eclecticmuses: Pregnant belly picture
http://i43.tinypic.com/2qjf5ab.jpg
Warning: Disturbing content - losing a child - and not quite managing to deal with it for a while, behind the cut.
She had been happy.
Within two years or so, Svetlana had gone from a freak who had found something to be useful for so she was not spurned for all that she failed in, to meeting Pollux, to surviving one of the greatest treacheries in recent White Council history, to finding ways to recover from that, to becoming Mrs. DuMorne - Pol's wife - to... expecting a daughter. His daughter, their daughter, the best thing that had ever happened to the two of them, binding them even more, making them a family, making what their minds and souls and bodies knew into something even better.
It was strange, and complicated, being pregnant, and to her own dismay, she couldn't See it (it had even been Pol, by chance using his Sight in his research, who had seen the tiny spark of life within her first) just like she couldn't See herself. But oh she could feel it. The changes to her body, to her mind; then the little flutters, the small signs that their child - their daughter - was alive. And if her body ached, that was a tiny price for the miracle, the amazing joy of it, for both of them.
She was happy, and she Saw the happiness in Pol too. All of it, too amazing for words. She had her Sight and the irreplaceable, unfading memories of it. Some things, she wished she could forget, or mute.
Not Pol. And not Pol like that.
And then there had been confusion. Pain, cutting pain - too early and too different, she knew, to be right. She was too used to experiencing others' pain and too unused to her own for it to seem other than detached somehow, even if she felt all of it.
Worried faces over her. Muted I'm sorrys and looks of pity, but she didn't understand why.
She didn't understand.
She carried on the same for days. Two days. And on the third day a choked sob from Pol as she was folding a baby blanket made her turn to him and then she Saw.
The old wound on his soul, the loss of his brother, had started bleeding again. And there right beside it there was a fresh gash, its edges ragged, the bright substance of his soul's energy pouring out as his eyes looked at her, wide and imploring and confused and a soft, "why, what happened?" crossed her lips before it hit her.
The pain. His pain, her pain, the drawn faces. The blood...
Alys was gone. She'd lost their baby.
"Sveta... Svetla..."
"I'm sorry." He was by her side, his arm around her shoulders, quickly enough as to take her, catch her as her knees buckled, the will to do anything draining from her.
She'd lost their daughter. Something had gone wrong, and she hadn't known, and the baby had come sooner and...
Stillborn.
Slow thoughts. The fewer of them that happened, the better. Mostly she was trying to keep her Sight in some semblance of control.
She'd dress, and eat, and wash, and lie down when she was told. Lie for hours sometimes, the warm body of her husband holding her close in the only thing that resembled right anymore in her world. Resembled, for he was tense and awake as well and even as she was, she knew that wasn't as it should be. Then he would either fall asleep, finally too exhausted not to; or he would run his hand over her hair, oh so gently, and murmur "sleep, love." And she would.
It was easier to do what he wanted her to than trying to think on her own. Because she was a healer, wasn't she? And she had lost their child, and it was her fault and...
So she was for some time. More than a week. Maybe more than two weeks.
He was kneeling before her chair, and she could see something broken in his eyes and she could See his self bleeding as bad, or maybe worse, than ever since they first met and she could hear most of his words. That Alys was gone, but it was going to be all right, somehow, they'd make it all right, please don't give up, please. She nodded numbly, and then he asked her if she was going to have some lunch, and she nodded again, and he rose, his shoulders hunched, and went to get something.
I did this to him. I couldn't bring our child alive into this world; I failed her, and I failed him. It rang through her mind clearer than thought she'd had for many days, and she slumped in her chair, letting go of the last of her control over her Sight.
It had been a long, long time when she had done that. Even small as her control was... It made a difference.
The complete awareness of the room invaded her with absolute suddenness. The love, the hope, the expectation, the happiness had left their imprints, here as on their entire home; as well as the pain, the grief, her despair and his struggle with his. All of them flooded her mind and she whimpered. And for the first time in many days rose to her feet of her own volition.
And ran.
Well no, she didn't run, it was much more of a shambling, stumbling walk; but she ran away. Out in the hallway, one hand leaning against the wall, and out the door.
Out to where she'd always gone when what people did was too much.
To the woods.
Which wasn't far, in this case. And she didn't have energy enough to go far in at all; she stopped and fell to her knees almost as soon as she was past the first few trees.
It was easier here. Even with her third eye fully open, it was less desperate here to try and recover control. Of her breathing, of her pain, of her Sight. Even so, it wasn't coming quickly.
And not quickly enough to be ready when the frightened cry came from inside their house. "SVETA!"
