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mollymauk-teafleak · 8 years ago

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The Seal Lullaby: Chapter 4

Next chapter is live!

Thanks so much to @minky-for-short @childofdustandashes @purearcticfire Also, huge huge huge thanks to @brainypaperbullets @hollywoodx4 @arya-durin-77 for their amazing art, fantastically kind reviews and much needed support.

Feedback and comments would really mean the world, hope you enjoy!

Eliza had never been so happy to be exhausted.

She always looked forward to the walk from the tiny little bungalow that served the town’s elementary schoolers to her home. It gave her a chance to relax her mind after a busy day, wave hello and exchange pleasantries with the people she passed, remind herself just how beautiful this place was.

The dusk was gathering tonight as she strode along and she found herself immeasurably glad she’d remembered her scarf and gloves. As nice as summer had been, late November was proving to be a different kettle of fish entirely; one of these mornings, Eliza was certain she’d wake up to frost on the ground. Her azaleas weren’t going to like that at all.

She pulled her collar up a little higher as the walk to her isolated little cottage exposed her to the open sea which was kicking out a ferocious, heavy, wet bluster that seemed to reach under every protective layer of clothing she had to raise goose bumps on her skin. If she got sick, she was going to be so miffed; she had so much fun stuff planned for her class for the holidays and really didn’t fancy dressing up like Rudolph on the last day of school or organising a times table themed chocolate coin treasure hunt with a stuffed-up nose and headache. She was already feeling much more worn out than usual, although that probably had more to do with having her first nine to five, Monday to Friday job ever.

But it was a tiredness she could be proud of and she wouldn’t trade it for anything. If this was the cost of having the tiny class of tiny third graders look at her with such trust and devotion, having all twelve of them (it was a small town, there weren’t that many children to speak of) hanging off her skirt at playtime, bringing her little sprigs of the rough lavender that grew along the edges of the yard which she dutifully tucked into her ponytail, coming to her when a particularly hard piece of homework had them feeling down on themselves for hugs and reassurance. It was a price she was more than willing to pay, she’d never felt so driven or invigorated about anything, she’d never been so sure that she was doing exactly what she’d been built for.

The instant embrace of warmth and a familiar cosy scent as soon as she pushed back the front door (it always jammed a little, you had to shove it hard with one shoulder) only strengthened her good mood.

“Babe?” she called, stripping off her sodden coat and wilting knitwear, speckled with raindrops that would hopefully dissipate in the heat, “I’m back.”

The fact that Alex wasn’t immediately hurrying out from wherever he’d tucked himself away, hugging her and demanding details about her day and covering her face in kisses and wrapping himself around her like a koala in an attempt to warm her back up, that was her first clue that something was up. Her second clue was the realisation that the fire wasn’t on, the smell of burning and the slight sooty haze in the air were actually coming from the kitchen. Her third clue was the smoke alarm suddenly flaring to life with a panicked, skittish beeping.

That was all the incentive she needed.

“Alex?” Eliza’s voice was significantly more panicked as she dashed into their poky kitchen to see her husband coughing and spluttering in a plume of black smoke that had apparently just poured from the opened oven.

“Oh, hey Betsey,” he croaked back, hacking into the back of his hand but still attempting a light, casual tone, “Did you have a good day at work?”

Eliza gaped at him, going to throw open the windows and grabbing a dishcloth to wave the smoke away, “Uh, fine? Thanks? What on earth are you trying to burn down our house for?”

“I…um…” he looked sheepish, his hands wringing behind his back as he took a step back to shamefacedly watch Eliza swoop in and quickly retrieve the source of the trouble; a baking dish that held something that looked more volcanic than edible.

“I…I was trying to make you dinner?” he confessed in a small voice, both of them looking in bewilderment at the blackened sludge in the dish.

“You…” Eliza processed this slowly, “And what exactly were you trying to make?”

Alex paused for a long time, looking at his feet, “Mac and cheese?”

There was another, heavy pause before Eliza couldn’t hold back any longer and burst out laughing, having to drop the culinary disaster and clutch the counter for support as tears that had nothing to do with the smoke in the air streamed down her face.

After a while, Alex couldn’t help but join in. There was something pretty hilarious about the situation, even he could see that.

Eliza was still chuckling even after the dish had been abandoned to the trash can outside and the open windows had taken care of most of the smog. The little glass window in the oven was probably always going to be stained black from now on but they could live with that.

“I really am sorry,” Alex said for the fiftieth time, though he was smiling. He was pulling out ingredients for his second attempt, this time with supervision, “I have no idea how I messed up that badly.”

“It’s okay,” Eliza insisted fondly, rubbing his arm as she passed by to get another mixing bowl, “it was so sweet of you to want to cook for me. You could have just waited though, I’d love to teach you how to cook?”

Alex shifted a little, looking coy, “But that’s not how it’s supposed to work.”

Eliza turned, giving him a careful glance, “Not how what’s supposed to work, exactly?”

Alex rubbed the back of his neck, getting some flour in his long, dark hair, “Well…I’m your mate, right? I’m supposed to provide for you, I’m supposed to get you food and shelter and all that. I thought, seeing as I can’t just go out and snag a fish in my jaws, this was the next best thing? Except I ruined it…”

Eliza tilted her head, a fond smile growing on her face. She wandered over to him, caught a little flour on one forefinger and dabbed it on the tip of his nose playfully, chasing away his forlorn expression.

