Breathe in Breathe out

She was so quiet, and it worried him. He had never had to wonder if Isobel was still breathing- the child was constantly making happy little noises, seeking a response to her sound. It had been encouraging, because he’d never been scared that she was going to die on him. Christian had never been a problem, either. As an infant, he’d been constantly moving, even in his sleep. Even in Madeline’s womb, there had been near-constant movement for the last month- once the babies had been born, everyone had assumed that the little mover and shaker had been Christian. His own son, Jake, had been a combination of the two, humming and moving, albeit neither one as fast as his older siblings. But then there was Ainsley, and she just watched him with those big brown eyes of hers.

In the night, there was never the rustling sound of movement coming through the baby monitor, never the reassuring sound of a whimper, or a hum. Madeline just smiled at him, and told him that not all babies were so vocal. Her own little sister hadn’t made many noises as a newborn, and Ainsley probably wouldn’t, either. It didn’t keep him from worrying, and often he would get up in the night, to go and check on his little girl. There was some sort of driving instinct that pushed Jonathan to look after his little girl. He would steal into the room she shared with her brother, lay his large hand lightly on her chest, just to feel the rise and fall of her chest. Sometimes, he would pick her up, and cradle her against his own chest, waiting for the small flutter that was her steady heartbeat. She occasionally woke up, though she never cried. Now and then she would jerk in surprise, and sometimes whimper, but she never cried out.

Her brown eyes would look into his face, and Jon would wait for the moment when recognition set in. It was odd, how babies worked. Izzy had only ever needed to hear the sound of her parents’ voices, and she knew them. Christian seemed to know by the very way that they held or touched him. Jake was unusual, he always just seemed to know. But Jon had to admit, he liked it when Ainsley had to look into his face, and watch it for a moment before lighting up, in recognition that Daddy was the one holding her.

Tonight was a bad night, filled with worries and nightmares, and concerns. It seemed that holding his little daughter while she fell back asleep was as soothing for him as it was for her, and he sat in the living room for a long time, watching the delicate face, discerning the little blue veins on her eyelids, the way her little mouth pursed, and the deep and steady rise and fall of her chest. It was nights like this that reminded Jon of why he’d wanted a large family, so that there was enough love and comfort to go around several times. He was looking forward to his little girl growing up and becoming a grown woman. For now, however, he was content to sit here, and old his little girl.

What's this about?

"...and then, the teacher continued to teach, as though the whole incident hadn't occured. Well, you know that the rest of us were simply dying. And then, I mentioned playing basketball, and a boy from the front row-" Madeline paused in her sentance, watching her boyfriend as his eyes drifted over her shoulder, following to the left, and pausing. Slowly her arms crossed, and she leaned back in her seat.
"Have you even listened to a thing I've been saying?"
"Hmmm?" Madeline set down her napkin, turning over her shoulder. Behind her, stood a young...woman (Maddie couldn't bring herself to think the word lady), with long legs and a short skirt. Maddie pressed her lips together, turning back to her boyfriend who was clearly staring at the girl.
"Morgan? Does she have something I don't?"
"...a distinct lack of morals."

It was obvious that he hadn't meant to say it, as he immediately looked back at Maddie, his blue eyes serious.
"Madeline, I didn't mean it that way, I-I, I mean she- she's younger, and...no! You know what. I don't have to explain myself to you." The brown eyes across the table narrowed, and Maddie levered herself out of the chair. She stepped back, slamming the chair under the table, grabbing her purse from the floor, and turning to walk away.
"Maddie! Wait!"
"Oh no, Morgan. I'll let you stay here with your little hussy. I'm certain she'll fall into the sack with you immediatly!"
She turned on her heel, and walked out the door; Morgan glanced at the other girl, and then hurried to follow.

"That is not a fair statement, Madeline!" The brunette turned, and Morgan stopped, crossing his arms. There was a space between them the length of a person, and it might as well have been the length of the sea.
"Oh? Isn't it? You've been after me to go that little bit further the entire time we've been together!"
"I have not!"
"Maybe not with words, Morgan, but it's in your eyes, and every time I say 'not yet', your eye starts to wander! If you don't want me, fine! If you don't want me because I won't sleep with you, that's fine too. But do me the honor of at least telling me!" At this, Morgan stepped closer, closing the distance between them.
"I have always been fair with you, Madeline. I really resent you implying such things about me."
"You have not! Morgan, you were practically undressing her with your eyes!"
"What, would you rather I looked at you that way?! I respect you too much."
"That's some respect!"
"You want me to treat you like her? Fine?" He let his hot gaze run slowly down her body, and back. Her face was flushed, and he felt sick for doing this, though he knew he needed to make his point. She looked livid, and she actually reached out to slap him.

Morgan caught her wrist easily pulling her close. "What, you didn't like it?"
"No! Of course I didn't Morgan Hearst, I felt...cheap. Is that all women are to you?"
"My god, Maddie, will you not get the idea? I don't look at you like that, because I respect you. I care about you! Heck, I don't look at you that way because I think you're better than that. You clearly don't think the same of me." He let her go, nearly pushing her away as he turned.
"Morgan, stop! I LOVE you, darn it!"
A slow smile took hold of Morgan's lips, and he turned back around. In two steps, he had Madeline in his arms, slowly kissing her.

Arguing soon became something of a hobby for them. Morgan had to admit, he liked the results.

Do what you say

(A/N: So, it sucks, and the formatting went wonky, but at least it's done and out of my system! And to warn you - please read all the way through this before you decide to kill me,)



"Stewart, watch yourself."

