Work Text:
The walk through the halls was pure muscle memory. Your signature at the front desk was a mere afterthought before you washed your hands and made your way deeper into the ward, a strange reverent hush cushioning the air. Early hours were the least disruptive and as it turned out, easiest for you. The ride into the city was long and expensive and exhausting but you had to make the most of your time.
After all, it was only you now.
The looks from your family, your friends and colleagues, not to mention the staff in the intensive care unit, were heavy and knowing. Doubt lingered when they thought you weren’t paying attention, closely followed by pity when they realized you were.
You hadn’t asked for this. Mother and widow in a week flat.
That must have been a record somewhere.
You entered the dim room and greeted the nurse with a weary smile; she knew you by heart. Everything was as you left it from yesterday. Tubes and cups and valves clean, ready to be used. You lived hour to hour, the rhythmic suction a beat that perhaps matched the one the Abyss-corrupted followed when they tore your husband from you in Nod Krai a month prior.
For every second you hated pumping, you were thankful you could at least give them your nutrients. Milk was the only thing you could offer other than your voice and a gentle touch through a small porthole. You settled in, closing the curtain and strapping yourself to the cold cups. At least this model was a little more discreet and you could put your blouse back on while you adjusted the pump. It was sturdier, thankfully, than your old IV pole from what felt like a lifetime ago.
Some time later, after you’d bottled and labeled your output and you’d read aloud despite knowing the isolette muffled your voice, the wave hit. You stared at your child, their belly heaving, reality slapping you as you thought and yearned of before. Would they look like him? Have his mannerisms? What if you’d decided against this?
At least here they were taken care of.
Home was another story where a sink full of dishes sat waiting and you’d set out a second up of coffee that had gone cold hours ago.
It wasn’t possible. You shouldn’t have done this, knowing what you knew now. How alone you were. How you ached to have what you wouldn’t again.
“Ah, I thought perhaps I might finally find you.”
In the fog of it all, you barely registered the voice. Authoritative, prideful, and one you heard exactly once before. You blinked and pulled yourself out of the heavy thoughts long enough to register the glowing bird’s head and dangling ornamentation that marked the Second Harbinger.
Somewhere in the well-worn exhaustion, confusion and anger stirred in your gut. What did he want? Were you to lose your children too, after all of this? As a spouse of a serving Fatuus, and native to the land of Cryo, you knew the well-spread rumors about the Second, how children were terrified of ending up under his eye.
Out of habit, you went to rise, only to be met with a hand held up to halt you in your tracks.
“Not necessary. I am aware of your husband’s sacrifice and only came to inform you that I owe him a debt. Without his actions, we would have lost all footholds in Nod Krai.”
He approached the isolette with the focus of the wolves that roamed the tundras and the curiosity of the ravens that followed them. Il Dottore was not one for sentimentality but you instantly recognized the gesture, a quid pro quo that you were certain his business partner and fellow Harbinger had assisted with.
“I see,” you replied. “Thank you, my lord. I hope this trip wasn’t far out of the way for you.”
“Hardly.”
A moment passed and then another. A bradycardia, and then a desaturation. They resolved themselves within a few seconds and your child made a sound, something between a moan and a squeak.
“Remarkably unremarkable,” said the Harbinger, his conclusion succinct. When you didn’t respond, he clarified further after he stood straight and pulled his hands behind his back. “It is a good thing, in this case, to be so boring and predictable. They’ll be fine, in time. Prematurity poses challenges but nothing that doesn’t sort itself out with patience.”
The corner of your mouth twitched. Nothing about this felt boring, you wanted to toss back. But better not to piss off the Harbinger known to push the boundaries on every bit of knowledge he could get.
“Whatever is running through your mind is also entirely unremarkable. Quite normal, in fact.”
You scoffed and settled back in your chair as another machine beeped in a different part of the room. “What gave it away?”
“I have seen that look on the faces of those who know their fate is sealed and yet they yearn to change it. It is enough to drive the average person to violence towards others or themselves. Or to simply vanish one day and leave it all behind for something different,” Dottore replied, his focus entirely on you. “Postpartum is well documented. If your husband were here, I am certain he would feel similarly. I have been told he was the empathetic of his squadron, the one who put the future first.”
You nodded numbly, remembering his face the day you told him about the baby. Immediately, he’d begun to plan and future-proof decisions, even finding old books of his to set aside for them.
Il Dottore reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope, sealed with his mark, a bird with a mechanical eye.
“Should you ever require anything for the child, you need only ask. Another might say that equivalent exchange is only fair in matters of money but it is the loss of potential that stings the most, in my opinion.
You took the extended envelope and ran its edge between your nails.
“No one will look out for the child except for you. You are entitled to benefits as the wife of a soldier.“
The silent words spoke volumes. No one else would look after the child the way you would, the way you wanted to.
You would be okay. In time. Perhaps not healed but changed, prepared for different challenges.
“Thank you for your time, my lord,” you said simply.
The Harbinger bowed just enough to be polite and left without another word, his footfalls echoing throughout the ward.
Your child stirred and you set aside the letter to wash your hands before opening the porthole to hold their tiny fingers.
For a man who dressed like death, you thought, the Second certainly knew how to restore life.