Chapter Text
“I think father is dying.”
Olruggio was just barely through the front door before his girls were on him, Agott taking the lead.
“I was only gone for thirty minutes,” he said, handing his shopping to Coco so he could unwind the scarf from around his throat; stepping out of his boots. Snow covered his head and shoulders, the tips of his ears flushed red from the cold.
“He won’t come out of your bathroom,” Richeh explained, her arm clasped tightly within Tetia’s grip who looked fit to cry at any moment.
Olruggio scratched his beard, definitely concerned, but ultimately not surprised by the information. Qifrey had a tendency to hide away when he felt ill, like an injured cat. Yet his fatal flaw was thinking that it lessened the girls’ worry, when it only worsened it by tenfold. Now being a prime example.
“I’ll go check on him,” he promised, his daughters’ heaving a collective sigh of relief, “While you lot get started on dinner.”
He was met with a series of groans as he walked towards the stairs, making him grin and call out, “And don’t lose a finger while ya at it!”
Olruggio chuckled to himself as he reached the second floor, starting towards his and Qifrey’s bedroom. The door was open when he entered, yet the bathroom was shut tight. Puffball sat guard outside it, but easily perked up when he entered; chirping loudly.
Shreds of light filtered out from under the wood, spilling across their mattress’s unkempt sheets. Qifrey had spent the afternoon tucked underneath them, yet his spot was cool when Olruggio pressed his hand to it. An even further inspection of the space proved that there was a new addition since his departure to the grocery store, namely in the shape of a mug atop his husband’s nightstand.
First the homemade ginger chews, washed down with warm water. Then it was chewing mint leaves all afternoon, the plant on their windowsill rendered bare, followed by peppermint tea for lunch. And now this.
The ceramic inside was coated with spent leaves, a few drops of liquid left behind. Olruggio brought it up to his nose, smelling the mug’s contents with a knowing hum. Raspberry leaf. Qifrey hardly used it anymore, but the girls did, making it a household staple during their respective cycles. His husband always made sure to dry and store as much of the herb as he could during the summer.
Olruggio set the mug back down, its resounding thunk echoing through the bedroom’s silence. The noise scared Puffball, who’d perched on the bed in front of him, meowing and pawing at him as he inspected Qifrey’s bedside. Now thoroughly startled, the white tomcat scrambled to the floor and darted out of the room as soon as possible. He’d disrupted the sheets in his wake, but only then did Olruggio notice the item hidden underneath their covers.
The hot water bottle was still warm when he dislodged it from their duvet, confirming his looming suspicions. Although the faded drops of red beneath it were an unexpected surprise. Olruggio sighed. No wonder Qifrey didn’t want the girls to see him.
He quickly tugged off their fitted sheet and bundled it up, depositing it on the floor for later. He would wash it tonight, preferably when the rest of the house was asleep. Right now, he had a hurting husband to tend to and eighty inches of solid oak wood keeping him from that.
Olruggio gently knocked on their bathroom door.
“Qifrey? Are ya alright?”
He called out, resting his hand on the old brass knob. Locked or not, he wouldn’t enter unless permitted. Or if the situation proved dire enough to warrant intervention. He’d done it a few times, but Richeh cutting her own bangs didn’t hold a candle to Qifrey’s inner demons.
For a beat he was met with nothing. No exhalation of breath, or shuffle of bare feet across tile. Yet if he strained hard enough he could almost hear Qifrey thinking, his husband frantically shuffling through his endless index of half-baked excuses and blatant misdirects. That alone was concerning.
The knob creaked under Olruggio’s grip.
“Love?”
“Nothing to worry about, dear! I’m quite alright!”
Qifrey suddenly piped up, his voice bright and reassuring, yet Olruggio knew he was everything but. Five years married and a childhood spent together didn’t make you magically forget every nook and cranny of your spouse’s character. Behind closed doors or not, Olruggio didn’t need to see Qifrey’s pain to recognize it. His voice was telling enough.
“Can I come in then?”
His husband responded immediately.
“No! I’m—“ he stumbled for a moment, his voice cracking, “I’m not decent!”
Decent? That hadn’t been an issue since they were thirteen and hopelessly attracted to one another, rendering them bashful.
Olruggio instantly frowned at the statement, unsure of what to do. The doorknob gave way when he tested it, proving that it was unlocked. He could easily barge in and see the truth for himself, yet doing so would encroach on his husband’s space; his privacy. He’d hate to do that forcibly.
Although Qifrey made the decision quite easy for him.