Ainsley looked up, her brown eyes settling on her new partner, one brown eyebrow arched. Though she didn't say anything, it was plain to see that she was, in fact, displeased with the warning that came from someone she barely knew. Her old partner had transferred, or so everyone had been told. The night he'd left, he had come to her apartment, warned her he was going undercover, and kissed her gently. Ainsley hadn't known what to make of it at the time- Rob had never hidden his love for her, though she couldn't claim to return his love.



Ignoring her new partner, Ainsley let her gaze fall back to her kevlar vest, securing it, and making sure that everything was in place. Though she didn't know where Rob was now, she'd been briefed that this call-out was to help an undercover in a sting. Apparently, she'd been specially requested, and that led her to believe that Rob was the one they were going after. Slamming the locker door shut, she walked past Aaran Clarke, her new partner, and into the hallway. She didn't think too highly of this person. He made her feel as though she couldn't trust him, though she wasn't sure why that was. She'd have to think about it later, though, as it was time to act.



Less than an hour later, she and Aaron were waiting on either side of the door that led to the warehouse. The goal was to stop the three top drug lords, caught in the act of dealing with the undercover cop. On Ainsley's soft count, they kicked the door open, and strode into the room, guns drawn.
"NYPD, get down on the floor!"

Three of them stared at her, while the fourth moved around Ainsley to stand at her back. She'd been right in her deduction that Rob was the undercover.

"Aaron, let's cuff 'em."



Before Ainsley could make a move closer, Aaron shot them, each one. He turned again, and raised an eyebrow.
"Out of my way, Stewart."

Ainsley shook her head, raising her gun. She knew that Rob was unarmed- it would have been a stipulation for the meeting.

"Look, Stewart, I want him, not you."

"When did you go dirty, Clarke?"



The other man never replied, he fired his gun, catching the edge of Ainsley's kevlar vest. She flinched, but despite the blood pouring over her vest, she didn't waver, and fired in turn. Aaron dropped, the bullet clean through his head. Then she fell backwards, gasping. Rob caught her easily, lowering them to the ground. He used her shoulder radio to call it in, before stripping her vest off, and applying pressure.
"Ains-" His voice was taught, and stressed.

"Love...you..."



--------



Jake leaned against a wall, sipping his coffee. He was a surgeon, the best in the hospital, which meant that he often got the hardest cases and had the least amount of time to himself. A call had come in from an ambulance, a gunshot victim who needed immediate surgery. The flashing lights appeared, and he set aside his coffee, taking long strides to the unloading area. He was horrifed when he saw his little sister's former partner jump out of the back, and make his way forward.

"Rob..."

"Jake, I'm sorry....she's pretty bad. She lost a lot of blood. I don't think you should do this surgery."

Jake shrugged him off, but tossed his phone over to the man who loved his little sister.

"Can you make the calls? This is a tricky surgery, I don't know if anyone else is qualified."

"And you are?"

"After all the gang shootings I patched up in Brooklyn, and Harlem and the Bronx....yes."



------



Madeline sat in the hard gray chair, her brown eyes glued to the floor in an effort to keep herself from crying. A warm hand was splayed across her back as she leaned forward, and she felt grateful for the human contact. So grateful, that she reached her hand over for her husband's free hand, lacing their fingers together. Neither one of them said anything, because they didn't have to. Seated to her right was Christian, Isobel perched on his lap. Again, nothing was being said, but it was clear from his arms around her waist, that they were comforting one another in their own way. The fear in the room was palatable, and it only increased as time wore on.



------



His hands were shaking as he wiped off her face, and adjusted the hospital gown to hide the ugly mark from the shot and surgical incision. Tears were flowing freely down his face, and he bent down to kiss her forehead. He couldn't believe that this was happening. Despite his best efforts, his little sister would never be waking up. It was all his fault, and he'd let his baby sister down. He ran his hand over his face, and turned to see his family.

"Mom?"



Madeline stood, walking over to her son, pulling her husband with her. When she stopped, Jon slipped his arm around her, and pulled her close, both of them taking comfort in the presence of the other. Jake looked at his parents, and shook his head.

"I'm sorry....I tried."

"Jake, your mother and I know you-"

"She's gone, Dad."

Jonathan pulled his son into his arms, allowing him to cry into his shoulder. Maddie wandered past the two, into the ICU, and the room that held her daughter.



Gently she ran her fingertips over Ainsley's face, a sweet farewell, and she kissed her daughter one more time.



--------

It was the saddest funeral in a long time. The small chapel was packed, and the sniffling, and even sobbing, sounds echoed throughout the room. In the back of the room sat a man with blond hair, and an icy face. Most people knew him as the incredibly intimidating Professor Labeau. The young woman in the casket had called him Mister Labeau, and made it the mission of her earliest years to follow him endlessly when she had seen him, or spent any time with Sebastian. despite the cold anger in the depth of his eyes, there was pain too. The child's time hadn't been wasted. He had grown to love her.

A few rows from the front, Jake was sitting apart from his family. Jon had argued, wishing he could simply order his son to join them, but Jake's guilt was simply too much. Shayn had intervened, and invited his nephew to sit with him. Jake had taken the blame to himself- including quitting his job without any notice, and avoiding the subject of his sister. Without Ainsley, there was no one to look at him, and know what he needed. Hannah sat next to him, and his hand clenched around hers, clinging to her hand like a dying man clinging to the last piece of life.

Seated directly behind Madeline and Jonathan was Isobel. Her husband, Reuben, was seated next to her, his hand on her knee as he coped with his own sense of loss. On her other side was her twin. Christian hadn't said much since the death, and he'd become much like Florian in the back row. His face was like stone, and while he didn't push Izzy away as she cried on his shoulder, neither did he make any move to comfort her. He was like a stone, and his grief for his little 'Jellybean' ran deep.