“It’s a little different up here, Alex,” she smiled, “We’re a team, okay? We work together. Although…” she rose up on her tiptoes to press a gentle kiss to his mouth, “It is incredibly sweet of you.”

Alex was blushing now, grinning goofily in that way she knew and loved, “Even though I nearly burned our house down?”

“Ah, what’s a little light arson in a marriage?” Eliza shrugged nonchalantly, grinning, “I’m sure most first time homeowners have to deal with a mild nuclear meltdown occurring in their oven?”

The sarcasm wasn’t lost on Alex, he was losing his explicitly literal nature, “I’m never living this down, am I?”

“Absolutely not,” Eliza kissed him again, already thinking of how she was going to retell this little escapade in the most exciting way in her next email to her sisters.

Alex kissed her back, winding his arms around her waist lovingly, anchoring her against him, drawing out every second of contact until they had to break apart for air.

“Come on,” now it was Eliza’s turn to blush and squirm under Alex’s intensely loving gaze, wriggling away to turn back to the scales, “You’ve got me hungry for mac and cheese now, show me what you can do.”

Eliza quickly saw where Alex had been going wrong, with the amount of times she had to stop him from just tipping an avalanche of salt into the sauce or remind him that water needed heat under it to boil. He apparently forgot after two seconds that there was a recipe he was supposed to be following and the instincts he followed instead were a little…misguided?

They had a lot of fun though, ending up with bright smiles and flour handprints scattered across their clothing (not to mention two matching ones on the seat of Alex’s jeans that Eliza crossed her heart and swore weren’t her doing), eating pasta from the dish set between the two of them on the table.

“This is really really good Alex!” Eliza made sure to shower him with compliments to soothe his bruised ego, “Honestly, it’s amazing.”

Alex gave her a rueful smile, suspecting what she was doing but not particularly minding, “I’ll get better. But this is an okay start.”

“Better than okay,” Eliza shook her head, spearing some more on her fork, she really was ravenous after working all day, “Perfect.”

He pulled a face at her, earning one right back until they both dissolved into giggles. They kept eating, chatting companionably.

“So…seeing as being a world-famous chef might be just a little bit out of your reach?” Eliza smiled teasingly, “Did you have any more thoughts about sending off your manuscript?”

Alex shifted, his cheeks reddening a little. It had taken weeks and weeks of persuasion and promises not to laugh for him to give over the pages he’d been scribbling on for a while now, whenever his wife was at work or on the frequent nights he couldn’t sleep. When Eliza had finally been allowed to read it, she’d been stunned.

It was like long form narrative poetry, something Joyce-esque with a shifting, mesmerising plot that could never really be nailed down, only in the most teasingly imperceptible way of a voyage and a struggle and a searching. He wrote the way he ran, the way he swam and sang to himself in the shower and made love to her. Like someone from another reality. It was so beautiful, there’d been tears in Eliza’s eyes by the time she’d finished.

Her father had a lot of friends in publishing, it made sense for a politician to have an in with the people who dispensed knowledge. The offer to send it to one of them, to see if they’d want to actually print it, was one of the first things that sprang to her mind. Alex had reacted with pleased embarrassment, books were things of real magic and power to him and the idea that he could produce one himself was absurd flattery. But Eliza had been perfectly serious, she was still perfectly serious, the stuff Alex wrote in just a month or so was the stuff people studied and students poured over for years. He’d eventually sighed and groaned and rolled his eyes but promised to think it over.

Now, he huffed in resignation, he’d been anticipating her bringing this up again, “I just don’t think that one’s good enough, maybe if I had time to write something different I could put more effort in…”

But Eliza had been anticipating this too, she knew her Alex well. He’d insist that it wasn’t ready, that he just needed more time, he just needed to tweak it, until they ended up never taking any steps forward. She opened her mouth, a firm but gentle argument ready and perched on her tongue but her stomach gave a sudden and violent lurch, turning it all into just a soft, anxious squeak.

“Eliza?” Alex said cautiously, not at all liking the way her expression suddenly fell and her skin took on this green tinge.

“God damn it,” Eliza groaned softly, a cold sweat breaking over her forehead as she dropped her fork and leapt to her feet, just about making it to the bathroom, heaving and retching into the toilet.

Alex’s heart dropped and he went after her, cursing himself. First, he’d created a miniature volcano, then he’d gone and poisoned his wife, he couldn’t fucking do anything right…

He was never much good with illness, it was hardly the biggest problem out there in the ocean, humans were much more fragile, but he did what he could, gently rubbing between Eliza’s shoulder blades and keeping the long trailing ends of her braids safe from harm. He murmured soft, sorrowful apologies as he helped her move gingerly until she was slumped against the wall, groaning.

“It’s not your fault,” she breathed, her voice trembling and weak, “I knew this damn weather would make me sick, I always get flu when it’s cold…”

Alex gave a mirthless laugh as he passed her a hastily poured glass of water, “And I bet you always get food poisoning when you eat food made by a complete moron.”

She gave him a look over the rim of the glass, warning him off. She never let him get away with any self-deprecating comment.

“I’m telling you, there’s nothing wrong with your food…the second time,” she made the amendment quietly and quickly, “You watch, next it’ll be a blocked nose then a headache, I’ll feel sorry for myself for a few days and then I’ll be totally fine.”