Pol... He had left her sitting in her chair, as for so many days, and hadn't found her back. Oh God...
She turned a little, still on the ground, to face the house, and try to make her voice work. It was strange; she hadn't used it for many days. But she tried.
"Out here! Pol... Pol! Out here in the woods!"
She didn't know if he heard that - maybe, the window was open - or just shot out of the door because he had checked all the rooms and hadn't found her. But when he was outside, he did hear. Or see her. Either way, he was beside her quickly enough to seem he'd moved there by magic; way faster than she had, at any rate. Down on the ground by her side, pulling her in his arms, holding her hard and tight. Almost so much as to hurt, but she didn't mind. Her arms, very slowly, made their way around his shoulders.
"Sveta... Svetlana. My heart... what happened?"
"I needed... the woods. Couldn't... inside." Her voice broke even more. "She's gone, Pol. And I couldn't do anything. I didn't-- She's gone. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..."
"I know. I know, my love. It's not your fault, it happened, just stay with me... Don't... don't want to lose you too. Can't lose you too, please... please don't..."
Her breath puffed out of her lips as she realized, suddenly and fully and supported by her Sight, how much focusing on what she had done, what had happened, had had a terrible effect on what she was doing. Closed off in her inability to deal, she'd made it so much, infinitely worse for Pol.
Her arms tightened around him, fingers suddenly digging into his shirt.
"Никуда. Никогда." Nowhere. Never. Voice still weak from disuse, from being so battered down, from the tears that were pouring down her face, but resolute and firm nonetheless. "I'm not going away. I'm here, Pol. I'm here, love." She couldn't fix the fact that Alys was gone. But she now could see how much of the bleeding inside was for her, for the desperation held at bay for another loss. That... if nothing else, that she could try to staunch. Slowly. But maybe she could help again.
One day.
They knelt on the ground, intertwined in a tight embrace. After so long, she did know what she wanted. Or at least what she didn't want. Didn't want to let go.
He didn't either.
In a little while, it started to rain.
She could feel him trying to work up ... something, to speaking again. But he didn't pull back.
It was her who said quietly, "shall we go back in?"
"Do you want to? Can you...?"
"I think so."
Her arms tightened again as he shifted just enough to kiss her brow. "Then let's."
And they did. Together, her snuggled up against him but walking, acting of her own will. And that was to be with him. Despite difficulties and how much she had messed up. Despite ...
Even despite their loss. Somehow.
Always.
Warning: Disturbing content - losing a child - and not quite managing to deal with it for a while, behind the cut.
She had been happy.
Within two years or so, Svetlana had gone from a freak who had found something to be useful for so she was not spurned for all that she failed in, to meeting Pollux, to surviving one of the greatest treacheries in recent White Council history, to finding ways to recover from that, to becoming Mrs. DuMorne - Pol's wife - to... expecting a daughter. His daughter, their daughter, the best thing that had ever happened to the two of them, binding them even more, making them a family, making what their minds and souls and bodies knew into something even better.
It was strange, and complicated, being pregnant, and to her own dismay, she couldn't See it (it had even been Pol, by chance using his Sight in his research, who had seen the tiny spark of life within her first) just like she couldn't See herself. But oh she could feel it. The changes to her body, to her mind; then the little flutters, the small signs that their child - their daughter - was alive. And if her body ached, that was a tiny price for the miracle, the amazing joy of it, for both of them.
She was happy, and she Saw the happiness in Pol too. All of it, too amazing for words. She had her Sight and the irreplaceable, unfading memories of it. Some things, she wished she could forget, or mute.
Not Pol. And not Pol like that.
And then there had been confusion. Pain, cutting pain - too early and too different, she knew, to be right. She was too used to experiencing others' pain and too unused to her own for it to seem other than detached somehow, even if she felt all of it.
Worried faces over her. Muted I'm sorrys and looks of pity, but she didn't understand why.
She didn't understand.
She carried on the same for days. Two days. And on the third day a choked sob from Pol as she was folding a baby blanket made her turn to him and then she Saw.
The old wound on his soul, the loss of his brother, had started bleeding again. And there right beside it there was a fresh gash, its edges ragged, the bright substance of his soul's energy pouring out as his eyes looked at her, wide and imploring and confused and a soft, "why, what happened?" crossed her lips before it hit her.
The pain. His pain, her pain, the drawn faces. The blood...
Alys was gone. She'd lost their baby.
"Sveta... Svetla..."
"I'm sorry." He was by her side, his arm around her shoulders, quickly enough as to take her, catch her as her knees buckled, the will to do anything draining from her.
She'd lost their daughter. Something had gone wrong, and she hadn't known, and the baby had come sooner and...
Stillborn.