Madeline stood behind her daughter's casket, the words dying on her tongue. Her eyes were taking in the forms of grief, Morgan sitting beside Jonathan, one arm around Tetsu, the other on Jonathan's shoulder. As for her husband, Jon couldn't take his eyes away from Madeline. Their mutual grief was intense, and she felt a little bit better knowing he was there to go through this with her.

Madeline's gaze rested on one final figure before she began to speak, on poor Rob, standing at the Honor Guard that the NYPD had provided for Ainsley. He stood at attention, and his eyes weren't looking at anything in the room. Tears of pain, and loss, and grief streamed down his face. Madeline's heart went out to him as well. She remembered the day he'd approached Jonathan and herself, asking permission to court Ainsley. He was a brave man, and this had to have shattered him.

"Friends, and family, and loved ones. We thank you for coming here today, to help us honor one of the most important people in any of our lives. This loss has shaken our family to it's core, and though we are grieving, we know that Ains-" She stopped, suddenly unable to go on. She lowered her head to the lectern, and sobs shook her frame. As she cried, a warm hand touched her shoulder, and turned her into his chest, stroking her hair-

-------

"Mads! Madeline, sweetheart, wake up!" Madeline managed to pry her eyes open through the tears, and she burrowed closer against Jonathan, sobbing out her pain. She didn't know what she was going to do.

"Is she okay? Is my little girl okay? Oh, Jon, don't tell me she's dead....." Jon stroked Madeline's hair, making soothing sounds as he held her close. It was clear that Madeline had been dreaming. He didn't know whether or not she was talking about Isobel- who was staying over at the Hughes house, as it was Christmas Eve, or if she meant Ainsley, who was sound asleep down the hall.

"She's fine, Mads. She's safe...go back to sleep. I won't let anything happen." He pressed a soft kiss to his wife's hair, waiting for her to fall back asleep. She might have only been sleeping, but the sound of her hoarse sobs were a sound that Jonathan was hard-pressed to shake, and he wasn't sure if he would be getting any more sleep tonight.

Baby, I'm gonna put your skin on mine

The rain was drizzling, the sort of cold, foggy mess that hardly deserves the name of rain. It sort of suited his mood, as he briskly walked in the direction of the private home of the Spanish Ambassodor. For the past four years, he'd been in some sort of limbo-like relationship with a young woman who had, at some point, stolen his heart. It wasn't supposed to be that, and it struck him deeply that their first romantic meeting had been in the rain like this, the forbidden kiss that had fanned the flames of their passionate affair. He'd always been told that Spaniards made the best lovers, he'd just never believed it until meeting Bethel.

He wasn't sure who to blame for the mess that they'd made of this situation. Upon meeting Bethel, he'd known she was betrothed- and she'd never made a secret of the fact that she intended to honor the plans her father had laid down before her. After all, she was a dutiful daughter, and one who loved her father. So no, he couldn't rightly blame her. And, if his memory served him correctly, he'd been the one to initiate the kiss on the roof, those long four years ago. Yet, he couldn't blame himself either. There was a passion about the young Spaniard, a zeal for life, that attracted him. At first, it had simply been a mutual loneliness. He was desperate to forget, and she was desperate to know. Perhaps there was nowhere to lay the blame after all, maybe it was just one of those moments where you knew that life was- no, he wouldn't say that either. Not ever having loved Bethel would be worse than this.

It wasn't like he was even mad at her, though the strict staccato of his steps might have indicated otherwise. He just didn't like people leaving him- Ruby had been first; he supposed he should at least be grateful to know that Bethel was going to be with someone else. Again, he'd always known, but he supposed he would hope that at the last minute, she would turn her back on this sham of a marriage, and choose him. Like they did in those soppy movies he so detested. Rubbing his hand over the back of his neck, Jerry Ferlito gripped a gift bag tightly with his other hand. In less than an hour, Bethel would board a plane, and return to Spain. A year from next week, she would be married. The thought of another man touching her, and loving her, as he had infuriated him. But he was helpless.

When Jerry had told his roommate that he wanted something nice to give Bethel before she left, the boy had recommended a soundtrack. One with a boring name, that she could play whenever she wanted, and think of him. Her husband would have no idea that she was thinking of another man when she listened to it. While it sounded horribly cheesy, Jerry was out of both time and options. At the last moment, a mutual female friend had come through, and presented Jerry with a locket, that she'd taken the liberty of putting his picture into. Grateful, Jerry had tucked it into his bag, and set off.

The walk had never felt this far before, though he could now see the house. Even from this distance, he could see Bethel, her bright red hair distinguishing her from the other figures. As he neared, he observed her hair caught into a french braid, as subdued as her green eyes when she lifted them to his. He stopped, not knowing what to say, or how they would make a farewell in front of everyone. Bethel's cousin, Isidoro saved the day, stepping in and asking the dignitaries if Bethel could have a moment. Once they were gone, he moved out of earshot, though Jerry knew he was still watching Bethel. He remained where he was.

Slowly, she reached out, her skin contrasting the black coat and dress with its paleness. Automatically, he took her hand, lacing their fingers. The feel of her skin against his remided Jerry of all of their moments of passion. Of dancing, or walking, or even of making love. He pulled her into his arms, resting his face against her hair.
"I don't want you to go."
"I don't either, Jerry."
He stroked her back, making a plea and desperate offer at once.
"Then stay, with me."
"I can't."