Alex still looked fretful, still holding her braid, toying with it anxiously. Eliza caught his hand in her own, squeezing reassuringly.

“Totally fine. I promise,” she gave him a rough, tired smile.

“Totally fine,” Alex echoed, nodding and trying to relax.

As it happened, they were both wrong.

“Wait I’m…what?”

The doctor on the other end of the phone was still talking but Eliza wasn’t hearing any of it. She’d thought they were calling to tell her that her tests came back completely fine, that it was just a nasty flu and she could just take some pills or whatever and clear it right up. That’s what she’d told Alex, at least, when he’d begun to seriously panic after about a week of her throwing up and not being able to get out of bed until midday and getting dizzy at odd moments. He’d been insufferable to the point that she’d gone to her appointment with the doctor’s, a generous handful of miles away from their isolated little fishing village, alone.

She could see him out of the corner of her eye, shifting anxiously on the sofa and watching her, studying her face. She realised her expression right now must be terrifying him but she just couldn’t change it.

The doctor kept saying that word in a gentle, understanding, congratulatory voice but every time she said it, it made less and less sense to Eliza. She just wanted her to stop talking really, go away and let her process this, the buzz of information was turning her neutral confusion into out and out panic. Finally, mercifully, she went, Eliza finding herself promising to come in the day after tomorrow for a follow up, nodding along at mentions of weights and measuring and plans and procedures, until she was left with a dial tone.

“What did they say?” the words were out of Alex’s mouth the second the phone slipped from Eliza’s ear to hang limply at her side.

“Um…” Eliza blinked, feeling very far away from her surroundings, the shock playing tricks with her perspective as it has a way of doing.

“Is it flu?” his voice was stained with panic that he was making no effort to hide, “Or iron deficiency? Stomach ulcers?”

Eliza sighed softly, coming over to sit by him, finding it easier to deal with his fright than her own shock, “Baby, I told you not to read those old medical journals, they’re a little grisly…”

Alex didn’t seem to notice the gentle rebuke, his hand scrambled like an injured bird to catch hold of hers, “Eliza, I’m scared, what did the doctor say?”

Eliza ran her thumb over his knuckles, trying to bring him back down. If he fell apart, she’d go right with him and then there’d be no hope.

“Alex, I’m not dying, I haven’t got a disease.” That much was true, anyway.

“Then what is it?” Alex let go of a little of his worry, just a little, he could still see the distress in her eyes as clear as day.

Eliza wasn’t quite sure how to phrase this, her mind was stalling and stuttering like the thought was too hot to pick up and she flinched away from it every time she touched it.

“You told me that there were…stories? Of people like us, Selkies and humans that bonded?” she spoke carefully, not letting go of his hand.

Alex blinked in confusion, sitting back on his heels. He rationalised that if Eliza was asking him about folktales and songs, then there couldn’t exactly be a disaster on the horizon.

“Yeah, there are some songs,” Alex nodded, shifting closer to her to rest his head on her shoulder, “I don’t know how true they are but that’s the only way my people pass on any kind of history.”

Some part of Eliza’s brain that hadn’t quite caught up with the rest of her wondered if that was why her husband had such a talent for writing, for constructing these amazing, epic poems that seemed almost tangible. It was what he was used to. Did Selkies trade around such beautiful lyrical verses like casual conversation? Eliza couldn’t even imagine it.

She swallowed, tucking her legs up so she was closer to him, “And…did they have happy endings? Those songs and the people in them?”

Alex frowned, “Not a lot of our stories do, sweetheart.”

That was the truth, a life spent avoiding predators and constantly facing starvation or destruction, a life of being hunted didn’t tend to produce happy fairy tales.

“Oh…” That wasn’t the answer she wanted and Alex could tell.

“Eliza?” he breathed, begging now, begging quietly for reassurance that she was okay because he was starting to seriously doubt that she was.

Eliza closed her eyes tight, shrinking down into herself a little, “Alex, were there…did they…”

He clung to her hand, sensing her slipping away.

“Were there children in those stories?”

The words jumped out of her once they were found, making her recoil a little, like they had physical force behind them.

Alex tilted his head, “Yes. In some of them…” Realisation sank in and his eyes widened, his jaw dropping a little.

Eliza faced down his gaze, her lower lip starting to tremble as the truth as yet unspoken struck both of them.

“You’re pregnant?” Alex, always the bravest with emotion despite the consequences, was the one who finally said it. It had a question mark at the end but it wasn’t a question. There was no doubt.

“Yes,” Eliza nodded, her mouth now downturned and shaking, tears creeping up on her with an unstoppable approach. She didn’t want to be crying. She didn’t want Alex to think this wasn’t what she wanted, it was, in some very real way it was. But at the same time, she was scared. God, damn it, she was terrified. She was twenty one and so far from home and everything she’d known up until this point, being faced with the idea that she could do something as raw and significant as have a child, that she had a whole other soul and life to take care of. She’d never been so scared in all her life and now what would Alex think when he saw her on the verge of sobbing at the discovery that they’d made a life together?

As it happened, what he did was he wrapped his arms around her, pressing her against him so she felt nothing but his warmth and his strength and the pounding of his heart.

“Eliza, I love you,” he whispered, his words holding as much truth and power and beauty as she found in his writing, like he was pouring out his soul to her. Even more intense for the fact that it was held in four words rather than fourteen pages, like it obeyed the physical laws of force dissipated over a larger surface area.