A strangled noise erupted from his husband, followed by a concerning thud that had Olruggio opening the door before he could even think to stop himself. He was met with Qifrey braced against the loo, linen trousers pooling at his ankles. He was doubled over, his arms squeezing tight around his middle. Bent in half as he was, his forehead almost touched his knees, his eye slammed shut beneath a sweat-soaked fringe. He’d somehow knocked off the toilet roll and its holder from the adjoining cupboard, causing all the raucous. Olruggio barely paid it any mind as he rushed to his husband’s aid, crouching down in front of him. Qifrey jolted as he placed a hand to his bare calf, rubbing softly.
“Olly!”
Their eyes met, causing a deep flush to spread across his husband’s cheeks. Olruggio wasn’t sure whether it was from embarrassment or exertion. Either way he smiled and continued his ministrations.
Up and down. Up and down. With each movement of his palm, Qifrey slowly unfurled from himself. All the while Olruggio tried to keep his eyes off his husband’s garments, the seat of them soaked through where they laid with his pants. Or away from the tinge of pink that coated his pale inner thighs. But it was concerning, and the abundance alone was odd. He couldn’t help but stare, despite his best attempts not to. Something just felt off about the display of it all.
Qifrey eventually noticed his wayward glances and tensed up, causing Olruggio’s heart to squeeze. He quickly pressed a kiss to his knee as a silent apology.
“It’s natural, love. No need to be embarrassed. That’s what ya tell the girls,” he tried, knowing how hard it was for him to be gentle towards himself.
Mentioning their daughters was a bit of a low blow, but it usually worked to weaken his husband’s defenses. If Qifrey could not heed his own advice, then there was no validity to his words. The last thing he wanted was to raise their girls on a false mentality. Olruggio just simply had to remind him of that from time to time.
Qifrey regarded him with a sullen look before nodding his head, sniffing loudly.
“I suppose so. It’s just—“
He stalled, biting his bottom lip in thought. It was plain to see that he was debating on whether or not to speak. There was no need for secrets, especially between them, so Olruggio urged him on with an encouraging noise. Apparently that was all he needed to break the dam.
“It’s just that it’s been a long time. And—Oh Olly,” tears suddenly welled in his husband’s eye, “I feel so poorly and I hate it.”
As if admitting such a thing took all of his energy, Qifrey slumped against his shoulder with a shuddering sob, hiding his face in the crook of his neck. Olruggio was quick to envelope him in his arms, holding tight as his husband wept himself dry.
“Shh, I know, dove. I know,” he whispered, pressing his lips to Qifrey’s temple.
They stayed there for awhile until a new sound eventually ripped itself free from his husband’s throat, trading his catching breaths for a low groan as he locked up again. His arms swiftly returned to his aching middle and remained there, a keen of agony forcing its way past his lips as he shook in Olruggio’s grasp. The pain appeared worse than before.
“Qif—?”
“Something—!” Qifrey heaved, cutting him off with another groan, “Something’s not right!”
His husband slammed his hand down against the sink cabinet, digging his fingers into the chipped laminate, as though bracing for impact. He was trembling all over, his face twisted up in agony as he flung his head back. Sweat clung to every inch of his skin, his curls going frizzy from the moisture.
“Olruggioooo,” Qifrey whined, long and drawn out before he was on his feet, completely unannounced and seemingly unaware of the action. Sharp nails dug into Olruggio’s shoulders, for his husband was suddenly straining with every fiber of his being, his body working on autopilot as his mind seemingly went blank. He was also screaming now. Loudly.
As for Olruggio, well, his vision went dark…literally. Because there, resting heavily between Qifrey’s quaking thighs, was a mess of wet hair; standing out sharply against his porcelain skin. Midnight swirls slicked back with a film of gauzy white, glued down to an impossibly tiny scalp which was then attached to an even smaller baby. A baby that was quickly tumbling out of his body: eyes, ears, nose, and mouth all popping free with a gush of liquid. Olruggio barely had time to get his hands ready before the rest followed: arms, belly, and little legs eager to be released into the cradle of his palms. Blood and fluid quickly soaked his shirtsleeves, but he didn’t care as the little thing in his hold coughed, demanding his undivided attention.
Driven by instincts he didn’t know he possessed, Olruggio draped it—no, him—over the length of his forearm, rubbing vigorously at the boy’s back; urging him to breathe. His fingers were quickly covered in that waxy white substance, but a hearty wail soon pierced the air. It sounded like pure magic.
Olruggio breathed out a sigh of relief, a smile spreading across his face as he carefully wiped amniotic fluid from a pair of tiny nostrils. Qifrey let out his own shaky exhale as he slowly sunk to the floor beside him, slumping against the toilet.
His husband said nothing, chest still heaving, but his eye said it all. His pupil was blown wide, not unlike an owl’s, as he stared in disbelief at the squirming newborn in his hands. Then back at him. Then at the baby again; his gaze ping-ponging back and forth until he finally stopped on Olruggio and sobbed out a broken, “W-What? How—?”