He'd always known it would be her answer. Bethel had always made it clear that she would respect the wishes of her family. He pulled slightly away, tipping her chin up, and kissing her softly.
"I brought you something to remember me by."
"As if I could forget you, Jerry."
He handed her the bag without another word, and then pulled her once more into his arms, lifting her off her feet as they kissed. His voice was broken as he whispered behind her ear.
"I love you."

Then he set her down, and walked away. There was nothing more he could say, because he wouldn't say goodbye. Nor could he look back, as he tucked his hands into his pockets, and walked away faster than he had come.

Take me in your arms

"Please, Jerry? I don't want to be the only person there without a date! It's an important day...please?" Her dark green eyes gazed imploringly up at the fifth year, the closest thing to a boyfriend that Bethel had ever had, despite her current engagement. It was her cousin's engagement ceremony, and Bethel didn't want to walk in feeling like a seventeenth wheel, simply because her own betrothed had not opted to come. For his part, Jerry knew deep down that he couldn't deny the girl in front of him much of anything, particularly not something to seemingly innocent.
"Sure, Bethel. It sounds like fun."

The party was in full swing, and not long ago, Bethel had moved from her chair to his lap, to make room for one of the many couples that had needed seats. It would seem that it was normal for more people than were invited to attend these things. Not that Jerry was complaining. Bethel was a pleasant weight on his thighs, and he would use any excuse to wrap his arms around her, to lean close to her hair, and smell her shampoo. It was terrible, and wonderful all at the same time. She was a forbidden temptation, and one that he desperately wanted to sample. Almost abruptly, she slipped from his lap, tearing him from his thoughts as he turned to her, startled.

She still stood near him, holding out one beautifully shaped hand. Oh, man. It made him want to roll his eyes, that he was thinking of how beautiful her hand was. He remained seated, raising an eyebrow.
"Come dance with me, Jerry."
"I can't dance."
"Oh, come on!"
Bethel grabbed his hand, and pulled him to his feet. He was surprised by the strength she hid in that compact little body. Thanks to his runaway thoughts, he was again taken by surprise when he was dragged out to the dance floor. He'd been right, he couldn't dance. But he had fun, pretending for Bethel's sake.

----------

Saturday afternoon naps were the best, in Bethel's opinion. Though she'd spent the last four years living in the United States, she'd never truly lost much of her Spanish heritage, and early afternoon naps were one thing she didn't believe she'd ever want to give up, simply as a principle. So there she lay, basking in the light that seeped through the blinds, wrapped up in her blankets, clothed in sweats, curled on her bed. Everyone knew about her precious Saturday afternoon naps, and so most were kind about it, and chose to let her relax and enjoy it. So when she heard the dorm room door open, she snuggled into her blankets with a groan.

Jerry smiled at the little ball curled up on the bed, and tried to move as quietly as he coud, before he sat on the edge of the bed. He was dressed to kill today, wearing a suit, though he'd lost the tie, and the top buttons managed to come undone. He'd tossed his amazingly attractive fedora hat to the bed next to Bethel's. Slowly leaning over, he spied an expanse of exposed neck, and tenderly pressed his lips to it. Emboldened by the small squeak that he could hear from under the blankets, he gently pried the duvet away, kissing more of her neck.
"Bethel....wake up."

Well, how could she say no to that? Slowly she sat up, feeling like a poor bag lady with her old pajamas and mussed hair, while Jerry looked so nice and put together. She rubbed at her eyes, and scowled because she knew Jerry was thinking how cute she looked, when she clearly didn't look cute at all. She lowered her hands, and tilted her her head, waiting for him to say something.
"Bethel, come dance with me."
She blinked at him for a few minutes, completely taken by surprise.
"But you can't dance...."
"Come on, Beth."

About an hour after Bethel had tossed Jerry out of her room to get ready, they were stepping through the doors of a latin dance club. Jerry had no idea where she'd gotten a dress that....for lack of a better word, hot - but he did know he was going to thoroughly enjoy it. As they walked out to the dancefloor, and Jerry took her hands in his, Bethel knew something was different. He lay her hand on his shoulder, and placed his on her back. He'd had dancing lessons. As he pushed off, begininning the basic rumba step to the music, he grinned at her.
"Follow my lead."

The dance that followed was a passionate one, improvised and unique. It just made the experience all the better, and later that night, with Bethel curled at his side, sleeping soundly, her breath soft against his skin, Jerry knew that he'd made the right decision, and that dancing lessons had been well-worth what he'd paid Juliet Morhan for them.

-------

It seemed as though she was going to smile so broadly, that her face would fall off. As quickly as she could, she rushed out of the bathroom door, and down the hallway where Jerry had been helping Mireille with her homework. The eight year old raised an eyebrow as her mother came flying through the livingroom.
"Jerry!"
Hearing his name, Jerry looked up at his wife, and smiled, catching her hand and spinning her into his embrace.
"What is it?"
"We're having another baby."
Shifting his grip on his wife, he began to sway with her, kissing her cheek. They'd been trying for a baby for two years now, and had been worried that they wouldn't be able to have one again.

Mireille, who'd been silently watching her parents, put her pencil down and walked over to them, tugging on her father's arm. Jerry looked over at her, and smiled.
"What is it, sweetheart?"
"Are you dancing?"
"Yeah- do you want to dance?"
The little girl nodded, her constantly serious blue eyes lighting up for a few minutes as her father dramatically to her hand, and spun her into his arms. His voice was soft, and gentle as he talked out the steps with their daughter.