And then she was crying, sobbing against his chest, dissolving and surrendering to her emotion but knowing now that it was okay. Alex was holding her, he’d bring her back once it was over. She was safe with him.

His long, careful fingers stroked her hair and his arms rocked her and his gentle voice murmured words in her ear as she cried her eyes out, asking nothing of her, just giving her space and security to deal with this. And when she was through to the other side, he just held her face and kissed the burning salt from her cheeks and rested his forehead against her own.

And Eliza felt like a different person. She felt like someone strong enough to do this. As long as there would always be those arms to hold her and that voice in her ear. As long as she had her mate, her Alex.

Eliza’s shaky hands left his shoulders and settled on her own belly. Of course, there was nothing there yet, nothing physical. But she felt the spark all the same, she felt the presence of someone reaching back.

“Betsey?” Alex murmured softly, daring to hope.

A slow smile spread across Eliza’s face, crinkling her red, bloodshot eyes and lifting her flushed, blotchy cheeks. And, as far as her husband was concerned, she’d never looked more beautiful.

“We’re going to be parents,” she laughed, a delighted and bewildered sound, “I’m going to have a baby, we’re going to be parents!”

Alex started to laugh too, his thumbs running along her cheekbones, “Yeah. Yeah, we are, you beautiful, gorgeous, perfect, amazing woman…”

Eliza blushed under his praise and the messy, hurried kisses that followed, their lips crashing together with no finesse or care, their feelings too raw to bother about such things. Eliza tipped backwards, pulling Alex with her. She laughed, her voice rasping, as she stroked his hair while his kisses travelled down her body until his head rested over her stomach, resting his forehead against her skin like he’d done with her just moments ago. Saying his first hello to whoever was in there.

Alex smiled and closed his eyes, certain, despite all medical science, that he could hear a tiny second heartbeat under the more familiar thud of Eliza’s. A thought occurred to him in that moment, a thought he’d share with Eliza later as she braced herself to call her parents, as his fingers soothingly massaged her shoulders.

Selkie stories didn’t have happy endings.

But theirs would.

Eliza stood on the threshold of their cottage, stood on her tiptoes and waved, the wind whipping her dress and hair into a storm around her, but still she stayed until the car had crested the hill and dipped out of sight. Even then she lingered a little, until it got too cold and she couldn’t ignore the goose bumps rising on her skin, until she heard Alex’s voice calling her back. She gave a small, fond smile; he’d been agonising over her nearly constantly in an endearing, protective way.

Over them both, she thought to herself, her smile widening. Her hand gently skirted over the swell in her woollen dress.

Eliza came back inside and sat down heavily on the sofa with a bone deep sigh of relief, her head lolling back and her eyes closing. As glad as she was that the rift she’d opened in her family was completely healed, as happy as she was to have the chance to show them her new life that she’d build for herself and how comfortable she was now, she still was so, so glad they were gone.

That was family, she supposed.

Time, distance, Angelica and Peggy’s mediating and the fact that they had their first grandchild on the way, the combined weight of all these factors was enough to bring her parents down here for a visit. It had been a little stiff, a little awkward, some pointed questions had needed dodging but Eliza thought that only added to the success of it. Enough to satisfy them that she’d made the right decision but enough to make them keep their distance, to not feel the need to micromanage her life the way they did with Angelica (despite the fact that she didn’t need it) and Peggy (despite the fact that she didn’t listen). Her two sisters had come down too, made themselves invaluable as ever, acted as a buffer to soothe their parents’ fears and Eliza’s exasperation. But of course, what had really made the reconciliation an inevitability had been the sight of Eliza cradling her small but noticeable, fourth month old bump. Her parents melted instantly.

“You little miracle worker,” she murmured softly, not opening her eyes. She always felt that they could hear her better when she was focusing on nothing but the sensation of them under her fingers. Whenever Eliza talked to them- which was very, very often- she did it with closed eyes and a small, enigmatic smile.

She heard Alex’s footsteps coming down the rickety stairs, the sound of bare soles on uneven wood, his airy voice singing to himself under his breath. Music was another human concept he’d latched onto almost obsessively, though he claimed it was a little lacking compared to the kind of lyrics he’d heard before he walked on two legs. All the same, he treasured the vinyl record player she’d brought with them from Albany, he’d play a record over and over until he was sickened on it. For the last few days it was Edith Piaf who’d stolen his heart in particular. Eliza didn’t mind, she’d owned that box of records since she was fifteen, she loved every song in that box with a deep, nostalgic adoration. And she was finding the melancholy, the memories of lying on her bed as a teenager and finding solace in these songs, extremely comforting in her pregnancy.

Just yesterday, when the blues she couldn’t quite pinpoint or tangle her way out of had caught hold of her, the lowness and discomfort her doctor just shook her head and explained away as a normal symptom, Alex had known exactly what to do. He’d taken hold of her hands and pulled her into the kitchen, taking her around the floor in a kind of slow, careful waddling waltz that was all she could manage right now but it had brought Eliza back into the light in moments. They’d ended up making slow, gentle love against the wall with that gorgeous, lilting music still accompanying their movements and Eliza had ended up crying from the beauty of it, how happy she was.

And it left Alex always singing. That she loved more than anything. His voice lent itself well to song, it was raspy and it snapped in places and some notes wandered away but it was real and it had so much more feeling to it than she’d ever heard. She could listen to her Alex sing all day long.

