I took my preliminary vows—the vows of a novitiate, I was seventeen by then—the Mother Superior, Mother Claudia, heard of a need for more Sisters in the Briarcliff sanitarium. Owned and operated by the church. The turnover for volunteer Sisters was astronomical, so she sought out nuns who had taken solemn vows, who would have no choice but to stay or walk away from the abbey completely. So I went there, and I worked there for eleven years."

"That was where you met Aunt Lana?" he asks.

She nods. "She went there looking to meet with Kit after he was arrested, suspected of being Bloody Face, because Alma had gone missing. Everyone agreed, then, that he was the one killing all of those women, and all of the journalists wanted in on it. Lana was the smartest of them, though. She was the only one who got in."

"But she got caught."

"Yes. Sister Jude, the head nun, found her and imprisoned her. And it was cruel fate that Dr. Thredson—Bloody Face—he heard about Kit Walker's arrest, and he volunteered to serve as the court appointed psychiatrist, to make sure he was framed."

Johnny's delicate brown eyes sadden. "My father."

Mary Eunice nods again, biting her lower lip. "We were so understaffed at Briarcliff," she remembers, "it was—oh, it was four or five days before I did a patient count and realized she was missing. That night, the police returned her to us, after the car accident. Sister Jude didn't listen to anything she said—Kit was the only one who knew anything, and no one would believe him. They wound up taking things into their own hands. They tied him up and tortured him until he confessed, and they recorded it, so when Mother Claudia came to visit, she freed Lana and let her take the confession to the police."

"But she killed him."

"Yes. She killed him."

"What happened to you?"

Mary Eunice blinks. She had forgotten she was telling Johnny about herself, but his reminder brings her back to earth. "When it surfaced, that Sister Jude had made us ignore the pleas of a woman who was telling the truth—that we were holding an innocent man as a criminal and had a murderer cozying up in the staff room with us—that the Monsignor was overlooking the inhumane treatments inside Briarcliff to avoid scrutiny so he would have a better chance at becoming Cardinal… I left. Mother Claudia offered to reappoint me to a different facility, but… I don't know. I couldn't stand the thought of letting Lana go without an apology, at least. I loved her even then, I think, but I didn't know it, yet." She remembers how she burned, feeling naked, when she stripped off the habit she had sewn and returned it to Mother Claudia with an apology, shaking her head and saying, No more. Not from me. "I stayed a few nights in a homeless shelter before I found a telephone directory and walked to her house."

"And she just let you in? After all that?"

His incredulity doesn't surprise her. "No! No, not at all—She actually slammed the door in my face, the first time I knocked." She had felt the same incredulity, those years ago, when she stood there, staring at a blank door, wondering if she had made some kind of horrible mistake by ever leaving the church. Johnny squeezes her tighter around the waist at the harsh words. "But I think I caught her interest. She's a journalist, it's her job to be nosy, and—well, it's not every day a former nun shows up on your doorstep with no shoes or habit, hair all tangled, not having showered in the better part of a week." He snorts; it's not a real laugh, but it's light and frothy, a pleasant piece to take his mind off of the rest of the dark story. "I was just standing there, staring at her door, wondering if my whole life was a mistake—wondering if there was anything I could do to help her. She looked like death itself. You know, she's never been a good cook, and she was so thin and gray, her hair was falling out. Once, she told me she only let me in because I looked like somebody had dumped a malnourished, flea-eaten dog on her porch, so I guess the misery was mutual."

"But she came back. She did let you in."

"Yeah. She did. I was just—well, I had just decided to walk off of her porch, before she called the police on me for trespassing, and I walked out to the street and stuck my thumb out to catch a ride, and she came back to the door and she said, 'Don't be an idiot. Get your ass in here. What the hell is your problem?'" Mary Eunice snickers. Maybe she shouldn't find it funny, but she does, thinking of how Lana had confronted her and how she had received it. "I told her I just wanted to apologize, and I would do anything I could to help her. I think she thought I was bluffing, but she told me I could sleep on her couch until I had a place to stay. I got that job at the hospital, and I started taking care of her. Cooking for her. Keeping her house clean. She had horrible nightmares—she still does, now, but then, they were almost every night—so I started sleeping with her."

Johnny's eyelids are growing heavy, and he curls up on the pillows, gazing up at her but not contributing anything, his hands all caught in the blankets, tucked around his chin like a child folded tight into bed. "She had tried to use a coat hanger, at Briarcliff, to end her pregnancy, but it didn't work. And she found this back alley person—it was illegal, then—but she couldn't go through with it. Being like that, on her back, naked, it just…" Mary Eunice sighs. "I found her when I got off of work that night, holding onto her picture from Wendy and just crying. She felt so trapped. She thought nothing she could do would be the right thing—for her or for you.

"It took a week or two before she decided to start poking around adoption organizations. She didn't like any of them. They all had privacy contracts, but they kept records, and those were records she didn't want to risk you finding when you grew up. Once, she asked if I knew how to deliver a baby by myself—she thought maybe she could leave you on a church doorstep, and no one would ever have a chance of knowing where you came from. She was terrified."

"I always thought Aunt Lana was fearless," Johnny whispers.

Mary Eunice smooths a hand over his dark hair, tangling her fingers in it. "I've never seen her as scared as she was, then. Afraid something horrible would happen to you if she didn't put you in the right hands, afraid someone would track you back to her if she did." He looks at her with adoration, like a puppy worshiping its owner with its very gaze. She knows his eyes like she knows the back of her own hands, the precise flecks in their depths, the way the pupil expands in the dark and becomes indiscernible from the iris. "She finally gave up and went back to an adoption organization. She reviewed their policies again and asked about how they protect their records, and they told her that, if you grew up and decided you wanted to contact her, they would reach out to her and give her the option to decline. They told her that was the best she was going to get from any agency. So she came home that night, and she told me she'd decided to do it, even though it wasn't what she wanted."

"Did you ask to take me, then?"

She smiles. "No, sweetheart. I didn't ask at all. She asked me, the next day." She rubs his cheek, studying his face. This might be the last time we ever do this. This might be the last time we ever sleep together. It hurts to think. Her little boy has grown up. "She said she'd thought about it, and she would feel better if she knew where you were. She felt better leaving you with someone she knew would take care of you, someone who would never try to track down where you came from or tell you about being adopted. She asked me if I would adopt you and raise you as my own. And—well, you love Sam. You know it makes you a little silly."

"Love has never made me adopt Sam's baby." Johnny arches an eyebrow at her, a smile hidden in the crinkles around his eyes.

Mary Eunice laughs. "Well, if he ever asks, you'll know how I felt." The cold air permeates the heavy blanket, and she draws nearer to him. Her nose has begun to clear, and she can smell his cologne now; he wears the brand she bought for his last birthday. "I just smiled and told her you were mine if she would give you to me. That was when she kissed me for the first time."

"You're whipped," Johnny accuses, but he laughs as he says it, hugging her tight. "You got me because you're whipped! That's it!" He tickles her, and she shrieks with laughter, reaching to tickle him in return. "Whipped! Whipped!" She swats his hands away and pins him down, poking at his belly through his thin shirt.

In her mind, a thousand things flash before her eyes, a million ways they've done this. She sits on this floor with a tiny newborn blowing bubbles, changing his diaper; she blows raspberries on the belly of a laughing toddler whose legs flounder while he shrieks, "Don't stop, Mommy, don't stop!"; she wrestles with a growing boy, letting him pin her down and announce, "Ha, Mom, I beat you!"; she sprawls out beside a pre-teen on the rug to help him with his homework, acting as a cheerleader when she has reached the end of her education's usefulness; she sits on this floor and listens to him with rapt attention give his final speech for English class, trying to suss out the definitions of unfamiliar words without interrupting him. As she writhes now, escaping his playful hands, tears rise to her eyes—not tears of sorrow, but tears of joy, tears of wonder at the marvelous person she created.

He stills in the blanket, both of them tangled up together and wheezing with laughter. "I love you, Mom."

"I love you, too, Johnny. More than anything else in the whole world." He curls up like a little boy again, resting his cheek on her chest. "Don't you ever doubt it. You're my son. I was there when you took your first breath. I changed your first diaper. I gave you your first bottle, I saw your first smile, I hear your first word." His breath hitches, and he clutches her close, making a thin whimpering noise in his throat. "I knew you were mine from the moment I held you in my arms. I'll love you with my whole life, as long as I live. I promise you that." She kisses his forehead. A few more tears roll down his cheeks, but he smiles, and she wipes them away, waiting for the lull of sleep to carry them away.

"They were really good stories, Mom," he whispers when she thinks he has fallen asleep. "About my dad. You told me really good stories. Thank you."

A few days after he leaves, moving away to Augusta for what seems like forever, Mary Eunice breaks in Lana's arms. "I'm going to miss him so much!" she wails. "I shouldn't have let him leave!"

"Honey, he's nineteen years old." Lana fights to keep from laughing at her, holding her tight, kissing the top of her head and rocking her in spite of the amusement she finds in this distraught caricature of her lover. "You couldn't keep him from leaving." Mary Eunice sobs, completely inconsolable, into Lana's chest. "Mary Eunice… Is this just delayed empty nest syndrome? You weren't like this when he went to college."

"He was coming back from college, now he's never coming back, I'm never going to see him again—"

"Augusta is two and a half hours from here. We can go every weekend if you want."

"It's not the same! You don't get it, you don't have kids!"

"Thank god for that."

"Why do you think it's so funny? He left! He's gone!"

Lana wraps her up in the couch throw and brushes the tears from her cheeks with her fingers. "I don't think it's funny, sunshine, not at all." Mary Eunice pouts up at her with swollen lips like a toddler. "I'm so glad that you love him. Johnny is a good kid. He'll be back here visiting more often than you like to think." Lana kisses the tip of her nose. "Is this what the fight was about? That you didn't want him to leave? You two never fought before."

Mary Eunice shakes her head. "No… Well, kind of, I guess." I should tell her the truth. She doesn't. Johnny said he won't confront Lana, and she has no reason not to trust him at his word. Lana is happier this way. "I said something kind of dumb about not making a mistake with a first love, if he was still confused about Sam, and it hurt his feelings, and the more I tried to explain myself, the deeper of a hole I dug for myself. But… Yeah, I only said it because I didn't want him to leave, and I didn't want to admit it."

A kiss to her lips eases the hard lump of nerves in her belly. "Kids leave. That's natural."

"I know. But I miss him. I miss him so much." Mary Eunice frames Lana's face with her hands, the dark brown hair dangling around her. "I wish I could wave a magic wand and make him a little baby again. Just for a day or two. I want to take care of a baby again."

Lana chuckles, looming over her. "Maybe I should distract you, then." Her fingers trail up Mary Eunice's thigh, slipping under the fabric of her skirt, and within a few minutes, she forgets she even has a son.

…

Two years later, Johnny and Sam make a surprise visit to their house. Mary Eunice answers the door while Lana works in her office, writing another episode of her show, which has built an international audience for its empathetic political commentary. "Johnny! You're home!" She jumps at him and almost knocks him down. "I missed you so much! Lana! Johnny's home!"