Bethel stood to the side, moved to the point of tears, and wiping at her eyes. After all that she'd been through, life was starting to work out- and she had her wonderful husband to thank for it.

Hush, little baby

This was possibly the most important meeting of his life, and his cell phone was going off.

He sat still, frozen and motionless for quite some time, wondering whether or not he should answer the phone. The doctor at the other end of the table watched him, her dark blue eyes unreadable from his seat. Johnny Farber's eyes flickered to the phone, and he saw Martha's name on the screen. After the last time Martha had called him during a meeting, she never had again, and Johnny was dead certain this was important. Slowly, he reached for the phone watching the doctor as he did so.
"Martha?"
"Jay....I-I'm outside Tegan's school, t-there's been a shooting, I can't f-find her."
"Martha, honey, slow down."
"Someone shot up Tegan's school, and I-I can't find her."

Johnny stood up, looking at the woman across from him.
"Dr. Wilson, I have got to go."
"Dr. Farber, you'll-"
Johnny ignored her, walking briskly out of the most important meeting of his life, almost running down the hallway, trying to calm his frantic wife as he did so.
"Where's Damon, honey?"
"W-with me....Jay-jay..." Her voice was so heartbroken, so grief-stricken that it made Johnny want to cry himself.
"Alright, gorgeous, here's what I want you to do- take Damon, and walk down to the park, alright? Stay within sight of the police, and I'll go get Tegan."
"What if...."
"Martha." She sniffled on the other end of the phone, but Johnny knew that she was listening. "I'm going to find her, okay?"
"Alright. I love you."
"I love you too, gorgeous."

Closing his phone, Johnny pulled up a block out of the school, glad he was still in his lab coat. Slowly he walked toward the line of Police, trying to calm his features. They checked his credentials, and waved him on. He began to walk through the grounds, trying to ignore the three sheet-draped figures on the front lawn. Two were adults, but one was the size of his little tea cup. He pushed on, not bothering to hide the tears as he stopped to treat crying little children, unable to walk by them and not help. It was agonizingly slow work, and Johnny knew that the more time he spent helping the other children, the less likely he was to find his own. Even so, he wouldn't just walk by a little bleeding child. He couldn't.

Two hours later, Johnny had gone through the entire school, with no sign of his daughter anywhere. Her entire class was accounted for. Her teacher was dead. Tears were now flowing down Johnny's face, soft sobs wracking his frame, as he leaned against a wall. The children were evacuated, and the investigators were moving in. The time for finding Tegan was over, and Johnny was left with the brutal reality that the cloth-covered child had been his own. The awful, horrifying numbness that was left slowly ate at Johnny, a long, slow, painful death that he would never recover from.

"Daddy?" The soft voice was taunting, and Johnny shuddered, not knowing how he would be able to return to Martha and their son, admitting that he had been unable to find his daughter. The little gap-toothed six year old was gone. "Daddy, please don't cry. It's too sad." Slowly Johnny turned, and when he saw the little girl with her mother's soft hair, and his eyes, he dropped to his knees, pulling her close. He didn't stop crying. He couldn't. Instead, he cried into the child's hair, kissing the top of her head, holding her close in his gratitude.
"Oh, tea cup....Daddy thought he'd lost you."

The little girl shook her head.
"I was hiding in the bathroom. I didn't know it was safe, until I heard you." Johnny smiled, slowly wiping his own tears, standing up, and lifting the little girl into his arms.
"Let's go home, Tegan." He kissed the top of her head once more, just happy that he'd found her, and that she was safe in his arms.

Now you are slipping away

The screams were echoing throughout the normally silent corridors of the Convent.

Many of the sisters stopped, whispering a prayer for the woman whose voice was echoing in pain, and darkness. Everything about the young lady who'd shown up on their doorstep was becoming dark. The look in her eyes as she touched her belly, the small picture of the man she kept in her locket that she would often open and stare at, the future wedding that she had alluded to on occasion...they all reflected her severe pain, and the tainting of her soul. That she loved the child she carried, and the man that the sisters all assumed had fathered it, was held in no doubt. How she would handle the upcoming marriage to a man she did not love was in question.

Many times, the Reverend Mother would offer to allow her and the child to stay, offered to let her take the vows, and remain within the convent walls that offered safety, and hope. But her spirit, as bright as her titian hair, would never allow her to do so. So the sisters did what they could, and they stopped often, praying as the screams grew louder, and continued their business, preparing a place to keep the child, and raise her. They all knew that the baby would be staying here for quite some time, until a suitable establishment could be found for the foundling.

The screams were ripping from her own throat, tearing it raw.

The three sisters in the room had never delivered a child before, and she'd begged them not to send for a doctor, fearing that she would be recognized. After quietly deliberating, one of the sisters who had been a village midwife was brought in. She'd tied Bethel's wrists to the headboard, and her ankles to the posts of the footboards. There were no painkillers in this place, no liquor or drugs. Only a salve that the former midwife had rubbed into Bethel's bare stomach, numbing her somewhat. It didn't matter- Bethel was so far gone in pain it was as though her brain had shut off the nervous system in an effort to spare itself pain. She shuddered, the contractions intense enough that she raised herself from the bed, pulling hard at the restraints against her limbs.

The hoarse voice, begging for the foreign man, was all hers.