She opened her eyes to watch him, laughing in amusement but not surprise when she saw he’d stripped right down to his boxers. He never was going to get the hang of clothes.

Eliza could almost actually see the stress and anxiety trail out of him, like ribbons of steam leaving a burning hot surface, she was so relieved. She knew having her whole family come to visit had been the most she’d ever asked of him. The weight of fabricating a whole life, a childhood spent in this town, running into Eliza at college, falling in love, a whirlwind proposal, having to keep all the little tics and habits that made him himself in check, hold himself awkwardly, like he was balancing a book on his head for the entire day, it had almost been too much. They’d had to pull away for an hour or so in the middle of the day, under the pretence of Eliza needing a nap, for her to just sit with his head in her lap, stroking his hair and rocking him, loving on him every way she knew how. She knew it made him feel like an outsider, to have to play this part. Talking art with her mother and listening to her father’s political rants he’d happily dispense to anyone who showed a passing interest, hiding so much of himself and who he was, it all just reminded him with a painful sharpness that he didn’t fit.

But he’d done it for her. And he’d done so well, her parents had gone from eyeing him distrustfully to shaking his hand and smiling warmly in the space of six hours, that in itself was no mean feat.

Eliza poured every scrap of love she could find into the gaze she gave him as her weary husband came and knelt in the space between her legs, resting his head against her stomach and breathing in a sigh so deep it must have made his ribs ache.

“My brave, beautiful man,” Eliza cooed softly, bending over him, “My hero.”

Alex gave a small laugh, her voice tired, “That went well.”

“It went better than well, Alex, they loved you!” she praised him generously, knowing it would be like a balm on his raw anxiety, “They probably like you more than me! You had them laughing and you answered all their questions perfectly and…and, baby, I’m so proud of you…”

“I’m just glad it’s done,” he mumbled, catching her hand and pressing his lips to her palm, “If I’m allowed to say that.”

“Honey, I am right there with you,” Eliza reassured him with a gentle laugh, “That’s satisfied my desire to see my family for…the next twelve years, I’d say.”

Alex snickered along with her, the giggling, bubbling laughter of relief at the end of a long journey, as social batteries recharged and familiarity returned. He took his kisses over to her stomach, that had been the focus of his attentions recently, like it was the centre of his universe.

“Your daddy did pretty good, huh?” he grinned, his voice gentle, “Didn’t do a half bad job passing as human?”

Eliza laughed, Alex was as talkative with their unborn baby as he was with anyone. She loved it, actually, held onto the thought that their child would be born knowing their father’s voice like a precious coin. Like a lighthouse’s glare.

“You did amazingly, Alex, I can’t thank you enough,” Eliza answered for their little one.

He gave her a sleepy smile, looking proud of himself. And that was all Eliza could ever have asked for. That was part of loving someone so completely, she’d realised, having them love themselves being as necessary your own oxygen. Needing them to see and know everything amazing that made you love them.

“I have an idea,” she said quietly, grinning.

Alex tilted his head, quizzically, “Yeah?”

The only answer she gave him was to gingerly get to her feet, waving at him to stay put.

“Eliza?” he narrowed his eyes, “Baby, you shouldn’t be on your feet, c’mon, just tell me and I’ll do it…”

Eliza shot him a warning look, “Sweetheart, if you don’t calm down you’re going to have a heart attack before the baby even gets here. I can walk up stairs, okay? Now shush and stay put.”

Alex dropped back down onto his ass, scowling and folding his arms. A combination of the two things he hated the most, having his pregnant wife moving around when he could be fetching and carrying for her. And not knowing what was going on.

He sulked half-heartedly until he heard her soft voice coming from upstairs. He was up and moving in a heartbeat, only skidding to a halt when he pushed back their bedroom door and saw what she’d made for him.

This time he didn’t need prompting. He took her hand and pulled her into the blanket fort that was taking up most of the floor space, curling up with her gladly, back in the soft, warm glow of the place they’d both first discovered exactly what it was they had. This was one thing that hadn’t gotten away from them, however far they’d come in such a short space of time.

“Thank you, Eliza,” he sighed for the millionth time, his face happily buried in her hair.

“I thought you could use some space,” she replied with a satisfied smile, her eyes closed and her head pillowed on the lower part of his stomach so he could koala himself around her in the way he liked to do.

“I kind of did, yeah,” he laughed at the understatement, shaking his head a little at her canny.

Eliza’s smile turned a little wicked as she made up her mind that they’d been lying here cuddling for long enough, “I think I have something else you could use.”

Alex blinked in confusion, making a soft noise of perplexity, until he felt her hands pulling his boxers down his legs.

“Betsey…” he breathed, heat pooling in the base of his stomach as her warm breath touched the most intimate part of him.

The unpredictability of her hormones had given them both a lot of sleepless nights recently but Alex had rarely found himself on the receiving end. Not that he minded at all, he enjoyed giving as much as anything and felt so relieved to have a problem he knew and enjoyed fixing.

Eliza felt his hesitation as her hands rested on his hips. She looked up at him, her eyes catching the low light, “Alex? Sweetheart, we don’t have to, I just want to bring you back to yourself a little? I just want to make you feel good…”

What she really wanted was to show him how loved he was, human or not, how none of that mattered to her and what they’d been through today didn’t mean that fitting in with her family was a condition of her wanting to be with him. If her mother and father had taken one look at him and spat on the ground in disgust, it wouldn’t have changed a thing. It was nothing more than convenience; her love was tied to something much deeper and unshakable.