He catches her and spins her around. "Yeah, Mom," he laughs, "it's not like you just saw me two weeks ago! Or talked on the phone to me last night, as a matter of fact." He hugs her tight and kisses her cheek, and she kisses his back before she falls back. "Hey, Aunt Lana." Lana goes for her obligatory hug, but Johnny doesn't linger in her arms or cling to her.

"Hey, kid. Hey, Sam." He waves at the two of them with a small smile, and they usher him inside. "I'll go order a pizza." It's Lana's automatic response by now to order a pizza whenever something unexpected or troubling happens, and no one argues with her. They all arrange themselves in the living room, spreading out on the furniture, television turned off, and share the happenings of the previous two weeks; even nightly phone calls, costing a fortune (though Lana never expresses irritation toward her girlfriend—she knows she doesn't understand, really, what it's like to be a parent, and she'll spend any amount of money to show her gratitude), can't keep them close enough.

"What brings you both to town?" Mary Eunice asks as Lana sits beside her.

Johnny shrugs. "Thomas and Julia are going through Uncle Kit's estate, finally. Sorting through things. They wanted to know if I wanted anything, so I thought I'd come to town. It's always nice to be home." Sam's hand rests on his knee until Johnny takes it in his own. They don't have to wear a mask around Mary Eunice and Lana; they can express themselves, can share themselves, and that's special for all of them. "We're thinking we might move back to the city next year, after we graduate," Johnny admits. "Or at least the suburbs around here. Somewhere closer. In the state."

"So the attachment disorder is mutual," Lana says, and Mary Eunice swats her on the leg with a pink blush spreading across her cheeks. "So, Sam, what's it like coming from a family that doesn't still want to drive you to school every day?" She winks teasingly at Mary Eunice.

"Oh." Sam stares down at his feet, shrugging. "I haven't been home in awhile. My parents are ready for me to bring home a girlfriend. My mom gave me my grandma's wedding band and everything. I'm still trying to figure out how to tell them my wife's name is Johnny."

Her eyes soften. "I'm sorry."

Johnny looks at her. "What did you do? For your parents?"

"My parents caught me in bed with Wendy when we were nineteen. We ran back to college and never looked back." The pizza comes to the door, and Lana gets up to fetch it, paying the driver with a generous tip before she brings it back to the living room for all of them. "Eat up, kids."

They all devour the pizza, Mary Eunice digging in without any thought, but as she bites into the loaded specialty pizza, Johnny asks her, "Mom? I thought you didn't like any toppings on your pizza?"

She peeks over the fat crust. "That's the only lie I've ever told you."

Lana's heart skips a beat, half-expecting him to question the joke Mary Eunice just told, but Johnny laughs. "Alright, then." He picks all of his toppings off except the pepperoni and sprinkles them on top of her piece of pizza, making her eyes glow with delight. "You can have 'em on my other piece, too. I don't like the gross crunchy stuff."

Sam chuckles. "The gross crunchy stuff? You mean the vegetables? No wonder you're so small. Won't even eat a pepper if it's on a pizza." He tells Mary Eunice, "Spaghetti is all he ever eats. Was he always like that?"

She shrugs. "Probably not, before I got too tired to ever do anything but boil pasta."

"Oh, Mom, you're too hard on yourself!" Johnny stops plucking the sausage off of his pizza and putting it on hers to reassure her. "You were practically a slave laborer at that hospital. Once you dozed off over the stove and I had to keep you from lightning your own hair on fire. Besides, I'm an athlete. We need carbs."

The night passes in peace and quiet for them, and the next day, Lana spends her hours on hold with her director on the phone while still writing the script for her next episode. Mary Eunice tells her she's running to the store, and she leaves the house in silence except for the scribbling of Lana's pen on the paper and her fingers on the typewriter, squinting at the fine print behind her reading glasses, which have a crack in the lens. She hasn't bothered to replace them because she likes the frames, which aren't in production anymore. Mary Eunice says it makes her old-fashioned. She doesn't mind.

A sharp pounding at the door startles her out of her skin. She starts up from the her desk with a gasp of surprise, whirling around to look out the window at the porch where Johnny rocks impatiently on her welcome mat, a round black package in his hand, what looks like a stereo in the other. Eyes narrow, she rips off her reading glasses and heads to the front door; she has never seen him so agitated before, hopping from one foot to the other, face flushed and shirt flapping in the wind. "Johnny?' she asks, answering the door. "What the hell are you doing here?" He barges past her into the house. Her heart skips a beat, and she sets her jaw. "Excuse me! What's going on?"

"Is Mom home?"

She hesitates. "She'll be here in a few minutes," she says. It may be a lie; she knows Mary Eunice tends to wander in the aisles of the grocery store, feeling freer now with her money than ever before, like she can buy a luxury item without the power going out or an eviction notion being left on her front door. But part of a hard no makes her worry Johnny has different intentions entirely; unlike Mary Eunice, she has never shaken the secret, tiny, deep fear of finding him one day with blood on his hands and a mask on his face. "Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

Johnny places the stereo on the coffee table. "This will tell you." He unwraps a tape and slams it down into the box—a tape recorder, she realizes, not a stereo, not a radio at all.

An old tape recorder, at that. "What?" she says, but her voice comes in a bare whisper. "Are you writing music now? Is it too vulgar for your mom to hear?" She crosses her arms, but her attempt to stand up tall leaves her spine feeling weak. Before it plays, she tries one more time to distract him. "You could afford a better device. That looks like it came out in the 1950's." His eyes are dark, and he doesn't look directly at her.

The tape whistles with crackling air before she hears her own voice. "You'd like to kill me right now, wouldn't you, Oliver?" She and Johnny both stiffen like electricity courses through them. "This might change your mind." Her previous self, the self from twenty years ago, unwraps the paper holding her fate in its print, the paper which tells her she's pregnant—which tells Oliver she's pregnant.

The sound of his voice makes her want to cover her ears. She resists the urge. "What's this?" Two words, only two words, but they echo. She knows she will hear them in her dreams for weeks, again. Goosebumps pop up all over her back.

"The ultimate cosmic joke. You got me pregnant." She folds the paper back up, paper crinkling, and then the fabric of her dress rustles as she tucks it into her pocket. Lana rocks onto heels. She wants to turn off the tape. She wants to kick the tape recorder across the room. She wants to throw Johnny out of her house. She does none of those things. For twenty years of lies, she can give him five minutes of her time.

Oliver puffs with something like happiness. He didn't have emotions. He never felt happiness. "I'm gonna be a father." None of the faux joy in his voice could ever touch the love which Mary Eunice feels for her son. None of it could parallel the enthusiasm with which she hugs him nor the tears she weeps when she studies his childhood pictures, even the ones where she squeezed an uncomfortable Lana and a grinning toddler into the same frame.

"No, Oliver, you're not going to be a father. Not this time."

He sounds like a child. "What do you mean?" Thirst and hunger had exhausted him when they attacked with their ambush. "Oh, no, no, no. Lana…" The sound of her name on his lips is volatile. It makes her want to change her name, just as it did twenty years ago, and the thought of hearing Mary Eunice call her by that same name makes her belly flip. It was easier when he called her Mommy—Mary Eunice would never call her that. "Please, please, please, don't give him away! I know what it's like to be raised in the system! It ruins—"

"Oliver, stop." A faint tinkering of metal clicks together, a wire coat hanger, a rusty thing she found in one of the old closets and unspooled. As the recording plays, she knows her former self has already penetrated herself with the vile instrument and failed to kill the stubborn bastard inside of her womb, though her former self doesn't yet know of her own failure. She's high on the sense of success. The monster is tied and bound, the abomination he left inside of her is gone, and she has one mission—to preserve Kit Walker's innocence. "This monster you planted inside of me?" Johnny recoils at the word monster. Tears roll down his cheeks. Lana's eyes remain dry. She won't give that monster—not Johnny, but the real monster, the monster in the tape—the satisfaction of making her weep again from the grave. "I'm getting rid of it. And since I'm stuck in here, I'm gonna have to get creative."

Fabric hits the ground, her panties; she's stripping down in front of him without a care. He's already seen her body, after all, against her will, and this time, she allows it to save Kit. "No, no, Lana, no, please…" His voice cracks.

The pleas of the bound murderer have no effect on her. "This is a mercy killing, Oliver. No baby should have to grow up knowing Daddy is Bloody Face."

"No! No, he doesn't have to know." He assumes the baby is male; Lana knows, if she had carried a female infant, and if Bloody Face had lived to see his progeny, he would not have valued a daughter. He would have treated her the same way he treated all women in his life. Perhaps he would have killed her, even. "Kit Walker is going to take the fall for all of those crimes. I promise you, it'll all work out!"

Her former self cannot stifle the incredulity, and she cannot stifle it, now. "Is that how you see it?" In another universe, the cards fall just as he intends them, and she gives birth to a healthy baby boy, and the courts rule she must share custody of her son with the man no one believes raped her—she knows such things have happened, still happen today, and she has no doubt the streak of bad luck she faced while in Briarcliff would stretch onward.

He keeps saying her name, and each time, the hair on the back of her neck stands up a little taller. "Lana, you know me!" Yes, she knows him. She knows him in a way no other living person knows him; she knows him in the way Wendy's cold corpse also knew him. "I can change! I have great determination! And now I have reason!"

She scoffs. "Really? You gonna be a real stand-up guy, now?"

He sounds so convincing. Lana looks at Johnny's face, trying to gauge if he trusts the word of his long-dead father or not, but Johnny has hidden all of his emotions in a dark shadow, sucking his lower lip, tears still falling down his flushed face. She shuffles a little nearer to him, hoping to read his eyes. The stench of vomit clings to him. Like his mother, he vomits when he's nervous or upset; the smell only tells her the discovery flummoxed him enough to send his face into a toilet bowl. "Yes! You owe me this!" I don't owe you anything! she wants to say. I don't owe you jack shit! She didn't say those things, at the time, because she had a purpose—she needed the confession to save Kit. Now, though, they race through her mind, and she bites her tongue to keep from speaking them aloud. "It's my child, too, please!"

"You're a sociopath. You can't be honest with anybody."

"I can, I can be honest, I can, please, help me!"

"Okay. Donna Burton." The man makes a pained groan at the sound of the victim's name. "Why did you choose her?"

"I saw her at the library a couple nights."

"What did you like about her?"

"Her skin. It was fuzzy like a peach, and I wanted to feel it."

Johnny hiccups and places a hand over his mouth, another gagging sound building in his throat, but he doesn't make a beeline for the bathroom or the kitchen; he trusts himself to hold his stomach, or to have emptied it enough not to make a mess in her living room. "So you skinned her alive?"

"Yes."

"And Alison Reidel?"

"She was a secretary at my dentist's office. I always liked her." Lana scowls at the sound of his voice, the recounting of his crimes, so free of guilt and remorse. He tells the truth because he knows it benefits him, but even that cannot give him emotions. "I put her to sleep first, but she kept talking to me. I was so confused."

A thin, pained keening, a sound of pure agony, rips from Johnny's throat. Both hands muffle his mouth now, but they can't hold in the grieving cry, sorrow and anguish. "What about Wendy?" the tape recorder asks. Lana steps forward and turns it off. "I get the point," she says. She knows how the conversation ends. She needs no more reminders or doubts about Wendy to follow her now. Studying him, part of her heart breaks, some part buried deep inside, or perhaps an old wound ripping open anew with salt pouring into it. "Why do you care?"