"Jerry!" It was the anguished cry of her hoarse voice, wishing that the man she loved were here, instead of three women who would never experience this agony, or the joy. The little hovel of a room would seem more fitting, if Jerry were holding her hand, his hushed voice whispering endearments, and jokes. In fact, he could say anything that he liked, the sound of his voice alone would have eased her. tilting her head back, sweat-soaked red hair falling haphazardly over the pillow as she did so, crying out again, tears falling from her cheeks. "Jerry....Jerry..." She'd never even told him. When they'd said goodbye, Bethel had made it clear that she didn't want him to be the one to make contact. She'd left him no address, and no idea that she was carrying his child away. It was her greatest regret, alongside the fact that she would ever be able to raise this child, that someone else would be called mother.

"Please! Let it be over! Oh, God, please...let me survive this, and my ba-"

Another scream tore from her throat, a stark contrast with the low croon of the former midwife, instructing her to push. Beyond any means of argument, Bethel did as she was instructed, screaming her fury, her grief, her pain, and her loss. Moments later, it was over, and she was pushed back to the bed as the midwife kneeded her stomach to rid the prone woman of anything else, and then to loosen tense muscles. There was a sharp squalling cry, the unmistakable sound of a furious newborn, and the whimpering that always followed, seeking it's mother. Despite her exhaustion, she held out her arms, and received the mewling little child. Bethel still had another three months before she had to leave, and she wouldn't give up the beautiful child in her arms until that moment.

Her eyes admired the flawless little hands, the sweet eyes that closed as the baby nursed, the soft skin...

"Mireille." The nun looked at her quizically, and Bethel nodded to the now-sleeping child. "My daughter, Mireille Elen Ferlito." The nun quietly recorded the name, taking it to the Reverand Mother as the new mother and her child slowly sank into sleep.

The months had passed quickly, faster than Bethel had realized.

Her hands were shaking, as she handed her three-month old daughter to the older woman, tears forming in her darkened green eyes. She didn't think she could just walk away, even though she knew she had to. Impulsively, she removed the locket from her neck, holding it out to the Reverand Mother.
"I don't want her to never know her father."

With that, the broken woman turned and stumbled away, unable to look back even once. If she had, she would have seen the old woman weeping, as the baby cried futilely for her mother.

I came across a place in the middle of nowhere

(A/N: I know that this will seem slightly out of character on Jon's behalf for a bit. Really, I just had this mental image that I want to get out, and all is explained at the end, so just bear with me!)

She had a day all alone, and she was taking full advantage. Melanie and Phoebe Hearst had descended on Madeline, and demanded that they take their six-month-old niece and nephew for the day, loving spoiling the twins as much as they enjoyed spoiling Christopher. With that news, Maddie had planned on spending the day with Jonathan, since they didn't get much alone time, and she'd been quite excited. However, when Reid called Jon up, and asked if he wanted to go to a Sci-fi convention with him, Maddie had been thrilled. She'd been working with the younger teacher on his people skills, and the invitation was one that she had told Jonathan he couldn't pass up. A day alone wasn't quite as nice as one spent with Jon, but it still didn't happen very often.

She'd put in her favorite CD, and rolled out of bed, pulled on shorts and tank-top, and begun to clean house, something that soothed her, but she wasn't able to do very often. Singing loudly to KT Tunstall, and spinning around her house barefoot, Madeline began to put things in their proper places. Picking up a cushion, she spied Jon's old worn hoodie, and rather than put it away, she put it on, grinning as it dwarfed her little shorts- Jon was far taller than she, after all. A small laugh escaped her, when her favorite song began to play, and she shook her hips, dancing to the distinct song. Fetching a rag to dust with, Madeline pranced about, dusting. A quick glance at the table revealed that Mel had left her cowboy hat, and Madeline plopped it on her head, dancing around some more. She was really enjoying her time alone, and she danced her way over to the freezer, retrieving a popsicle, eating it as she continued to dance around. Finally tiring, and having a melting popsicle to finish eating, she berched on a stool, and bit the rest of the popsicle off of the stick.

And then she looked up and noticed Jonathan leaning in the doorway, watching her with a bemused smile on his lips, and something more stirring in his eyes. Madeline didn't know what to say, and so she sat there, popsicle stick in hand with the cowboy hat on her head, in her boyfriend's old gray sweatshirt. For once in her life, she was speechless. Apparently, Jonathan didn't, and his lips parted to say something. Madeline wasn't listening, for some reason transfixed instead by the shape and colour of his lips, and the way that she knew they would feel against her own.
"Hmmm?"
"I said, isn't that my hoodie?" She had the good grace to blush, though she only snuggled further into the sweatshirt, watching Jonathan with chagrined eyes.
"It's warm, and comfy." She smiled. "And it smells like you."

Something about what she said made Jonathan change, his eyes changing so abruptly in intensity that she didn't think she'd be able to breathe. Slowly he moved towards her, stopping only when he stood dead in front of her. Madeline just watched him as he took the stick from her fingers, and dropped it to the counter behind her, and watched as he tipped her hat back on her head. His fingers were warm, as he braced them on her knees, leaning in to kiss her. Madeline was surprised at the initiative that Jon was taking, and she would have commented, but at that moment- almost as if he had read her mind, he deepened the kiss, sliding his hand ever-so slowly up her leg beneath the edge of the sweatshirt. Madeline managed to pull away.
"Jon?"

Jonathan placed another gentle kiss to her lips, and proceeded to kiss her senseless. She was fairly certain what had happened now, as Jenny had informed her that Theodore Morhan had been reading a book on nature's aphrodesiacs in the library last week, but as Jon cleared the counter, and lifted her to it, Madeline didn't care. Well, she knew that she would when Jon could return to his senses, and be embarrassed by the whole thing, but perhaps she could convince him that it was okay, and that she liked it. But then Jonathan removed the hoodie, and Madeline distanced herself from any logical thought.

I know what's best for me, but I want you instead.