But that was a little too complicated to say. She just hoped it came across in the way she ran her fingers across his skin.

Alex answered with his hands tangling in her hair, a silent gesture of permission. By the time, Eliza was finished with him, after she’d broken him with her mouth, turned him around and put him back together, again with her mouth, they were exhausted. Sleep came easily, all worries and anxieties forgotten, replaced with closeness and warmth.

Alex and Eliza were finding that sometimes they didn’t need words.

Summer couldn’t come back around sooner for Eliza.

As much as she’d loved the months that had gone by, as fun as it had been introducing Alex to the concept of Christmas, celebrating the new year with the knowledge that one of the top publishers in New York city, a close personal friend of Senator Schuyler, had accepted Alex’s submission and already asked for more. Something about the concept of a reclusive, postmodern poet scribbling away his tomes in some salt burned corner of Oregon had a rustic magic to it that the intellectuals of the city couldn’t get enough of, positive reviews were flooding in. Alex didn’t have a clue what half of the words people used to describe his work meant but the advance cheque would easily cover the cost of a crib and paint for the nursery so, frankly, he couldn’t care less. And Eliza was proud of him.

As much as she loved spring, seeing her new flowers coming through and getting to feel the sun on her skin again and some blue return to the sky rather than near constant grey so monotonous that the clouds and the sea seemed to run into one, unending canvas. Seeing the buds studding their careful, delicate trails across the open palms of the tree branches had broken her out of a day’s long slump and made her laugh for no reason other than flowers were beautiful and she was happy.

But Eliza found herself more than ready for summer. Not just for being free of work, of standing on her swollen ankles and fighting her instincts to do nothing all day but curl up and nap, but for the freedom of having nothing in the world to do but wait. She was unlike Alex in that way. While he was in a constant state of restless, impatient shifting, ticking the days off on the calendar, she was more than happy to enjoy the waiting. She’d always had the personal philosophy that there was nothing she could do to make time go faster, so it was much better just to watch it flow past at its own pace. There was comfort in the inevitability, the certain future. So, she was the one who chuckled affectionately and ruffled Alex’s hair and kissed the back of his neck, reminding him that the baby would come when they were ready and not before. He was the one who huffed and sighed exaggeratedly, more in performance than anything, whining about the infuriatingly long gestation periods for humans and groaning that he was going to explode if he had to wait another second. It was a fun, familiar little routine they had, resolving nothing between them.

Both of them were relieved when Eliza’s first day of vacation arrived, when they went to bed safe in the knowledge that they could stay there as long as they liked and not a damn thing could make them move. Despite their shared sleepiness, they stayed up late, making love in an almost defiant, celebratory way.

Eliza had discovered a deep, ravenous delight in watching Alex pleasure himself. She could lose herself in moments, in how his tight, lithe body rolled and rocked as if to music, how his hands moved like they had minds of their own, brushing lightly and teasing and palming before suddenly gripping and striking with enough force to make him shriek, seemingly without any command from Alex himself. He took such uncomplicated joy in performing for her, emphasising every single movement so she didn’t miss anything, making loud, exaggerated noises and throwing himself into it until his hair came loose and clung to his damp face, riding as many fingers as she instructed him while stroking himself off, moving with such wanton need but still denying himself if she asked it, only finishing on her express command. That night she worked him hard, repeatedly, until he was a mess and her own body was screaming for some attention, practically pouncing on him when she finally let herself go, gripping his shoulders and dragging him between her legs.

If Alex and Eliza hadn’t finally fallen asleep so exhausted and satisfied and happy, the storm would have woken them for sure; Alex wasn’t fond of storms and Eliza was a light sleeper these days. But, as it happened, they managed to sleep on for a few hours as the rain began beating its rapid tattoo against the windows and the wind started up its angry, robust howl and their little cottage swayed under the furious pacing of the storm around the bay.

What eventually woke Eliza was the sudden, sharp pressure against her skin, flinging her back into consciousness with a sensation not unlike she’d fallen from a great height and struck the ground with sickening force. She moaned groggily, shifting out of Alex’s arms, jolting him awake too, just in time to scream hoarsely as lightning turned their room into a negative of itself.

Eliza forgot her own discomfort in an instant, taking hold of Alex’s arms and snapping his gaze to her, “No, no, sweetheart, it’s okay, it’s only the storm…my love, it’s okay, you’re safe…”

Alex’s breathing was ragged and his eyes were fixed on the window, awash with so many raindrops they blurred into one solid sheet like melted glass. There was a rumble of thunder, partner to the lightning and he moaned, trembling.

“I don’t like storms, I don’t like storms, I don’t like storms,” the rapid, garbled chanting replaced his breathing, his fingers turned to white jointed claws in his tangle of hair.

Another burst from outside and the harsh, excruciating light fell across his angular face. And for the briefest of seconds his teeth looked longer and tapered to points, his eyes became solid black, there were shadows across his cheekbones that weren’t there before, sharp and predatory and…fearsome. Eliza actually withdrew, before her brain could pull her back, her hands flying from his shoulders to wrap around her swollen belly protectively. It was just how her body reacted.