“You had a baby, Qifrey,” Olruggio started, his voice gentle as he eased him back down to reality, “A boy. Our son.”
And while he couldn’t explain the “how”, his husband did respond rather positively to the information he did know, despite how banal it felt spoken out loud.
As haunted as he may appear in looks—legs smeared with viscera, a fleshy cord still pulsing in the crease of his thigh—Qifrey’s face shifted as he said the word “son”. Even more so as Olruggio offered the now silent babe to his husband, whispering “it’s okay” as his hands shook in the process.
Like salve to a wound, the tension in Qifrey’s shoulders eased as soon as their son was pressed to his chest, the boy settling easily against the curve of his body. Two puzzle pieces finally reunited. Qifrey’s features softened as he gazed at their newborn, his lips tugging up into a shaky, yet fond smile. He harbored the same look whenever Agott called him “Dad” or Coco fell asleep studying, pages of notes sticking to her cheeks. When Tetia laughed and Richeh smiled.
It was a look full of love.
Warmth lodged itself deep into Olruggio’s throat at the realization, his eyes growing misty without shame. Qifrey was quick to follow. Together they laughed, the sound wet but still full of something brighter, before weeping in tandem; their son quiet between them.
The moment was as achingly tender as it was discombobulating, yet peace is a fleeting thing. Especially when you live in a house full of teenagers. Olruggio barely had time to wipe away his tears before a stampede of feet took the stairs by storm, the bathroom door flinging open seconds later with a deafening BANG!
“DAD!”
Coco shouted as the girls flooded in, tripping over themselves while successfully scaring the newest member of their family.
A piercing shriek filled the bathroom, startling their quartet into silence as they spotted the bloodied infant in Qifrey’s arms. Each of their girls maintained a unique reaction, but the general emotion was the same: utter bewilderment.
Agott, who’d apparently been in the middle of cooking when called to action, dropped a wooden spoon to the floor with a faint clatter. Coco and Richeh both wore varying levels of “I don’t believe this”. Tetia was likely to catch flies with how wide her jaw hung open. Qifrey eventually said so himself, chiding their daughter while he bounced his arms to quell their youngest. He was a natural and Olruggio found he had trouble looking away.
However, when the girls finally did regain their composure, their questions descended upon them like a flash flood.
“Do I need to call an ambulance?”
“Is it a boy or girl?”
“How did this even happen?”
“Is he supposed to be making that face?”
At that, Olruggio looked over to find Qifrey frowning, his brow crinkled with noticeable discomfort. He’d slid their son to the crook of his elbow so he could palm at his lower belly, cradling the sore muscles underneath. When a gush of blood followed the action, Olruggio realized three things. One being that the afterbirth was soon to make its appearance. Two pertaining to Qifrey’s lack of pants. And three, the girls bearing witness to it all.
He quickly clapped his hands together to grab their attention.
“Enough!”
Their chatter swiftly died at his raised tone.
“Questions can be answered later. Right now,” he yanked a towel free from their rack, draping it over Qifrey’s lap, “Your father and brother need help.”
Looks of excitement spread across his daughters’ faces once he said that, Tetia even slapping a hand to her mouth to muffle her delighted squeal. Olruggio couldn’t help but smile alongside them. They had a son!
“So here’s what’s gonna happen.”
He quickly assigned them each a task: Agott to call Sinocia, Coco to contact Alaira for necessities, Tetia and Richeh to remake their bed and finish dinner. Once settled, the girls split and Olruggio turned to Qifrey, patting at his towel-covered knee.
“Ready for that afterbirth, love?”
But his husband merely grunted. The sudden scrunch of his face was warning enough that Olruggio should move, and move he did. With one last heave, his husband deflated as their son’s previous home wormed its way free…directly onto their bathroom rug.
It was already a toss up whether blood and amniotic fluid would come out in the wash. A whole placenta seemed rather unlikely.
“Ya never liked that rug anyway,” Olruggio attempted to joke, grimacing at the sight of his husband’s creation, but pleased to find it intact. “At least cleanup will be easy.”
“I think I’d actually like to keep it,” Qifrey spoke, a twinkle of mirth in his eye, “I heard it makes for a great fertilizer, and I’ve always thought the garden would look even lovelier with a tree.”
Bits of sarcasm lingered in his tone, but the sentiment was genuine. And beautiful. A tree to grow alongside their son. How could he ever say no?
“Whatever ya say, dove,” Olruggio smiled, leaning over to press a kiss to Qifrey’s forehead. He also pressed a kiss to their son’s, the skin underneath smelling earthy and undeniably real. He lingered there for a moment, taking it all in, before surfacing once again.
“Now, how ‘bout we get the both of ya cleaned up?”