There was something about the way he smiled that seemed to steal her heart, every single time.

It was something about the infinite sadness and the struggle to be happy anyway. It reflected in his smile, and when she was priviledged enough to see it, her breath would catch in her throat, and she could feel herself falling that little bit more for Jerry. It was doomed from the start, and she tried so hard not to. Jerry was still in love with Ruby, and she was still betrothed. Nothing had changed since the last time he'd smiled at her, and she'd decided that she needed to avoid falling for Jerry. But still, it wasn't like something she could help.

It was like the dream of what she always wanted, it was a man she could love, rather than one she had to force herself to love. He was a man who would be loyal, and expect fidelity in return as a mutual act of committed love, rather than a man who could help himself to any woman he wanted, and kill her for even looking at another man. In fact, if her betrothed could read her thoughts, he would beat her for even thinking about Jerry. It wasn't as though she was trying to think about him, or as though she wanted to fall in love with someone she had no chance with.

"Bethel? You alright?" Bethel blinked, looking right into Jerry's beautiful eyes. He was watching her shrewdly, and she belatedly realized that she'd drifted away into space while eating lunch with the very object of her affections. She could feel the famed red-head blush hitting her face, and she turned her head to try and fight it down.
"Oh, yeah, I'm fine. I didn't mean to space on you Jerry, I'm sorry." She grinned, and picked up a soggy french fry, and waved it in Jerry's direction. "You didn't steal any of my food while I was spaced out, did you?"
Jerry chuckled, and reached out to snag a fry from her tray, winking slyly at her.
"Not at all."

Laughing in return, Bethel popped her fry into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully on it. There were times when she could swear that Jerry was flirting with her, though she knew it couldn't be true. They had an unspoken agreement that they wouldn't do any such thing. Jerry wanted to remain loyal to Ruby, and Bethel wanted to honor her betrothal contract. She sighed, propping her chin on the palm of her hand. What were they doing to themselves? Well, her. Jerry was probably thinking of Ruby everytime he slipped and offered her a flirtatcious comment or action. It wasn't easy for her, knowing that her betrothed was a good deal older than her, twenty to her fifteen, and while it didn't seem like much of an age-difference to love-struck lovers, to a girl who was more attracted to the boy across the table from her, it might as well have been centuries.
"Alright then, Mister Sneaky."

Suddenly, Jerry leaned across the table, staring intently at her eyes, and Bethel knew it was no use. She couldn't avoid the truth anymore, and she'd fallen for Jerry. His face loomed even closer, and his hand reached out for her. Bethel began to feel nervous, because if he was doing what she thought she was doing, she didn't know if she should push him away to keep him loyal for Ruby, or to kiss him senseless. Feeling like a deer caught in the headlights, Bethel's lips parted in shock and surprise. Jerry's thumb ran down the side of her face, and she felt lightheaded and dizzy. Then he leaned back, holding his thumb out to her.
"You had an eyelash. Make a wish, Bethel."

Bethel closed her eyes, and blew some of her breath across Jerry's thumb, wishing that she could either be with Jerry, or love someone just like him. But even as she wished it, she knew it was futile. She was caught in a cycle, tossed over and over.

Martha, Martha, Martha....

“I don’t think that I can do this.” Her fingers were shaking as she dressed her young daughter, her voice low so she wouldn’t disturb the nearly-asleep child. It was a week after Tegan’s second birthday, and Martha’s family had finally decided to take an interest in the young child and her parents. This bothered Martha, as she was of the opinion that the people she’d come to love in the United States were her family. Her biological family had died with Aunt Polly. Still, her brother had come and talked her ‘round, convincing her that she ought to go and see them at least once. Jack had promised to accompany her- his presence would certainly take the heat off of her for the moment, and it would be nice to have him around. So Martha had agreed.

Johnny and Martha had come to England a week early, bringing Tegan and Jack with them, determined to have some fun vacation time while they could still enjoy being in Martha’s native home. It was a fun-filled week, and Jack and Martha kept Johnny entertained. Little Tegan enjoyed herself too, though being so young meant that she couldn’t really enjoy it on the same level that the adults did. The week didn’t last long enough for Martha, who relished spending so much time with the three people she cared most about in the world. An emotional moment cropped up when she took Tegan to see Polly’s grave, but aside from that it was a lighthearted week, and Jack and Johnny prevented Martha from being too nervous.

That is, until the morning before Martha was to go with the others. As she stood there, dressing her child, Martha could feel the nausea welling up inside of her. After the treatment she experienced at her parents’ hands, she was reluctant to expose her own child to such people. Just as she was about to give up, and just go back to bed, warm hands descended to her shoulders and she looked up to see her husband watching her.
“Hey, relax, alright? It’s going to be okay. I won’t let anything happen. I promise.”
His hands rubbed her back, and attempted to soothe her. “Just get Tegan ready, and we’ll get this over with, alright?”

Martha had no idea how Johnny could remain so calm. After all, he was meeting his in-laws for the first time. When she’d met Johnny’s parents, she’d been so nervous she could hardly move. Fortunately for Martha, her in-laws adored her, and she adored them. Rather than simply marrying into Johnny’s family, she’d gained a mother and father who adored her, and grandparents who thought she hung the stars. Not to mention another brother. The whole family had been so involved in Martha’s life since, welcoming not only Martha but Jack, who was the other black sheep of the Smith family, into their family with open arms. In fact, the whole lot had been incredibly involved with Tegan’s gestation and birth. They remained as involved today as they’d always been, and Martha loved every one of them.