That tape didn't give him an epiphany. He didn't seek it out for no reason. He knew. Johnny shudders like the temperature in the room has dropped, though she feels no colder except for the ice spreading in her heart. "You were talking about me." She lifts her chin in arrogance. She won't apologize. Maybe I should. Maybe I should apologize. "You were talking about me, and you didn't even know me—you were using me to get to him—"

"When did you find out? Did your mother tell you? Or does she even know you know?"

He crumples into the floor, folding himself up into a tiny ball of distress. If Mary Eunice saw him now, she would hug him, but Lana cannot bring herself to lay a hand on him, not after hearing his father's voice again. She doesn't often see Bloody Face in Johnny—Johnny is all things gangly and long and lean, even as an adult, handsome in a narrow, willowy sense, with crooked teeth Mary Eunice never allowed her to purchase braces for and a nose which has leaned to the side ever since she saved him from the bullies before the tenth grade. Bloody Face had smooth, tan skin, with thick, luxurious black hair and eyes smoldering like coals, a body chiseled as if from marble, face sculpted by the gods and eyebrows like black marks from a sharpie. Johnny isn't crafted by any god; he's made of blood and soil and his mother's hard labor and Lana's own genes giving him the brown hue to his eyes and the spotty freckles all over his skin. "I found my birth certificate two years ago," he finally manages to mutter. "When I was moving out of Mom's house. That's what our fight was about. She begged me not to tell you, so I didn't because I didn't want to hurt her—" He chokes. "Why did you say that?"

Lana blinks, long and thoughtful. Mary Eunice's betrayal stings, though she wonders if it counts as a betrayal at all; she knows Mary Eunice did it to protect her, and that if Johnny hadn't found this tape, it probably would've worked. "Because I needed him to talk. We were recording him to clear Kit's name. He wouldn't have said anything incriminating if I hadn't given him some bait."

"Bait?" Johnny repeats in an incredulous voice. "Bait? Bait is a worm on a hook, or a dummy, not a—not a human being, not a baby—"

"Oliver Thredson was no catfish." Lana almost says your father, but she restrains herself. Bloody Face may have given Johnny half of his genes, but he has no bearing on his life. Johnny McKee has no father. He has a single, loving mother who has doted on him since the day he was born. Lana will not disrespect her to put them on the same terms. "I already thought I had successfully terminated my pregnancy. I thought we were free from him, once we got that tape. I wouldn't know until after the Mother Superior freed me that you were tougher than a coat hanger."

He coughs into his hands, muffling his mouth, hiding the lower half of his face, his eyebrows knitted together with a permanent wrinkle between his eyes. "Is that supposed to be some consolation? That you thought you had already killed me, and you were just trying to trick him with some story about me?"

She shakes her head, crossing her arms. Where he sits in the floor, he looks so small, so puny, so much like his mother, all hunched over and hugging himself for the pain. "It isn't consolation. It's the truth." She clears her throat. Each word hurts him, and in turn will hurt Mary Eunice when she comes home from the grocery store—Lana expects her bad luck to continue spinning so her girlfriend will enter at any time to see her weeping, distraught son in the living room floor, inconsolable, with his godmother doing nothing to ease his pain. "I know your mother raised you to believe your whole existence has been nothing but rainbows and sunshine, mostly because that's what any child deserves and partly because I asked her to. But that's not the truth."

"You hated me! By sheer virtue of what I was—" Johnny sobs. "I was just a baby," he whispers, "not even that, yet."

A tear still hasn't risen to her eyes. "Your grandfather died fighting Nazis," she says instead. "Your mother has never protested the bombing of Dresden—the bombs in Japan, either, for that matter. She hates them for the dumb luck of being allied with the people who murdered her father. The civilians, too, they were there. They were just collateral damage. Do you blame her for never shedding a tear?" Hate is a strong word to apply to Mary Eunice, but it holds firm, nonetheless; she refuses to discuss the second world war, buries her head in the sand at the mere mention of it, weeps on every anniversary of Pearl Harbor and celebrates every Memorial Day. "The war robbed her of her parents. Thredson robbed me." She doesn't say the things she lost to him, because she isn't sure she can list them all—she lost Wendy, but she also lost her peace of mind and a full night's sleep and an ability to walk outside without looking over her shoulder. "You were a civilian. You were collateral damage. And I know it doesn't feel very good to know that, but it's the truth."

Johnny weeps. He says nothing more to her. Eventually, she walks away, into the kitchen, and gets him a bottle of water and a cold wet washcloth to clean up his crumpled, red face; he has indicated no intention of ceasing this tirade of grief, but she wants it to end by the time Mary Eunice comes home, giving her less and less time with each passing second. "Wipe your face," she says in a low, soft voice. "Your mother will be home soon. You don't want her to see you like this."

To her surprise, he murmurs his thanks. He blows his nose and wipes his face, still shivering like a leaf in the breeze on her floor beside the coffee table, where the tape recorder rests. He rests his cheek on the cool wood of the coffee table. "Did he really love me?" he asks in a croak. "Did he really want me?"

"I'm sure he wanted you," Lana says, because she's quite on a roll of telling the truth right now, "but he wasn't capable of loving anyone. He liked to feel in control. No one has such complete control over another person as a parent over a child. A father over a son." She speaks with ease because of the many nights she has spent in her life, playing over the conversations she had with the man who tormented her. She has broken him down to a science in her head. It doesn't banish him from her nightmares.

Johnny stares down at the shag carpet, digging his fingers and toes into it and releasing them, a nervous tic. "It would have given him control over you," he says in a whisper. "I would have. If things had worked the way he wanted."

"Yes. It would have." She opens up the top of the tape recorder. "How much did you pay for this?"

"Thomas had the whole thing in a batch going to a crime museum in Los Angeles. I gave him forty bucks for it."

"You just had forty bucks laying around to buy an obsolete tape recorder and a tape?"

He shrugs. "Not right now, no, but I will in a few weeks." He wipes his nose. "I got a few interviews with Roberto Canessa. That guy who ate people in the Andes Mountains when the plane crashed in the seventies. The publisher is printing my book and working on marketing now in Augusta. I just—I was waiting until I had a material book before I told Mom. I wanted to surprise her. Please don't say anything."

"I won't." Lana sits back on the couch, grinding her jaw, teeth shifting over one another like grain through a silo. She crosses her legs and stares down at him in front of the television, like he blocks the screen from her view.

Lifting his gaze from his lap, Johnny meets her eyes. "Did you think I would be like him?" he asks in a bare whisper. "Did you think… I would want to hurt people? Like him?"

"I was afraid of that," Lana says. "I was afraid of a lot of things." She had counted all of the possibilities and listed them in a notebook on a piece of paper, not titled but otherwise complete, all of the things that could happen to her baby. She remembers going down the list with Mary Eunice and reviewing each of the options, letting Mary Eunice give her the best possible scenario and dispel her fears. "I was afraid I would give you up, and it wouldn't make a difference. Like he said." She nods to the tape recorder where it sits on the coffee table in front of her. "The system ruins lives."

"Why did you ask her to take me?"

"I loved her." Her foot bounces in the air, the only indication of her eagerness to end the conversation. "I was selfish, even if I didn't realize it. Some part of me knew she loved me enough to say yes, no matter her circumstances." She blinks from where she stares just above his head at the wall behind him and focuses on his face. "And I knew what it felt like to be loved by her. I knew how she made me feel, after living with me for six months. How she made me feel safe, and warm, and loved, when nothing else could touch my pain. I knew she would give that to you absolutely and wholeheartedly, and I knew you could be nothing short of pure if you grew up feeling that way. It was about her all along."

To her surprise, Johnny smiles. "She said the same thing about you. Why she said yes."

Lana inclines her eyebrows. This shocks her a little, but she doesn't betray it. "Do you hate me?" she asks him. "For what I said? Or for any moment after?"

"No." Johnny shakes his head. "No, I… I can't hate you." He averts his eyes, hidden behind his big glasses, the first pair of frames he purchased for himself instead of Lana buying for him. "I don't. You're right. Mom is—Mom is more than any kid deserves. I was never hungry. I always had a roof over my head and a bed to sleep in. Mom made my life wonderful."

"I can say the same thing about her." Johnny scrambles to get up out of the floor and heads to the kitchen. "Hungry?" she calls after him. He returns with her wooden broom with broken bristles, holding it by the sweeping head. "What the hell are you going to do with that?"

He wields the handle of the broom over the tape recorder on the coffee table. "I don't want anyone to make you or Mom listen to this tape ever again." She stands up from the couch to give him free range of motion, and as she steps out of the way, he snaps the broom handle down on the tape recorder. The top of it shatters. He beats the machine a few more times, and then he takes the tape from it and busts it open, stomping on it with his foot, ripping all of the spooled tape out of it and tearing it to pieces.

Gazing at the cathartic release, she asks, "How often do you destroy your own forty dollars?" in a wry voice, but it doesn't disguise the gratitude on her face as she blinks to him out of the corner of her eye. Johnny gathers up the mess and takes it to the trashcan in the kitchen, dumping it all into the garbage. "Thank you," she says when he returns to the living room.

He is only an inch or two taller than her. He doesn't look like his father. She thanks the small mercies in heaven; she has known more of these mercies since Mary Eunice came into her life. "Do you hate me?" he asks, countering the question she asked him minutes ago.

"No." She studies him, the baby to whom she gave birth but whose mother she has never been. For the first time in their lives, she says to him, "I love you. Not the way your mother does. But I do. And I'm proud of you."

He has a soft expression, and as he holds her gaze, she wonders how he and Mary Eunice share no blood if they bear so much resemblance to one another. "I love you, too, Aunt Lana." He glances past her, out the window, to Mary Eunice's car pulling up into the driveway. "Can I hug you?" he asks.

Reaching down, she takes his hand instead. "I'd prefer if you didn't, right now."

He squeezes her hand. He understands.

…

"Lana!" Mary Eunice's cry shakes the house as she barrels through, running much faster than she intends to run. "Lana, Lana, Lana, it's here! The book! His book is here! Lana!"

She rolls off of the couch with a groan, her back popping as she puts aside the book she's been reading and takes off her reading glasses to squint at her girlfriend, holding a small package in a cardboard box. "I see that. Is that a reason to shout?" She rubs her eyes with her fists, trying to get the grit out of them. Mary Eunice plops on the couch beside her and slices the box open, flaying the cardboard sides. "Oh, this is a big book." She picks up the hardcover novel.

Mary Eunice, though, hasn't glanced at the novel yet. She holds the accompanying letter in her hand, opening the envelope to take it out. "Oh, Lana, read it to me, please? It'll take me so much longer than it'll take you."

"Of course." Lana kisses her temple and folds an arm around her shoulder as she unfolds the letter, adjusting her glasses back on her face. "Dear Mom," she reads aloud, "I know I always deliver my books to you in person, but Little Brown made my first book signing in Los Angeles with this publication, and I knew you wanted to be the first to read it. Thank you for all of the interviews. I hope it can do you a shred of justice."