The moment that drew out between them was sickening. Alex watching his wife flinch away from him in fear. Eliza seeing his fear and panic turning him into something neither of them recognised, her body betraying her. Eyes wide, hearts stopping, bile rising in throats. And a thought shared between the two of them; please god no, take it back, take it back…

Then Eliza doubled over, a sudden pinching sensation forcing another groan from her, sweat beading along her hairline and between her shoulder blades.

“Eliza?” Alex’s stomach went into freefall, “Baby, what’s wrong?”

And the moment was forgotten, it was gone, like it never happened. They both somehow knew it needed to be that way, letting it disintegrate with no protest. It wasn’t like either of them wanted to hang on to it.

“I’m fine,” she took deep, rapid breaths of air, running her hands over her skin, “They’re just kicking.”

“Are you sure?” Alex’s anxiety had taken a backseat, a little happy for something else to focus on even as his fretful father to be instincts went into overdrive, “What if it’s, y’know, it?”

“We still have about a month, baby,” Eliza tried not to sound like she was convincing him, stroking his bare arm and hoping the darkness hid how ashy her skin had turned, “They don’t have a whole lot of room in there and they mustn’t feel like sleeping- “

She was interrupted by another loud shout from the sky that seemed to shake the ground underneath their little home. And a beat later by another hard kick from the baby, a little too rough and sudden to let her hold back the pained yelp.

“Ow…” she whimpered, her eyes tightly closed.

Alex gave a small, worried croon, shuffling forward on his knees and placing shaky palms against her stomach, frowning a little at how hot and thin it felt, even more compared to his own cool skin.

“I…I don’t think they like the storm…” he murmured thoughtfully, vaguely, like the mechanics of his brain were still clicking even as he spoke, “I think they’re scared…”

Eliza’s bottom lip trembled, ache and exhaustion and tenderness bringing tears to her eyes. Her hands rested over Alex’s, the teardrops gradually dripping from her chin to dampen the outward curve of her nightdress, “Scared? Oh no, honey, it’s okay, please don’t be scared.”

All she got in response was another forceful kick that rattled her ribs; Alex had to catch her and gently ease her down onto her back, she couldn’t move herself until the crest of it had passed.

“I feel like this is my fault,” Alex’s eyes were wide and unhappy. His own reaction to the storm had been abandoned, all he cared about now was his child’s.

“Oh, Alex,” Eliza sighed softly, her voice trembling just a little.

“No, I mean it,” he looked so forlorn, like he’d reached an uncomfortable conclusion, as he carefully settled himself next to her with the tension of someone standing guard rather than going to sleep, “The…strength and the storm and everything…this is me, this is my half, they’re like this because of me…”

Eliza couldn’t hear any more, couldn’t see that expression on his face any more. She shushed him gently and reached out to take his face between her hands, like before, but less of a frantic snatch away from the edge and more of a gentle pull towards the warmth.

“Hey,” she whispered, her fingers resting over his lips, soft and split from the cold and the temperature of a pebble pulled from the shoreline.

“Hey,” he answered, recognising her little signal to ease his grip on what was bothering him, give her the chance to take it from him.

“You know what else our baby is going to get from you?” she tilted her head, eyes sparkling in the shifting light. The moonlight split into scattered handfuls of shards, held within her iris.

Alex shook his head, easing himself closer so Eliza could drag the duvet back over them from where his thrashing had sent it to the floor.

“Well,” she rested her head on his chest, “Personally? I hope they have your lovely thick eyelashes. I hope they get your wonderful tawny skin. Your smile that uses your whole face and makes the bridge of your nose wrinkle up. And your kind heart and your curiosity and your reckless capacity for love.”

Alex was the one crying now, his eyelids fluttering as tears beaded on his lashes, as his thin shoulders shook with a mix of giggles and snuffles. But Eliza knew, as she smiled tenderly and covered his face in kisses, he was okay again.

There was more thunder and more lightning, the seconds between them climbing as the storm’s anger dissipated but with each one there was a powerful lurch inside Eliza that left her trembling and breathing hard so she didn’t scare Alex even more. She had it under control now, it wasn’t the discomfort, it was the idea that her precious little cargo was frightened and there was nothing she could do about it.

“It’ll pass, the storms leaving sweetie, it’s going,” Eliza whispered, curling into Alex, trying to keep the hard roundness of their baby tucked safe between the warmth of its parents.

“I have an idea,” Alex had been unusually silent for a while, just holding her, kneading her lower back to try and help with the pressure, “Might not work but…if my weird ass genes caused the problem, I can maybe fix it.”

Eliza opened her mouth to shoot down his choice of words but he was gone, ducking under the quilt. She turned over a little, gingerly, shifting her significant weight, trying to figure out what his plan was exactly. He’d been caressing her stomach for the past ten minutes without it having it’s usual impact, what on earth was he doing?

Eliza froze as soon as she heard his voice, his gentle, quiet singing, muffled a little with the blankets and the racket outside but still sounding so clear as if it originated from inside her own chest. This was nothing from her old records, it wasn’t listed on the back of any dust jacket in that case, this was nothing from her world at all. The language he sang in was constructed for another set of vocal cords, another medium and another time. It was unmistakably a lullaby, it had the right texture and lilt, dropping to almost a whisper at the end of each verse and easing through the cadence, rocking and swelling in an expressive mimicry of the movement of a mother’s arms. Or the roll of the waves. Eliza didn’t understand the words but as she listened, images were painted upon her mind that hadn’t come from her, light refracted through green water and seaweed tracing a thoughtful dance in the current and a slight tipping of perspective, looking at the world through a different angle. Within the confines of Alex’s song, up was down, down was up, gravity was nothing more than a slight compression against a gentle floating sensation, sight was useless but the nose, ears, fingertips were alive.