Slow thoughts. The fewer of them that happened, the better. Mostly she was trying to keep her Sight in some semblance of control.
She'd dress, and eat, and wash, and lie down when she was told. Lie for hours sometimes, the warm body of her husband holding her close in the only thing that resembled right anymore in her world. Resembled, for he was tense and awake as well and even as she was, she knew that wasn't as it should be. Then he would either fall asleep, finally too exhausted not to; or he would run his hand over her hair, oh so gently, and murmur "sleep, love." And she would.
It was easier to do what he wanted her to than trying to think on her own. Because she was a healer, wasn't she? And she had lost their child, and it was her fault and...
So she was for some time. More than a week. Maybe more than two weeks.
He was kneeling before her chair, and she could see something broken in his eyes and she could See his self bleeding as bad, or maybe worse, than ever since they first met and she could hear most of his words. That Alys was gone, but it was going to be all right, somehow, they'd make it all right, please don't give up, please. She nodded numbly, and then he asked her if she was going to have some lunch, and she nodded again, and he rose, his shoulders hunched, and went to get something.
I did this to him. I couldn't bring our child alive into this world; I failed her, and I failed him. It rang through her mind clearer than thought she'd had for many days, and she slumped in her chair, letting go of the last of her control over her Sight.
It had been a long, long time when she had done that. Even small as her control was... It made a difference.
The complete awareness of the room invaded her with absolute suddenness. The love, the hope, the expectation, the happiness had left their imprints, here as on their entire home; as well as the pain, the grief, her despair and his struggle with his. All of them flooded her mind and she whimpered. And for the first time in many days rose to her feet of her own volition.
And ran.
Well no, she didn't run, it was much more of a shambling, stumbling walk; but she ran away. Out in the hallway, one hand leaning against the wall, and out the door.
Out to where she'd always gone when what people did was too much.
To the woods.
Which wasn't far, in this case. And she didn't have energy enough to go far in at all; she stopped and fell to her knees almost as soon as she was past the first few trees.
It was easier here. Even with her third eye fully open, it was less desperate here to try and recover control. Of her breathing, of her pain, of her Sight. Even so, it wasn't coming quickly.
And not quickly enough to be ready when the frightened cry came from inside their house. "SVETA!"
Pol... He had left her sitting in her chair, as for so many days, and hadn't found her back. Oh God...
She turned a little, still on the ground, to face the house, and try to make her voice work. It was strange; she hadn't used it for many days. But she tried.
"Out here! Pol... Pol! Out here in the woods!"
She didn't know if he heard that - maybe, the window was open - or just shot out of the door because he had checked all the rooms and hadn't found her. But when he was outside, he did hear. Or see her. Either way, he was beside her quickly enough to seem he'd moved there by magic; way faster than she had, at any rate. Down on the ground by her side, pulling her in his arms, holding her hard and tight. Almost so much as to hurt, but she didn't mind. Her arms, very slowly, made their way around his shoulders.
"Sveta... Svetlana. My heart... what happened?"
"I needed... the woods. Couldn't... inside." Her voice broke even more. "She's gone, Pol. And I couldn't do anything. I didn't-- She's gone. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..."
"I know. I know, my love. It's not your fault, it happened, just stay with me... Don't... don't want to lose you too. Can't lose you too, please... please don't..."
Her breath puffed out of her lips as she realized, suddenly and fully and supported by her Sight, how much focusing on what she had done, what had happened, had had a terrible effect on what she was doing. Closed off in her inability to deal, she'd made it so much, infinitely worse for Pol.
Her arms tightened around him, fingers suddenly digging into his shirt.
"Никуда. Никогда." Nowhere. Never. Voice still weak from disuse, from being so battered down, from the tears that were pouring down her face, but resolute and firm nonetheless. "I'm not going away. I'm here, Pol. I'm here, love." She couldn't fix the fact that Alys was gone. But she now could see how much of the bleeding inside was for her, for the desperation held at bay for another loss. That... if nothing else, that she could try to staunch. Slowly. But maybe she could help again.
One day.
They knelt on the ground, intertwined in a tight embrace. After so long, she did know what she wanted. Or at least what she didn't want. Didn't want to let go.
He didn't either.
In a little while, it started to rain.
She could feel him trying to work up ... something, to speaking again. But he didn't pull back.
It was her who said quietly, "shall we go back in?"
"Do you want to? Can you...?"
"I think so."
Her arms tightened again as he shifted just enough to kiss her brow. "Then let's."
And they did. Together, her snuggled up against him but walking, acting of her own will. And that was to be with him. Despite difficulties and how much she had messed up. Despite ...
Even despite their loss. Somehow.
Always.