Mary Eunice is already crying, and Lana pauses to try to kiss away her tears, but she receives a swat in return. "Don't stop reading!"

Laughing, Lana bites her lip. "I'm going to be back in Boston in three weeks for a book signing, and after June, I'll be home for good. Or until my next book gets published, anyway. Sam is under instruction to take you and Aunt Lana out for Mother's Day, since I won't be around. You're my best friend in the world, and I'm glad I can finally tell your story. I love you more than you will ever know. And I know Aunt Lana is probably reading this out loud to you, so I love you, too. Stay gold, Johnny."

The sound she makes, something between grief and joy, a squeal, shakes Lana to her core. "I'm so happy, Lana," she bawls, and Lana begins to fold up the letter before she spies a little note on the bottom of the letter, and she straightens it out again to continue reading.

"It continues—he says, 'PS: I know Aunt Lana skips reading the dedications because they're useless and sappy and the readers don't want to know about the author's personal life, but make sure she reads this one.'" Mary Eunice fixes a glare on her, and she shrugs. "Hey, I think dedications are stupid. I didn't dedicate my book to anyone but me, myself, and I."

"Bullshit, Lana, I read your book. It's dedicated to Wendy—and I know, because I read the dedications."

"You read it? After I read it to you?" This is news to Lana. She can't imagine Mary Eunice struggling through a whole novel with her poor reading skills without growing frustrated.

"Yes." Mary Eunice lifts the hardcover novel Lana had discarded in favor of reading the letter and tugs it into their laps. The cover pictures the silhouette of a nun with a red rose between her fingertips, and in elegant print, the title reads, On Loving My Mother: The Ode to and Biography of Mary Eunice McKee. Under that, the cover has his name in bold print. "Read the back?" Mary Eunice pleads.

Lana flips it over. "The eighth novel by prolific nonfiction journalist Johnny McKee, On Loving My Mother follows the life of a young woman broken by World War II and her story of survival and overcoming hardship to inspire the lives of everyone around her. McKee reaches into his own soul and past and airs out the dirty laundry of many in his family in this gritty, raw, and honest dedication about his mother's life. With this book, he crosses borders of memoir and biography, creating something fresh and new for the nonfiction genre."

Mary Eunice rests her chin on Lana's shoulder. "You gave him permission to, um, air out the dirty laundry, right?"

She chuckles. "Yes. I did. Many times. It's his truth to tell, not mine." She opens the front cover of the book, which bears his signature, as if Mary Eunice would ever want her copy to have enough value to make it worth selling. Lana flips to the dedication, like the letter instructed. "To my mother, Mary Eunice McKee, for loving me from the moment I took my first breath without any question, qualm, or condition, when she absolutely didn't have to and when I absolutely didn't deserve it. And to my godmother, Lana Winters, for learning to love me where I never would have learned to love myself, for taking care of my mother, and for giving me permission to share the secrets she always hoped to keep."

"Oh, Johnny…" Mary Eunice touches the page, as if she can feel his presence through the paper and ink. "I'm so proud of him."

Lana nuzzles into the soft texture of her blonde hair. "I am, too."

"Can we start the first chapter now?"

"You bet." They kiss, and Lana flicks the pages to the first chapter. With Mary Eunice curling up at her side, pressed warm against her, she keeps an arm hooked around her girlfriend; Mary Eunice uses one hand to support the book, so Lana only has to worry about turning pages when she's ready while her lover closes her eyes, tilts her head back, and listens. Planting another, final kiss to her temple, Lana blinks back to the page, and then, she begins to read.  

[captainsbabysitter-blog]

Baby Makes Three

Pairing: Benkaru

Rating: Everyone

Length: 2257

Summary: Sequel to On A Whim! We left off with Hikaru showing up on Ben’s doorstep. And here’s the next part: Hikaru Sulu getting wrapped around the tiny fingers of an infant he never even imagined would be part of his life.

~*~*~*~

Hikaru apparently showed up at just the right moment. About half way through the next day, he got a frantic call from Ben asking if anything else was put together because he was on his way to the hospital. Luckily for Ben, Sulu was world class at putting together furniture with an Allen wrench and had gotten it all done in a few hours.

“Yeah, babe, it’s all ready. I’ll meet you at the hospital if you want?”

Just a beat of hesitance before he nodded. “Please?”

When he arrived, he suddenly realized he had no clue who to ask for. He didn’t know the mother’s name and Ben’s name probably wasn’t going to be on anything. The woman behind the reception desk took pity on him and finally asked, “Sir? Is there something I can help you with?”

“Yeah, um… My boyfriend he here because his surrogate is in labor.”

“Do you know the surrogate’s name?” When he shook his head, she continued, “Alright, then. He’ll be on a list of approved visitors. What’s his name?”

Once Ben was looked up and the right room was found, she had to remind him that he couldn’t go to the room but could wait in the maternity waiting area. He didn’t like it, but he couldn’t really do anything about it so he spent the next few hours pacing with the family members waiting for other babies to come into the world. Every time someone walked through those double doors, everyone perked up like meerkats in hopes that it would be news on their own loved one.

Hours ticked by, and the room slowly emptied until Hikaru was the last one waiting. Ben found him sprawled over one of the tiny couches, fast asleep with several empty cups that must have once held coffee littering the small table beside him. He startled awake, but offered up a sleepy smile when Ben ran his fingers through his hair.

“Hey… Everything turn out okay?”

“Yes. Would you like to see her?” Even now, Ben looked nervous. It was like he expected that moment to be the one where Hikaru went running toward the hills.

Instead, he was treated to a bright grin, “Hell yeah let’s go!”

Ben chuckled, but took his hand as he led his boyfriend through the halls to the lines of infants. Toward the middle was the tiny bundle of human they’d be bringing home with them. She was fast asleep, a tiny black curl poking out of the blanket swaddling her snugly.

There was nothing but pure, unbridled awe plastered to Sulu’s face as he watched her slumber away. “She’s so small…”

“Most babies tend to be.” Just a hint of sarcasm tinted the fondness in Ben’s voice, but it flew right over Hikaru’s head. “They want to keep her for another hour for observation then we can take her home.”

“Wow so this is really happening.” His voice was barely above a whisper and his eyes never left her. “You’re a dad. It feels like just yesterday I was making filthy plans for this trip.”

“You can still back out,” Ben countered, the way he held his body screamed apprehension as he continually shifted his gaze between his new daughter and his boyfriend.

That was what it took to finally pull Hikaru’s attention back to him. His brow furrowed in irritation as he shook his head, “That’s not happening. I still say we should get married.”

Just a bit over an hour later, they both got back to Ben’s place with Demora in tow still sleeping soundly and now cradled against Ben’s chest. Hikaru smiled softly at the sight and moved to the nursery to get anything else ready that needs doing. He hadn’t had a chance to put up those baby bumper things or get the blanket tucked under the mattress, so he rushed around to get that done under the watchful eye of daddy Ben.

“You really got all of this put together?” He sounded impressed as he looked around. “Hikaru… Thank you. Really. I never would have gotten this done before she was born without your help.”

While he rearranged things, Hikaru just shrugged a bit. In his mind there was no other option. He wanted Ben, Ben had Demora now, so Hikaru would make room for her too. Ben being a responsible adult wasn’t about to scare him away when he was a few years away from a career that could take away any opportunity for him to find something long term.

“I didn’t really do anything special.”

“You realize how foolish you sound just saying that, don’t you? I couldn’t find another man in a million willing to do what you’ve done.”

“Then you should marry me,” he quipped back as he stepped away from the crib.

“Hikaru…”

“I’m being serious, Ben,” Sulu continued, watching Ben lay Demora out with a soft smile. “I love you, I’m not going anywhere, and I have a feeling I’m another day or two from being wrapped around her little finger. If I was going to leave, I wouldn’t have come here.”

Ben’s gaze stayed on the crib for just another moment before it trailed over to Hikaru. He seemed to be trying to decide on something. Just when he seemed as though he might say something, Demora started fussing. He scooped her up instantly and shushed her as he made his way to the kitchen for a bottle. Whatever he was going to say took a back burner to that for a while.

No matter how impatient he was, Hikaru had his limits but he tried to give Ben whatever time he needed. It finally slammed into him just how much Ben “I can’t decide on breakfast without planning it a week in advance” Jung’s life has been flipped on its head in such a short period of time. As that knowledge sank in, guilt over how annoying he’s been about the getting married thing followed. Shit. He leaned against the doorframe and just watched the two of them for a few minutes, really taking in the sight. Fatherhood suited Ben.

Was he?

“I can hear you thinking from here,” Ben teased. “What about?”

Words were weighed carefully before he responded, “Just… Realizing I’ve been an ass. Sorry. I should have thought about how stressed you must be right now.”

“For the record, you being here helped more than you know. I hadn’t planned on her coming early and would have come home to boxed furniture with a newborn who probably has less patience than you.”

“Make sure you add that to the ‘Should I Marry Hikaru?’ list you have going.”

Thankfully, he seemed to know Sulu was joking and quirked a bit of a smile. “It’s already on there.”

“One day you’ll have to show me that list. Maybe if we ever do get married.”

“You’re settling for if now? Did you suddenly become a wise old sage between the nursery and the kitchen?” The banter brought the bright smile back to Ben’s lips and Hikaru would keep it there no matter what.

“I think I’m going to just take this trip to spend some time with you and get to know the sprout. You were right about not running in this time.”

“I’m right about it all the time,” he parried and started burping Demora gently.

“Well if I didn’t run in, I wouldn’t have been in Yorktown or I wouldn’t have asked you out. I’d say running in has worked out pretty well for me so far.”

“Mm… I suppose.”

Baby fed, burped, and cleaned up, Ben changed her and got her ready for bed. The late hour was started to drag on them a little (really, couldn’t she have picked a better time than 3am to finally come out?) and all Hikaru wanted was to curl up in an actual bed next to Ben.

A pipedream, he would realize later. The whole next week was spent going from nap time to shrieking wails to trying to get the last touches done in the nursery. Sulu also learned another very important thing during that week: he didn’t know a damn thing about newborns. He let Ben walk him through changing diapers and feedings and he was almost constantly terrified that he would do something terribly wrong.

Between getting next to no sleep, the sparse holiday celebrations where Ben’s family was in and out of the house, and just trying to find time to spend with each other, Hikaru was surprised he didn’t fall asleep standing up on his way to the shuttle when it was time to go. Even with all the mess, he found his chest aching at the thought of leaving them behind.

Demora looked less like a wrinkly red bundle of rage when she and Ben waited with him during those last few minutes before he had to board. Sulu stroked her cheek with a finger and gave Ben a soft kiss.

“You take care of both of you and I’ll be back in spring,” he murmured against Ben’s lips. A quick kiss was brushed against the top of Demora’s head as he added, “And you be nice to him, sprout. I know he’s not as fun, but he tries.”

He laughed at the disgruntled sound Ben made and soothed it with a few more chaste kisses. Last call pulled him reluctantly away from the pair, but he sent several glances over his shoulder at them as he boarded. Spring couldn’t come quickly enough.

