Every Fragile Thing Shall Rust [Dark][Finished]

[Bee]

At first he passed it off as too much work. He pulled long hours, after all, at the bakery, long and occasionally irregular. Being exceptionally tired was nothing new. But usually a good day off, and especially a good day off with Senka, cured him.

This fatigue persisted. Once he sat down, he melded into the sofa and didn’t want to move. He may as well have been strapped to the bed for all he felt capable of leaving it in the morning. Getting a glass of water felt like a death march.

Then he made himself realize that he had felt all of this before. Four times. He knew what this was. It made him feel nauseated, and he wasn’t sure if it was a physical symptom of pregnancy or a psychological symptom of sudden, blood-curdling fear. A year and a half ago he would have greeted this with nothing but excitement and his normal laundry list of worries. Now it was almost more worry than excitement—not even something as prosaic as worry. Terror.

He waited until the actual nausea showed up to test it. He didn’t want to get his own or Senka’s hopes up.

But there it was. The first, easiest, and possibly only test passed.

“Good news, Senka.”

[Dark]

Good news.

Senka knew that she should feel--something--something akin to elation at those words, but joy had become caution with the second, caution turned to frustration with the third, and frustration into despair with the fourth. It was with dread that she kissed Vishne, settled a possessive hand over his flat belly.

She wanted this baby--they both did--but she was beginning to wonder if it was worth the toll it was taking on them both mentally and physically. Especially Vishne. And there was the growing suspicion, deep in her gut, that her unknown parentage was the cause of the utter devastation on Vishne’s face when he’d had the first miscarriage, the second, the third, the forth--some genetic anomaly that had skipped down through the generations to her--and she hated herself for it.

“That’s wonderful, dear,” she murmured, hoping desperately that is actually was, and held him close.

[Bee]

When they passed the time they lost the first and third of the children, he began to feel a little better. Calmed, a little, on taking every small twinge of his muscles, every minor headache, every upset stomach brought on by eating too much sugar, as a signifier of impending disaster. When they made it past the fourth child, and then the second, he was only half the paranoid neurotic mess he thought he’d be.

The doctor they had seen asked why they didn’t have Senka attempt to carry the child—easier, he said, for the lady, pointing out the obvious. It was weird to explain that that was just sort of the how the relationship worked, and he wanted to do it, and…after the first couple of times, he didn’t want to chance having Senka experience the same thing he had.

Besides, things were going well. At six months, he finally felt comfortable buying baby things again—new ones, of course. The old things they had purchased…it felt wrong to re-purpose them. A couple of things he had squirreled away, as though in lieu of a photograph, but no object had passed from would-be child to would-be sibling.

[Dark]

Fresh paint: neutral beige with white trim. Cradle: straight-grain, clean-wood smell slowly replacing harsh chemical. Blanket: plush, soft, careful stitches and made to last. Mobile: dancing stars and moon and sun. Rattle: beautifully carved, sounds like soft rain.

All new, all placed in the tiny room meant for their use. As well as all the other miscellaneous objects bought and carefully, lovingly placed inside.

She hadn’t dared to hope, yet—she hoped, wished, prayed. For Vishne to smile again. A real smile; not the kind that never quite reached his eyes. To have something worth smiling about herself. To be a proper family. After so much waiting, longing.

She kept herself and Vishne busy out of necessity, lest idleness spawn unpleasant thoughts; shopping, organizing the tiny room, and reorganizing it, preparing/consuming healthy meals, some more disgusting than others but full of vital nutrients, and doing light, doctor-recommended exercises.

Seven months along, now, and no troubles. And all she could do was hope.

Just a smile.

[Bee]

The pressure, he was told, was normal. So was the lower back pain. So he tried to set aside the negative thoughts that were pushing insistently at the edges of his mind and relax. His paranoia was making him mistake perfectly ordinary annoyances for catastrophe. The kid was fine. He was fine. And soon he, the kid, and Senka would all be fine together. (Even though Senka was against naming her Octavia, which Vishne thought was a perfectly regal and elegant name for a future little princess).

The blood wasn’t normal. It speckled the sheets in the morning. He shook Senka awake, feeling numb and frenzied at the same time. He couldn’t take his eyes off the stain. The moment he stirred, really tried to move, the pain started.

“Hospital time,” he said, throat dry. It was early, he thought, and strange, but not too early, and hopefully not too strange.

There were things that could be done.

There were.

[Dark]

There were things that could be done for premature births; they were assured by well-meaning nurses and sterile doctors. The Corvistowne-run hospital was the leading facility of medical practitioners in the Capital, and well-able to handle complications. Complications like a baby being born two months before its estimated natal date.

But they weren’t.

She knew when they asked her to step outside—there had been some complications; everything would be fine; just more room for the doctor to work—and she was forced to release Vishne’s paw, expelled out into the stifling waiting room. She knew long before a grim-faced nurse came to retrieve her from those long minutes out in the deathly quiet.

They had lost the baby.

Still-born; it hadn’t respond to revival attempts. The tiny body, white-shroud, had been moved to another room.

The well-meaning, now grim-faced nurses and sterile doctor offered medical condolences and filtered out like ghosts, leaving them to the stillness.

Senka curled into Vishne—he wouldn’t look at her, ashen faced, and her heart ached—and wept.