It was haunting.

But the baby growing inside her settled within a few lines, the pinching and the pressure eased into a soft pattering as they searched for their father’s voice, finding his hands and placing their tiny palms against his own. Even as more thunder and more lightning rocked the cottage, their nameless little one was still, soothed into sleep. Before much longer the storm broke and the weather let go of whatever grudge had riled it, leaving nothing more than a slightly sullen rainfall. Alex let go of the song, it seemed to have no natural end but just left his throat to continue on somewhere else, out of their reach.

He kissed Eliza’s belly, murmuring, “You be nice to your mama, okay, try not to hurt her for me? You both need some sleep now. I love you.”

He resurfaced, expecting a kiss or at least a grateful smile, his own a little bashful. What he found, to the breaking of his heart, was Eliza’s face twisted in grief and pain, tears flowing down her heart shaped face, following the exact shadows that the rain and the moonlight were tracing on her skin.

“Eliza?” he breathed, reaching out for her.

“I’m sorry,” she croaked, twisting her eyes shut as if to hide from him what he’d already seen, “It’s not…I mean…”

Alex sat up, gently easing her over to him so her head was cradled against his chest, “You can tell me? Please?” He couldn’t help if he didn’t know.

So many times, in the past eight months he’d been forced to accept a truth that sat bitterly with him, that some problems Eliza had he just couldn’t take away. All he could do was nod and hold her while she cried over the unfairness of throwing up every single morning and having to pull six hour shifts with no coffee or being unable to doze on her stomach like she loved to do on lazy Saturday mornings while Alex read the paper and fed her bits of toast. Little things that didn’t seem to hold that much importance at first glance but still she wept and the fact that she was weeping over such apparently trivial things made her weep even harder. And Alex couldn’t do a damn thing to change it. And that stung him.

But this was something deeper.

“I’m n-not crying b-b-because they’re like you,” Eliza sobbed, her voice dripping with misery, “I swear I’m n-not. It’s just…”

Alex stiffened, letting her cling to his arm as her stomach kept her from throwing her arms around his middle.

“Then what, sweetheart?” He was getting the sense he wouldn’t like the answer.

“What if they…if they w-want to go?” Eliza wrenched the words out, dissolving into freshly agonised sobs at having spoken the words out loud.

Alex felt a chill as he realised what she meant. What if their baby was so much like him that they felt the same pull in their hearts that he felt every time the smell of salt caught in his nose or on his tongue or he heard the waves breaking on the shore, knowing just by sound alone which held the right currents to take him back. Back where was a question too vast to answer. Anywhere.

For Alex, the temptation was only ever brief, the old stale hunger for a drug he’d kicked long ago. The scent of Eliza’s hair or the brush of her fingertips on the back of his neck or the impossibly soft skin under the curve of her breasts chased it back down. Even when she was at work and he had the sea song caught in his head and there came that sly reminder from some part of his brain he didn’t fully control- his skin was just upstairs, the chest at the foot of their bed, it was right there- all he needed to do was find the diamond patterned sweater she’d been wearing all day yesterday and bury his nose in it, inhaling the smell of petrichor and garden soil and dew and flour, the scent of his mate. How could he want to be anywhere but here, by his beloved’s side?

There was no guarantee his child would feel the same.

What if they wanted to go? They baby Eliza had carried and formed with so much love, that Alex already adored with every scrap of himself without even seeing their face, what if they wanted the sea more than their parents?

“C-could they? I m-mean, they’d be half human, they won’t have a pelt, they couldn’t, could they? Alexander?” Eliza dug her nails into his arm in her desperation for comfort, silently imploring him to tell her she had nothing to worry about, their child would belong to the land.

“I…if they wanted it enough…” Alex’s throat felt half paralysed as he forced it to work, pushed away the desire to lie to his wife to preserve her feelings, “They’d get their sealskin from me.”

Eliza lifted her head to blink at him, her eyes confused, “What?”

Alex swallowed hard, “There’s a way. I’d cut them one. From my own.”

It would hurt, he knew that much. He’d never fully recover. But god, it would cost him more than just blood to do it.

“If they came and asked me, my love, I…I don’t know if I could say no,” he fought against tears of his own, “It would kill me, Betsey, of course it would but I couldn’t deny them it.”

“I understand,” Eliza rasped, miserably. She couldn’t resent him for that, she knew she couldn’t. At least, she tried so hard not to.

“I guess…Betsey, all we can do is just love them as much as we can and trust that they’ll make the right decision for them,” Alex sighed deeply, clutching her hand, “Look at the home we’ve made for them, the life we can give them…who could refuse this? Sure worked for me.”

The gentle attempt at humour earned him a watery smile. Eliza felt her weariness come flooding back, a wall of emotion that made her want to close her eyes and hide in the comfort of sleep. Alex was more than willing to provide, hugging her from behind, burying his face between her shoulder blades so she could rest in the safety of his arms. And it worked, in minutes her heavy eyelids closed to the world and she found peace.

But Eliza knew she’d discovered a fear that would live in some corner of her heart for the rest of her life.

#hamliza #alexander x eliza #selkie au #the seal lullaby #ficlet

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