~*~*~*~

The com messages and video calls only increased. Hikaru looked forward to hearing about every detail regarding Demora’s development and the videos he got of every little milestone never failed to make even the worst day brighter. All of their video chats started out with Demora in Ben’s lap so he could talk to them both.

Coming up on her third month, Sulu was waiting for Ben to answer his call. His face broke into a wide grin when the image of Demora reaching for the camera filled his screen.

“Hey there, spout!”

She blinked at him for just a moment before her own face broke into a pleased smile. Her giggle and the sigh of her reaching out to touch his face on the screen melted his heart. Ben watched the exchange with adoring eyes.

“She recognizes you,” he explained, smile spreading when Hikaru cooed at the thought. “I have a picture of you in the nursery.”

“And she’s just so smart she recognized me right away!” Hikaru leaned in closer to the camera. “She’s going to be the smartest kid in Yorktown. I can tell.”

The conversation continued on until Demora was fast asleep against Ben’s chest. Ben excused himself for a minute so he could put her down and come back for the more adult portion of their talk. Not having Hikaru at hand to help with Demora was hard, but not being able to touch or taste him while they were intimate was almost worse. He’d need to get used to it if Hikaru was going to be stationed on a starship.

When they were both laid out in their respective beds, sated and somewhat sleepy, Ben traced his fingers over Hikaru’s face much like his daughter had not long before. Hikaru sent him a quick kiss face and a tired smile.

“So you said it’s another two months before I see you again, right?”

“Mm… Yeah unfortunately,” he sighed and rolled onto his stomach so he could prop his PADD against the wall of his bunk. “Two more months and then I’m yours for… I think it’s another two months? Three? I’ll have to check. Why?”

“I just miss you.”

“I miss you both,” he admitted with a yawn. They were in the middle of a round of testing, and he was spending almost every spare moment studying for them.

“Get some sleep. I love you.”

“Mmhm. Love you, too.”

By the time Hikaru was once again standing in Yorktown, Demora was at the babbling stage. He couldn’t help but take her from Ben and snuggle in close when they came to welcome him back. They spent a mostly quiet evening in, Hikaru taking over entertaining the baby while Ben took care of the dishes. By the time he walked back into the living room, Ben found Hikaru sprawled across the couch, both out like a light with Demora laid out on his chest.

He took a picture before carefully waking his boyfriend, “Hikaru… We should get her into bed. You look like you could use some rest as well.”

When they were both settled into bed themselves, Hikaru rolled to pillow his head on Ben’s chest with a content sigh. “And here I used to think I’d never feel domestic.”

“I wanted to talk to you about that, actually…” As Ben leaned over to retrieve something from the bedside table, Hikaru watched on curiously. “I’ve been thinking about this more and more often lately. Every time I think about it, I find fewer reasons to keep saying no.”

Hikaru stared at him, surprise etched in every feature. He motioned for Ben to continue.

“I don’t believe I ever thought I’d do this so quickly before, but… Hikaru Sulu, will you marry me?”

He didn’t even bother with an answer. All he thought to do was pull Ben in for a deep, passionate kiss as his boyfriend- fiancé now- slipped a simple gold band onto his finger.

Tagging: @pinkamour1588 @auduna-druitt @yourtropegirl @thevalesofanduin @mccoymostly @thinkwritexpress-official @southernbellestatues @emmkolenn @randomlittleimp @gracieminabox @goingknowherewastaken

[tinybigdreams]

TOTO’S BIRTH STORY

I keep telling myself that I’d write a birth story, and right now I’m debating if I should or turn this post talking about our day... 

I’ve made up my mind, a birth story it is.

A while back I had to “take a break” from pretty much everything because the doctor said that I was putting my body through a lot of stress which was why I’ve been MIA from any social media and work for a long while, but of course being that it was me, I disobeyed that order and called myself trying to get a “little something” done so that I can have income and not rely on Kohaku’s money for the family. Although I was on maternity leave and was receiving my maternity check, I felt like I needed to make more for saving and etc. That did not turn out how I anticipated it to be. 

A week before I had to go through an emergency c-section, which was my last hospital check-up, I was informed that I had been (against my will) scheduled for a c-section not more than two days after my due date, (what the hell right?!) and that I was told that my baby was in a posterior position which apparently “Isn’t good" and that it would “most likely end up with me needing a c-section anyways" (another what the hell, right?! moment) but despite the odds and me being terrified out of my mind, I managed to embrace the weekend which was all about being together as a family.

A week later, April 1st at 2:30 pm, I was having some unusual contraction like pains, I was bleeding more than I normally do, having crampings in my uterus and I was afraid that I was losing her or having a stillbirth. We managed to get the kids half packed and into the car and rushed to the hospital dropping me off at emergency then later having Kohaku’s parents meeting us up there to take the kids off our hands. It was a semi-long wait until we got to see a doctor but the nurses were kind and hooked me up with my own waiting room and made me as comfortable as possible. They gave me medication to help me with the pain (nothing serious, literally some pain killers), hubbs sat with me throughout the wait in the room reassuring me that everything was going to be fine. 

He even managed to get me to play a joke on my friends since it was April fools, that I was going into labor. At first, I was mad at him telling him how that wasn’t funny (even though I played the same trick on him that morning) eventually I gave in and did it. Buy joke was on us, because 15 minutes later after a few diagnosis test the hospital doctor came back to tell me that I had a placental abruption where the placenta detached itself from my uterus along with the baby being in a posterior position and in distress. As soon as I heard that I started panicking because I just knew none of that was good. The doctor told me that they needed to perform an emergency c-section on me that day or I could lose the baby.

That being said, I swallowed my pride and did what I had to do (preparing myself mentally) and got ready for the c-section. At this point everything started happening so fast, we called our friends and family members telling them that this was no joke and that everything is happening right now along with keeping us in their prayers. By the time I got all the texting and phone calls and crying over, I got a knock on the door by my lovely Doc saying it was show time. I was prepared to feel them cut me open and my organs be exposed to the open air, but, honestly, I did not feel a thing. Just my husband holding my hand and kissing my forehead telling me everything is fine and was going to be over soon.

He didn’t lie before I knew it I heard someone yelling the time, a bunch of commotion, then seeing the doctors holding her in the air and another cutting her umbilical cord. Throughout all the noise, I couldn't dictate the sound of my baby girl crying, so I cried instead. Not knowing what happened or if she was okay. A part of me felt like I failed as a mother for not bringing a healthy baby into this world, or doing what I can, what my body was supposed to do, to make sure she was safe in my womb and perfectly fine when she came out. My husband saw me crying and wondered off to see if she was okay, of course, they denied him access to follow them though. It was messy, I have to say. 

After getting me all stitched up and into a room ( I was DRAINED by then and the pain killers were wearing off) the doctors finally came in to tell us that she wasn’t responding when they had taken her away, but they finally got her to respond and she’s doing a lot better than she was before. They offered to take us to see her and of course, we went. She was in her incubator with tubes connected to every inch of her tiny body. She was weighing 4lb & 4oz, god she was... Still is so tiny.

I didn’t want to document or take pictures and plaster her all over social media with her being connected to all that machinery, so I just simply uploaded one photo that hubs took and uploaded it, announcing that she born and to keep us in your prayers... And I thank you, once again, for all of your well wishes. It truly means a lot. Baby girl had a great recovery, not only that (but thanks to my shitty insurance) she got to come home within a week. I’m missing details, no? Well, I have a newborn to tend to who is screaming in her crib right now, so excuse me making this short or any misspelling, for I don’t have the time or energy to proof read. 

Scrapbook Memory:

April.1.2017 - 10:20 pm.

Toto Yota Sakuri • 4lbs 4oz •

Born at 32 weeks.

[dust2dust34]

Pieces of Always: May 2018 (FICoN ‘verse)

Life continues after Forever is Composed of Nows.

by @so-caffeinated and @dust2dust34

Summary: Ellie's birth changes a lot of things for Felicity, but not in the way she'd thought it would.

An ongoing non-linear collection of family moments for the Queens. (You do not need to have read FiCoN to enjoy this, but it will spoil the end. Please see the first installment for additional author notes. Thank you @jsevick and @alizziebyanyothername for the amazing beta!)

A/N: Please see the first chapter for an important Author’s Note, as well as under the cut for an additional one.

A/N: The effervescent @so-caffeinated is fully in the driver’s seat and she’s kicking all the ass, so please go send her your love!

PLEASE READ THE READ THE AUTHOR’S NOTE UNDER THE CUT.

Excerpt:

She’s not sad. Sad would be better. Sad would be… Well, it would be something.

(read on AO3)

Author’s Note:

TRIGGER WARNING - Postpartum depression

I put off writing this oneshot for more than half a year. This has been my headcanon for Felicity since we started Pieces of Always, but it’s not an easy thing to write and I was wary of how it would be received. Postpartum depression is a mental illness and it’s common in new mothers (and sometimes fathers). I was never diagnosed with it, but I think by reading this you’ll see it’s pretty clear I’ve got some firsthand experience with it anyhow. I know my mother did, too. I’ve talked with her and some friends about their experiences and I researched symptoms online to make sure everything fit. I’ll be quite honest - I left out the worst of my own symptoms (hallucinations made worse by a reaction to medication I was on) because this was already hard to handle writing and reading. I hope for some of you, you can look at this and see solidarity in your own experiences. If you can’t relate, that’s even better and I’m very glad for you, but please keep in mind that mental illness changes how you think and any blame toward Felicity for how she’s processing things here would be misplaced.

*

May 2018 - In Restless Dreams

She’s not sad. Sad would be better. Sad would be… Well, it would be something.

Right now, Felicity feels nothing.

There’s a gaping hole in her chest, a vacuum where everything that makes her her should be. She’s broken, shattered into tiny bits and she doesn’t know where all the pieces went or how it happened. She knows there’s a way to find them, to collect them again, to put herself back together, but it’s just so daunting, so overwhelming.

Like everything else is these days.

Ellie is just over two weeks old.

She’s a good baby. A great baby. She’s everything that Felicity has always known she’d be. Everything she’s wanted for years, since that little girl with blonde curls had reached for her from Barry’s arms and called her ‘Momma,’ since she’d woken up to a pillow fort in Oliver’s bedroom at the Manor, since she scaled the ladder to an otherworldly fairy kingdom in the trees. She wants this. She knows she does.

But she doesn’t feel it.

The newborn is sprawled across her lap, utterly passed out after a feeding. She’s in that dazed, happy, sleepy place that Felicity’s mom has always called a ‘milk coma.’ Even fast asleep, her little lips are turned upwards in a contented smile, tiny puffs of air slipping through her lips, her eyes darting about under closed lids.

It should be endearing. It should be heart-wrenchingly beautiful. Instead, Felicity feels like she’s separated from the moment, like there’s a giant chasm between her and the baby. Ellie doesn’t even feel like hers, doesn’t even feel real. Everything around her is just mimicking life, like she’s watching someone else’s reality play out in front her, like she doesn’t actually belong, and it leaves her wondering what the hell she’s even doing.

One tear slips down her cheek and then another. Burning sears her eyes, turning Ellie into an indistinct blur.

They deserve better than this, than her. Ellie is beautiful, perfect. And Jules, God, but Jules deserves a mom who can do things for her, who can connect and not have to fake her smiles. And Oliver? Oliver’s the best husband and father in the entire world. He deserves a wife who’s happy, who feels. He shouldn’t have to wonder if he’s done something wrong. He shouldn’t have to pick up the slack while she flounders and fails on every possible level.

Maybe she should just go. Maybe they’d be better without her. Maybe she’s just dragging them all down. Maybe…

“Hey.”

Felicity squeezes her eyes shut, willing the tears away before looking up.

Oliver leans against the doorframe, arms folded casually across his broad chest as he watches her.

How long has he been there? She has no idea. She doesn’t even know how long she’s been sitting here herself. She’d been going through the motions earlier, doing what was required, what she needed to, and then…

She swallows past the lump in her throat and sits up a bit, adjusting Ellie like she should have been.

If she’d seen him earlier she’d have put up a better front, tried to seem more normal, more okay.

He’s not the only one who can wear masks.

“Hey,” she echoes. It feels like she waited too long to respond. She forces a smile onto her face. It’s unnatural, ill-fitting and she has to fight to keep it there.

“She’s really out,” he notes, gazing down at Ellie’s prone form sprawled across her lap. The grin on his face doesn’t just pull at his lips, it lights up his eyes, crinkles the edges of them with happy adoration of their little girl. That’s a thing Felicity knows full well she can’t fake. He pushes off the doorframe. “Let’s get her to bed for a bit.”

Oliver crosses the room before crouching down to gently lift the newborn into his arms. Ellie makes a little noise and her arms jolt like she’s grappling for stability, but she doesn’t wake, instead turning toward the warmth of her father’s chest with a contented, sleepy sigh.

They look right. They look suited, like a picture you might find on Pinterest of some beautiful little perfect family moment that people pin with notes that say ‘goals for someday!’

Felicity doesn’t fit that and she knows it. She’s as far from put together as someone can get and no one’s goal for their future right now. Makeup feels pointless and she can’t remember the last time she bothered with more than a messy ponytail for her hair or clothes beyond sweatpants and Oliver’s shirts. It’ll be nearly another month before the bleeding that follows birth finally stops. She’s carrying excess weight that makes her feel like she’s somehow slipped into someone else’s body. Her breasts ache, and they’re leaking. It won’t stop until she’s done nursing and the smell of breast milk constantly follows her. Dark circles beneath her eyes are well earned, but they leave her feeling hollow, emptied out, like she has nothing left to give and nothing to keep for herself either.

She watches Oliver with their daughter, feeling like a stranger in someone else’s house.

Ellie doesn’t wake when he places her gently into her crib. He leans over to kiss her forehead, brushing his fingers through the blonde wispy curls at her temple before stepping back. And then he turns all his attention back to his wife.

Felicity can’t help it - she shifts, wrapping her arms around herself, shrinking back into the rocking chair. His gaze doesn’t waver an inch. She’s not sure what to do with that. She doesn’t really want to be seen right now. There’s too much she’d prefer went unnoticed.

“Come on,” Oliver says, offering her his hand. “I made us lunch.”

She hesitates before placing her fingers in his and he helps her stand.

The second she’s up, an irrational bolt of annoyance surges through her. She doesn’t need his help, she wants to bite out. She can stand on her own, thanks. Except… except this isn’t new and he’s not saying that at all. He’s always offered her his hand and it’s never once meant he thought her incapable of doing things herself. So maybe her irritation is because she’s not sure how long she’d have sat without his help. Her limbs feel heavy, sluggish, like there’s weights attached to all of them.

Even moving seems like a chore.

Felicity sighs, one she feels to her bones. “I think I’d just like a nap,” she says, letting go of his hand to run her fingers through her hair.

Oliver tries to hide his reaction, but she knows him too well. He doesn’t like her answer. She can tell from the way his face tightens in a grimace and she’s pretty sure she can see him physically biting his tongue in an effort to think through his words before letting them out.

It only annoys her more.

“Just say it!” she wants to yell at him. “Stop walking on fucking eggshells. I’m weak. I’m not good enough. I know that. I know you know that. So just fucking say it!”

But she is weak and she is broken.

Felicity looks to the side, gritting her teeth.  A cheerful cartoon elephant wall decal stares back at her. She wants to peel it right off just to get it to stop smiling at her.

“When was the last time you ate a meal, Felicity?” Oliver asks her. She hates the hesitation in his voice almost as much as she hates the question.

“What does it matter?” she snaps, turning back to him with a sharp glare.

It’s enough that he flinches and that gaping hole where her heart feels like it should be drops further. He doesn’t deserve this. He just cares about her. God, how can she be so horrible to him? She should just leave, just go. He wouldn’t understand, but it would be better. He’d be happier without her, eventually. They all would. But the idea of going makes an echo of sorrow slice through her. How horrible is it that the feeling actually comes as a relief? It’s something. It’s an emotion, a resonance of sensation that feels like the tingle of a missing limb. And she just wants… she just wants…

“I’m sorry,” Felicity whispers, her voice choking, energy draining from her with each word. “I’m just so tired. That’s all. I just… I just need some sleep. I’m just tired.”

“No,” he says quietly. He rests a hand on her elbow, a ghostly touch, like he’s afraid she’s going to scatter. She hates it. “You’re not.”

“I am,” she counters, pulling away from him. She rubs the spot on her arm where he’d touched her. “I have a two week old and a three year old. I’m exhausted. Of course I am.”

“Sure.” Oliver presses his lips together into a thin line. “But that’s not all this is. I know better this time. And so do you.”

Felicity blinks hard, refusing to look away for a long moment because no, no, that is all, but it’s too much and she bows her head. She doesn’t even realize she’s crying until she sees the drop slide down her nose and plop down onto her bare foot. She cries so much these days. You’d think she’d feel it, that it would seem cleansing or at least emotionally charged, but it’s more like a compulsive reaction, something she has to do. And it means so very little.

“It’s all in my head, Oliver,” she says. “It’s fine.”

“No, Felicity, it’s really not,” he replies firmly. She scowls through the tears, looking up at him, annoyance suddenly overtaking the emptiness again, but he doesn’t back down. “You need help. And that’s okay.”

“No,” Felicity snaps. It’s too loud and she glances toward Ellie to make sure she hasn’t accidentally woken the newborn. But the baby sleeps soundly, unaware of everything going on just a few feet away from her. “No,” she repeats in an intense but quieter voice. “It’s not okay. I just need to… I just need to push myself more. I’m sorry, okay? It’ll be fine. I just need to find a new routine and it’ll be alright.”

Oliver watches her, seeing right through her.

She hates the sudden wash of vulnerability that runs through her.

“You aren’t alone, Felicity,” he says, stepping forward and taking her hand in his. She tries to tug it away - she’s fine, she will be fine - but his grip tells her that he’s not letting go, not giving her an avenue of escape. When the realization hits her, it almost comes as a relief. “I already called your doctor.”

Felicity’s jaw drops. “You called my doctor?” she demands. “Did you have a nice chat about the crazy new mom who’s just a little overwhelmed and just needs a damned nap?”

“No,” he counters, shaking his head. “I told him how worried I am about my wife and asked what I could do to help.”

Well… shit. That saps the fight right out of her.

“I love you more than anything, Felicity. You’re sick. And you’re hiding how much you hurt. Everyone wants to help you, honey. But you’ve got to let us.”

“Who is ‘everyone?’” she asks warily.

“Your mom,” he replies before letting out a hard sigh. “Me. My mom. Your doctor. Thea, Digg… Will.”

Felicity starts. “Will?”

“He asked me why you were sad today,” Oliver tells her. “He wanted to know what he could do to cheer you up.”

She shakes her head, turning to the door before looking at Oliver again. “He’s here?”

“Felicity…” Oliver pauses, frowning. “You said hi to him when he got here an hour ago. He’s playing with Jules out back right now because he thought if you saw her happy it might make you happy, too.”

Oh God.

Felicity sags at that, her free hand pressing against her mouth trying to cage in the welling sound of sorrow that suddenly feels like it might drown her. “He noticed?” she asks, horrified by the idea.

“He’s almost ten,” Oliver says, stepping closer. He knows, now, that it’s easier to let her come to him. He doesn’t grab her like he would have a few weeks ago. Now he just skates his hand up her arm, brushing it over her cheek, his touch so soft she barely feels it. “And he loves you. Of course he noticed.”

“I’m so sorry,” she breathes out against her hand. She’s nauseous. She could throw up right now if there were anything at all in her stomach. “I didn’t mean to hurt him, Oliver. I promise. I’m so sorry.”

“He’s not hurt, honey,” Oliver instantly replies. “He’s fine.” This time he does pull her into his arms as he talks. Felicity tenses, because she doesn’t deserve this at all. She shouldn’t be comforted right now. This is all her fault. And, honestly, she doesn’t feel a whole lot better, even with his arms around her. But she does feel like a bit of the weight slides off her shoulders. She’s still hollow. Still empty. But she’s a bit less pulled down and for the first time in days she feels like she can breathe. Oliver’s voice is just as gentle, just as soft as he continues, “He’s just worried about you. Just like the rest of us.”

“I’ll try harder,” Felicity promises. “I will.”

“Wanting to get better is the first step,” he agrees, kissing her forehead the same way he’d kissed Ellie’s a bit ago. She wants to shake her head and wipe it away, because she doesn’t deserve something so tender. “But you can’t do it alone. You need medication and you need therapy. Just like you did after Jules was born. Suffering in silence isn’t doing you any favors, Felicity. It’s not doing anyone any favors.”

“You all deserve someone better than me,” she tells him in the quietest voice imaginable. “What kind of mother looks at her baby and doesn’t feel anything? What kind of wife just gets pissed off when her husband tries to help her?”

“The kind who’s fighting a battle no one else can even see,” Oliver says. “None of this is your fault.”

“But it is!” she argues. “It is. It’s in my head. It’s how I think and how I feel. Of course that’s my fault. How could that not be my fault?”

“You’re a smart woman,” Oliver reminds her. “You know better than that.”

She does. Some part of her knows he’s right. She did research after this happened with Jules, after months of suffering in silence, completely unaware of what was going on with her mind and her body. Once she’d started feeling better, more like herself, she’d read up as much as she could. She knows something like one-in-five mothers wind up with postpartum depression. She knows the sudden drop in hormones in her body have probably set her emotions in a tailspin of hopelessness and anxiety, that she wouldn’t feel this sense of worthlessness or total lack of joy if she were in her right mind.

But knowing that and feeling it are two different things entirely and with an illness in her head, it’s her head telling her she should be able to fix it on her own.

She should have to fix it on her own.

“I made a phone appointment for you with your doctor,” Oliver says. She jerks at that, but he’s not done. “It’s in half an hour. If you’re okay with it, I’d like to be on the call, too. If you tell him what you’re going through, he’ll call you in a prescription right away and we can start fighting this.”

No. It’s her gut reaction. It’s her only reaction. But… she hesitates. She wants to push back, to swear she’ll be fine, that she can handle this on her own. But… but can she? And should she have to? Especially if everyone around her is noticing it in spite of her efforts, if even Will is seeing it… God, has Jules picked up on anything? She can’t even imagine how unfair that would be to the toddler.

“Asking for help doesn’t make you weak, Felicity,” Oliver says. “It means you’re strong enough and smart enough to admit when it’s too much for you.”

“It is,” she whispers before she even realizes she’s speaking. “God, it really is too much, Oliver. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“No one’s blaming you and there’s nothing to be sorry for,” Oliver tells her. He looks relieved as he pulls her closer, holding her. He kisses her forehead again, and this time he lingers. “I’m proud of you. I can’t understand what you’re going through, but I get that it’s hard and I know it’s not easy to ask for help.”

“Took being shot by your mother for you to ask for help,” she points out.

It almost sounds normal, almost seems like her usual self and the grin on Oliver’s face makes her so very happy that she voiced the thought.

“Imagine if I’d asked for help earlier,” he points out.

Felicity scoffs. “You didn’t need me earlier. Not really.”

“Felicity… I’ve always needed you,” Oliver tells her, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Even when I didn’t know it yet, I needed you.” Just the thought of that makes her want to cry again, even if she can’t quite pinpoint why. “Come on,” he urges. “Let’s get a quick bite to eat before that call and then I’ll have your mom pick up the prescription while we sit out back and watch the kids play. You can take a nap on the lawn chair, if you need to.”

“That sounds pretty good,” she allows. She closes her eyes, her shoulders falling. “Especially the nap part.”

He pulls her along, leading her from the room, grabbing the baby monitor as they go.

It feels good, honestly, letting him take charge and giving herself permission to show everything she’s feeling - and everything she’s not. They talk about it over tuna sandwiches as Will and Jules laugh together out back and Ellie sleeps. Oliver doesn’t judge, doesn’t hold anything against her, instead wanting only to understand and help her. He keeps hold of her hand as she talks, sliding his thumb against her skin when she cries for no apparent reason. The relief of that is monumental.

Oliver can’t fix her. That’s not how this works. But he’ll help her pick up the pieces as she fixes herself.

And that, in the end, is exactly what she needs.

*

Reviews literally feed the soul and muse, please go send some to @so-caffeinated! 

And please mind the author’s note, which I’m reposting here:

Author’s Notes:

TRIGGER WARNING - Postpartum depression

I put off writing this oneshot for more than half a year. This has been my headcanon for Felicity since we started Pieces of Always, but it’s not an easy thing to write and I was wary of how it would be received. Postpartum depression is a mental illness and it’s common in new mothers (and sometimes fathers). I was never diagnosed with it, but I think by reading this you’ll see it’s pretty clear I’ve got some firsthand experience with it anyhow. I know my mother did, too. I’ve talked with her and some friends about their experiences and I researched symptoms online to make sure everything fit. I’ll be quite honest - I left out the worst of my own symptoms (hallucinations made worse by a reaction to medication I was on) because this was already hard to handle writing and reading. I hope for some of you, you can look at this and see solidarity in your own experiences. If you can’t relate, that’s even better and I’m very glad for you, but please keep in mind that mental illness changes how you think and any blame toward Felicity for how she’s processing things here would be misplaced.

[clevergirrrl-blog]

First Birthday

Dear Fox,

Tomorrow you will be one year old.

Holy shit.

*

I’m sitting here writing this alone in our living room, which is something that doesn’t happen too often since you were born. Not the sitting in the living room part; the alone part. You’re almost always with me, other than the hours you sleep in your crib at night. I miss you during those hours. I often sneak in to look at you, to touch your face, and sometimes - much to your dad’s annoyance - I actually pick you up while you’re sleeping and rock you in my arms for as long as I can get away with it.

I’m feeling pretty emotional thinking about you turning one. It’s probably not helping that it’s pouring rain outside and I’m listening to Hallelujah on repeat while I try to write this. The Jeff Buckley cover; the one your dad will always argue is the best. He’s right.

Since you were born, it’s my favourite song.

It’s the first song I sang to you when you were born. I sang it to you for weeks and months on end. I sang it when I myself was in a dark place after your birth, for so long. When I thought I would never heal, never be the same again, never feel the same again, never be me again.

I sang it when I was scared that I wasn’t doing this motherhood thing right. Scared that I would somehow hurt you or damage you. Scared that you would be taken away. Scared that this happiness couldn’t possibly be real.

I sang it when I was the most in love I’ve ever been, staring at your sweet face day after day, night after night. I sang it while holding you on my breast, feeding you for hours, smelling your head and listening to you breathe.

I sang it when I needed the courage to face another day, to tell myself that we would both be ok. I sang it when I didn’t know how to put into words how much I loved you.

To this day, I can’t sing it or even hear it without crying. Without thinking of you.

Hallelujah.

*

I remember the day I found out we were having you. We’d been trying for what felt like an eternity, though in the grand scheme of things it was nothing: six months. It felt especially long and agonizing, I think, because we lost our first baby while I was pregnant - just before you. We wanted you so badly, or we wanted him so badly, or we wanted to stop the pain so badly and just fast forward to joy.

Life doesn’t work that way. Healing takes time. Heartache lingers until you’re finally ready to let it go, and then it stays a while longer.

After several months of feeling sorry for myself, I was doing my best to live again. To be ok without him, without you, with just me. With your dad. We went out all the time and we stayed in together and we cooked and laughed and travelled and spent time with our friends and we worked hard and bought flowers and new sheets and we talked and cried and started over every day. I started running again, started really smiling again. That’s when you decided to show up.

I didn’t allow myself to really believe it when I saw the plus sign that morning, on January 28 - the day before your dad’s birthday. I started shaking so I sat down on the bathroom floor and let my head fall back against the wall and clenched the stick in my hand and squeezed it so hard my fingers went numb. I took a cab to the doctor’s office without an appointment and made them see me and test me and tell me that it was true, that you were real. They did and you were and I cried all day at work.

I waited until the next morning to tell your dad. I wanted to hold the news in my own heart for just a minute, to feel you glowing inside of me, just the two of us. On the morning of your dad’s birthday, I gave him a silly gift, wrapped half-heartedly in a brown paper bag with some tissue paper stuffed on top for good measure. It was a bright red “onesie” set of pyjamas. The kind you only wear at Christmas in front of your family, much to everyone’s delight and disgust. I bought a matching set in newborn size, and slid it under his adult-sized one in the bag. He picked it up and he looked at me and I had tears in my eyes and I started laughing and he knew right away.

The first time I felt you kick, we were on a beach in Sicily. I was 4.5 months pregnant and we figured it was our last chance to travel just the two of us for a while. I wasn’t sure what it was at first. It felt like a weird little flutter; quick, easy to miss. But a few seconds later you pounded on the roof of your little home so hard that we could both see and feel it, and we screamed and died laughing and spent way too much time touching my belly and waiting for it to happen again. Your dad proudly declared that you obviously loved the beach. It felt like our first clue about who you would be.

Labour started out peacefully and excitedly, around 11:30 pm on October 6, 2016. It quickly escalated into terror and panic and intense suffering. I can’t imagine ever doing it again. I still cry when I think about it, and I feel afraid. Afraid of feeling that kind of pain ever again, afraid of dying, afraid in my own body.

You came out at 11:37 am on October 7 with the help of some big scissors and without the help of any drugs. When you finally came rushing out, I have never felt more powerful, more aware, more alive. The joy I felt when they first placed you on my chest and the air was filled with your voice, crying out for me, is indescribable.

A full year later, I haven’t recovered. I can still feel it all. My body is forever marked and broken. I am changed, physically, for worse. In every other way, I am changed for the better.

*

I’d love to tell you what happens next, but it’s all a blur after that. It feels like I was carrying you home from the hospital in my arms just yesterday. I want to remember every month, every milestone, every minute, but I can’t. All I can tell you is how I felt during the past year, and how I feel right now.

I feel exhausted. Like I’ll never actually sleep again and like I’m constantly on the verge of either death or a nervous breakdown. I’m so tired that I can barely think most days, let alone string two sentences together on a piece of paper. I’m so tired that sometimes I forget what I’m saying as soon as I open my mouth. I forget my keys everywhere and I forget why I went to the store and I usually forget what day it is.

There are moments where I feel like the most vulnerable person in the world. I feel like someone is going to burst in through my front door and tell me I’m doing it all wrong and take you away and everyone will know that I’m a terrible mother.

I feel guilty for not spending enough quality time with you. And for yelling at you sometimes and for not breastfeeding you long enough and for letting you fall off the change table that one time and for being on my phone so often and for everything, really.

I feel sad that I’ve lost so many parts of myself. Sad that I don’t write anymore, that I can’t run anymore. Sad that you’re growing so quickly and I’m not paying close enough attention or cherishing every moment. Sad that you don’t cuddle me like you used to, that you’re not my tiny baby anymore. Sad that you don’t need me like you used to.

I also feel proud as hell. Proud that I made you with my body and pushed you out like a warrior and lived to tell the tale. Proud that I can do everything I used to do faster and better and more efficiently, even with a baby on my hip. Proud of my strong mom arms. Proud that I know what your different cries mean and that I know what to do to comfort you and that I how to make you smile and laugh. Proud that I breastfed you for almost 10 months. Proud that I support you financially and am going back to work to keep doing that. Proud that you’ll have a strong feminist role model to look up to your entire life. Proud of the amazing person I can already see you becoming, proud of all you’ve learned this year, proud that we both made it this far.

After surviving this first year of motherhood, I feel stronger than ever. I feel like there’s nothing I can’t do or face or overcome. I really believe that I can do anything I set my mind to, because I can finally see that I’m a hero and a boss. I’m not afraid of much anymore. I’m pretty sure I could kick anyone’s ass.

Above all else, I feel so, so happy. You make me so, so happy. The way you look at me. The way you suck your thumb and curl into me when you’re upset. The way you peak around a corner and giggle when you catch my eye. The way you make an exaggerated O-face every time something surprises or scares you. The way you laugh when I tickle you or make a silly face or pretend to get hurt. The way you look genuinely concerned when you think I might actually be hurt. The way you say my name. The way you clap and crawl and shuffle and try to climb the stairs. The way you smell and the sound of your baby voice. Everything about you.

*

I took a break in the middle of writing this to mother again. To take you for a walk, feed you dinner, watch your dad give you a bath, watch you drink your bottle, and finally, to put you to bed. Your dad was going to be the one to put you to bed tonight, and usually you’re more than happy to let him, but tonight you cried out for me.

You reached out and called my name and I dropped what I was doing and I came to you. We sat in the rocking chair. The last couple of months, you haven’t wanted to be held or rocked, which breaks my heart. I long for the days when you fell asleep on me.

Tonight, however, something was different. I sat down with you in the rocking chair and instead of pushing me away, or arching your back, you nestled in. I took a chance and cradled you like a real baby, like a tiny newborn. You don’t normally like being held that way anymore, but you were silent and unmoving. I could feel your weight in my arms. It was very dark, but I could sense you looking up at me.

I started to sing the only song that seems to really calm you. The only song that has ever put you to sleep.

Well I heard there was a secret chord

That David played and it pleased the Lord

But you don’t really care for music, do you?

Well it goes like this: the fourth, the fifth

The minor fall, and the major lift

The baffled king composing “Hallelujah”

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah

I started to cry as quietly as I could.

You could tell that I was crying, the way you always can. Whenever it happens, you stay perfectly calm. You know exactly how to soothe me. You wait until I’m done before you start softly cooing or singing, to remind me to keep singing. Sometimes you touch my face or my hair, like you did tonight. You pulled a few loose strands between your tiny fingers and you held on gently, letting me know that you’re listening, that you understand, that you’re here.

I held you close and whispered that I love you over and over. I kissed your head and your nose and your eyes and your lips. Your little hands, your baby feet. I kissed your neck and your ears and I kept singing while I rocked you and I said happy birthday, my love.

I finished the song and I put you in your crib. You sucked your thumb while I rubbed your back for a few minutes. I stood in the dark listening to the sound of both of our hearts beating.

I hope that I did an OK job this first year, Fox. I hope that when you look at me and hear my voice and feel my arms around you, you feel the same love for me as I feel for you. I hope that you can sense that I am your protector, that I would do anything for you, that I will always be here for you. I hope that you can see in my eyes that I am so proud of you and that I will never stop loving you.

Hallelujah.

[mylifeofmum-blog]

Guide for New Parents to be - What to buy!

So you're going to be a mummy or daddy! It's exciting and you've probably already bought a few cute outfits in preparation because let's face it, they are so hard to resist! But don't buy too many! I was extremely lucky and although I bought 2 vests (foo fighters and nirvana - obviously!), every single piece of clothing my boy had to start with was either a hand me down from my cousins boy, or bought for me from friends and family, and I had a lot! Also, as I've mentioned before, I'm tight and some what cheeky as I wanted to see what I was bought first before running to the shops as it's inevitable that you will get gifts. Also babies really do grow very quickly so you don't want to go over board and end up with clothes that were never worn, it's a waste of money. So I have here a list of things that are essential for babies arrival and a list of things to possibly wait for!

Essential Items:

- Bodysuits. They are a must as they will be worn under every outfit day and night to keep baby warm. They should be in one extra layer to us. So you will need quite a few, maybe aim for a weeks worth at 2 a day, and get someone to wash them for you, just to begin with. I'd also suggest getting a mix of long sleeve and short sleeve and don't buy all newborn size as baby may be bigger than you were hoping (sorry!) and some newborn clothes are pretty small so get 0-3 months too. Even if the 0-3 are a little big, that's better than being too small! You can buy these in packs of 3 or 5 in most places and it doesn't matter too much if they have a 'design' to them, just get them plain as you won't see them anyway, they'd be hidden under clothes. Plus plain in cheaper!

- All in one sleep suits. Again buy the same size wise as the bodysuits and you could buy a few less as obviously they will only be in them for bed, but make sure you have a few extra for any 'accidents'. I'd get mostly thinner ones as you can always add a layer or an extra blanket if you feel it's too cold one night.

- All in ones for daytime. These are usually thicker and great to start with as opposed to outfits as you will want to put them in something easy and more accessible to begin with while you get used to being a new parent. Also if you get ones with feet, you don't have to battle with socks! Again, get a mix of newborn and 0-3months just incase.

- Socks. They are essential if baby has bare feet, to keep them warm. I would actually just stick to newborn size for this one as even if baby is a little bigger than a newborn, the socks will usually still fit. My baby is 4 months now and still wears newborn socks from time to time. Also get well elasticated ones as they tend to fall off much less! You can buy these in packs at pretty reasonable prices so go mad.

- Mitts. Actual mitts are terrible so I would stay clear! You can never get them to stay on. Instead, buy all in ones that have fold over cuffs that act as mitts, these are amazing and can obviously never fall off! If you find baby in a body suit without cuffs one day. you can always stick socks on their hands.

- Hats. Just 2 will do to begin with (I would say 1 but they tend to get dirty after putting one on a newborn straight away with goo still in his hair!). They wear them pretty much straight away to get warm and obviously you will need one when you leave the hospital.

- Coat. Just get one to begin with.

- Nappies. Obviously nappies are a must. I had some great advise from my cousin. I was freaking out wondering what size to buy and how many. She told me, buy 2 or 3 packs of each size 1's, 2's and 3's to begin with as when baby is here, if he gets too big for the 1's pretty quickly, you will have the 2's at the ready. Also there is always someone you can call on to grab you another pack if needs be. You won't run out this way, I promise. Also I would say with nappies, don't automatically think that the big brands are best. Everyone has different experiences with different brands of nappies. I'd heard great things about own brands such as asda and aldi so I bought a few different brands just incase and I tell you what, the aldi ones have been amazing for me and I didn't get along with pampers. So don't dismiss cheaper brands straight away, give them a go and see.

- Nappy sacks. you'll go through these quickly too so don't get an expensive brand. You can get a box of 200 scented ones in the pound shop.

- Wipes. Again, something you will be using a lot. It's up to you whether you go for scented or unscented and what brand you choose. I went for the cheap unscented brands as I have pretty sensitive skin myself so thought baby is going to be that twice over and I went for Tesco's own brand as that's what I use for myself and never had an issue. plus they usually have a great offer on for multibuys. I did buy a few others again just incase but found the cheaper ones the best as some of the bigger brands can be quite foamy. Shop around for deals here, there are usually loads and stock up, I had about 20 odd packs and am still going through them.

- Cotton pads. These are only essential if like me you are going to start off with cool boiled water to clean baby's bits. We did this for the first month. Obviously not as handy as a wipe but you get used to it. There are loads of cheap ones too. Lidl and Aldi have great ones as they have an edge to them which means they don't fall apart and leave a trail of cotton down there!

- Bibs. I would get enough for 1 a day for a week, just incase baby tends to be a sicky one and spits up all over them.

- Muslins. Get them. Get loads. They not only help wipe baby's mouth after food, but they are so handy for anything and everything else. Trust me. You need them. Get a few multipacks!

- Cot and Crib. Get both straight away. I can't advise which ones to buy as every baby is different so do a little research to find the right one for you. The co-sleepers are great and moses baskets aren't the best but as I said, every baby is different.

- Pram. Much needed of course. Again I won't advise on a particular one, that's up to you. But I would recommend one that has a car seat attached. Less hassle getting baby in and out of the pram to the car seat and vise versa, especially when they are sleeping. Always, ALWAYS check though before you buy that the pram will fit in your boot! They are bigger than they look and some boots are smaller than they seem. Most places will let you check so please do!

- Car seat. If you aren't getting a pram and car seat combined.

- Sterilizer. Absolutely essential. The best thing we bought was a sterilizing kit. It was a sterilizer with all the newborn bottles we needed, hand breast pump, bottle brush and a dummy. Saves you buying extra bottles. It's good to make a start with. Also, I would suggest you get a sterilizer that plugs into the wall. You can get one that you microwave but if you do, don't do what we did and buy it without checking it fits in your microwave. When it says fits most standard size microwaves. That isn't true! Luckily we found this out in time before baby arrived and swapped it for a plug in one.

- Baby bottles. If you're not breastfeeding and your sterilizer didn't come with any. Buy around 6 newborn bottles.

- Blankets. A nice thick fleece or wooly one is great for outdoors or the daytime when it's extra cold. But for the evening I would suggest getting a couple of cellular blankets as these are safer for baby incase the blanket goes over their face, it is less likely to cause any harm as they are full of breathable holes. 

- Breast pads. Whether you are breast feeding or not. You will need these. When that milk comes in you will tend to leak. Especially when you get out of a hot shower or bath (it's like a waterfall at times!). Just get a box to start with.

- Maternity pads. Yep. Sorry! They are massive and for some they are uncomfortable but they are essential. You will be bleeding a lot I'm afraid and only these will do. Get 2 packs.

- Nursing bra. Only if you're breastfeeding. You can also get just a non underwired sports bra. Not only great for breastfeeding but so comfy when your boobs are already in pain. Also an underwired bra has been known to restrict milk flow.

- Fitted bed sheets. Just get a couple to start with. I also went for a waterproof mattress protector for any accidents. Babys don't use duvets or pillows until they are 1 so stay clear of these.

- Baby towels and flannels. Again just a couple to start with as a newborn doesn't need a daily bath. You can just use a small bath towel, but I've found the baby towels are softer.

- A changing bag. This will be your baby. It will have everything you need in it when you are out and about so get a good sized one, but nothing too big that you are constantly fumbling around trying to find those wipes!

- Nail clippers. Babys nails grow very fast and when they are moving their arms and legs around like they have absolutely no control over them, they will tend to scratch themselves.

- Formula. If you aren't breastfeeding then get a tub ready. 'First milk' is the one to look for. You can take it to the hospital but most hospitals have formulas on hand just incase anyway. Also if you are breastfeeding, I would recommend buying one just incase things don't go to plan. If you don't end up needing it then great, I'm sure you'd be able to sell it on to someone who does need it. But it's there if you do end up needing it.

-. Thermometer. They don't have to be a 'baby' one. Just a general one will do. Great for checking baby's temp and also the bath temp. 

- Non bio washing powder. Better for baby's skin.

- Changing mat. We have one thick comfy one for home and a travel one that lives in the changing bag for outings.

- Hand gel. Some may think this isn't essential. But you have to be careful with germs around a baby so hand gel is great to have handy.

- Ready meals. They don't have to be unhealthy ones. You can cook a big batch of a couple of your favourite meals and freeze them. Trust me. You don't want to be cooking for the first few week at least.

- Nipple cream. Handy if you're breastfeeding, also great for baby's dry lips.

 Non-Essential items

- Baby bath. They can be handy for some, but they take up a lot of space. You can just hold baby in the bath or a sink or bathe with them. I found our baby grew out of the bath very quickly. You can get bath seats but I found baby would float off and you'd end up holding him anyway.

- Nappy bins. Just use a normal bin and make sure you empty it regularly. Easy and a hell of a lot cheaper.

- Play mat. Great for a little later on when baby is more aware of what's around him and can see further. But don't rush out and buy it for his arrival.

- Baby swings. Great to pop baby in when you need to go to the loo or put some food on, But again, it can wait a week or so. You will no doubt be putting him in his crib more when he's a newborn.

- Outfits. By all means get them if you'd like. But perhaps get 1 or 2 sizes up as you probably won't use them straight away and you can get them after baby's arrival.

- Breast pump. Hand or electric they are great if you are breastfeeding and want to express some milk for bottles. But don't rush out and buy one until you know whether or not you will be sticking with breastfeeding as they can cost a lot, especially the electric ones. Some sterilizing kits come with a breast pump which is really handy.

- Baby shoes. They are so cute but really not needed. Socks will do just fine.

- Baby monitor. Baby will most likely be at your side most of them time, sleeping near you or on you and at night they will be in the same room. So not essential to get straight away. (Although if you're anything like me and my husband and get a little paranoid. Get one).

- Changing table. If you don't have much space at home, don't bother. We put his changing mat on top of the drawers in his room and just make sure we're careful. You can always use the floor too.

- Toys and Teddies. You will without a doubt have at least 1 or 2 people buy you toys and/or teddies so don't bother. Baby doesn't care straight away either until they are more aware of their surroundings so just wait on that one.

 I'm sure I have forgotten things so feel free to send me some more to add to the lists! But this is a good start to get going with.