Unlike Martha’s parents, who hadn’t cared since she was a young adolescent. Of course, she’d sent perfunctory notes on her graduation from CBA, her graduation from University, her marriage, and the birth of her first child. By that, Jack forced her to by threatening several things. (One of which, texting her husband, must be noted resulted in a pleased and very tempted expression on Martha’s face). The Smiths had never replied to any of these letters, not until two years later. Now they were practically demanding to see their granddaughter.

After quite some time getting ready, Martha turned her dark gaze to the clock, and sighed deeply.
“I guess it’s time to go.”
Jack pulled his little sister into a big hug, kissing the top of her head, and swaying them from side to side.
“Martha, have I ever let you down?”
“Saying that usually indicates that you either have or will.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Probability.”
Jack pulled away, grinning widely at the shorter woman.
“You’re adoreable when you let out that little maths geek.”
“Think Mum and Dad will like it?”
“No-“ He paused. “You haven’t seen Mum and Dad since they shipped you off to live with Aunt Polly, have you?”
“No.”

Another arm was draped around her shoulders, and the pair went out to where Johnny and Tegan were waiting in the car for them. Martha smiled for her husband and daughter, securely seated in the back, and then she slipped into the front passenger seat, closing her eyes to ease her nerves as her brother started the car.

A little while later, the family pulled up in front of Martha’s childhood home. Or, well, the one she’d started in at any rate. Jack bounded up the steps that led to front door, Martha following slowly, and Johnny bringing up the rear with Tegan. The door opened, and a tall and straight woman answered it.
“Jonathan.”
“Hullo, Mum! I tend to go by Jack now- I always liked it better, and it prevents confusion. Martha’s bloke is named Johnny you know.”
“Mmm. I see. Jonathan, to inside, your father is waiting in the drawing room.” Jack winked at Martha, and grinned, before trotting off to face the wrath of his father.
“Evageline.”
Martha flinched, as she hated that name. She never used it or went by it anymore, and had actually had it changed after becoming a citizen of the country between marrying Johnny and bearing Tegan.
“Mum, I go by-“
“Come inside. Mustn’t let the child grow chilled, now.”

As Martha crossed the threshold, she felt Johnny’s hand on her back. Tegan reached for her, and she took her child, feeling the comforting weight of the little girl against her hip. As they joined her father and brother, yelling abruptly stopped. To ease the awkwardness, Martha settled on the couch, and set Tegan on her feet, holding both hands to keep her from wandering off.
“Evangeline.”
Martha didn’t respond to the unfamiliar name.
“Evangeline!”
Again, nothing.
“Evangeline Martha!”

At this, Martha looked up, seeing her mother hold out her hands imperiously. Clearly, she wanted to hold Tegan. Slowly, Martha slipped her hands from her child, letting her mother pick the little girl up.
“She’s quite precious, Evangeline. What’s her name?”
Pain repeatedly wore at Martha. The name she despised, her mother’s lack of knowing her own grandchild’s name…Martha could feel herself slipping into the recesses of her mind, much as she had as a child. A blank stare took over her face.
“Tegan.”
Her mother snorted, and jolted Martha out of her state.
“What a fanciful name. You always were off in the clouds. I’m surprised you got a degree. Probably had to sleep with half of your professors to get it.”
The passive-aggressive tactics had resumed. Calling her a name she hated, putting her in the room she hated the most. Her head was spinning, and her eyes glazed over, despite the tears that welled in them,
“Evangeline, what on earth is this child saying? She’s a freak! She’s talking to soon.” Mrs. Smith lowered the child to the floor, stepping back in disgust. “Full words at two! You’re corrupting your own child! I always knew you’d be a terrible mother!”

Tears slid down Martha’s cheeks, and she continued to gaze blankly at the wall, Tegan noticed her mother’s tears, and toddled over, leaning against Martha’s legs.
“Mommy why cry?” Tegan began to cry too, pressing her face to her mother’s knees. Wordlessly, Martha picked her up, cradling and soothing her child.
“Evangeline! Put her down-“
“Enough.” The word was spoken with a quiet intensity that startled those present. “You will not speak to my wife that way.”
Johnny took his wife’s hand, and pulled her from the couch carefully.
“We’re leaving. I did not bring my wife and daughter here to be treated this way. She deserves respect, and Tegan deserves consideration. Mrs. Smith, Martha is a good mother. Better, by far, than you were. And I resent implications otherwise. I would thank you for your hospitality, but there was none. We’ll see ourselves out.”
“Evangeline, stop this at once! I forbid you from leaving!”
Johnny smirked, turning his head to look at the old woman who was trying so hard to regain control of the situation.
“I don’t know who Evangeline is, but when I see her, I’ll let her know.”

With that, Johnny slipped his arm around his wife, and led Martha and Tegan from the house. Jack followed, a stricken look on his face.
“Johnny, I didn’t-“
Johnny paused, and looked at his brother-in-law, a man he’d become good friends with over the past several years.
“I know. Would you mind driving? I’m not used to this opposite-side-of-the-road thing.”
Jack smiled, and kissed Martha’s forehead.
“Sure will.”

I am so going to get you

It was a warm day, the sun was brightly shinning, and Martha Smith was having a bit of fun with her friends. Lake and Zak were two of Martha's closest friends, and she enjoyed every moment that she was able to spend with them. On this warm April day, Martha was enjoying her time spent in the garden with these two friends playing in the fountain. Normally Martha would have been inside, or trying to dissuade her friends from what she saw as a troublesome or juvenile activity. However, it would seem that dating Johnny was loosening her up, and making her more sociable and fun-loving.

With all three of the trio now involved in romantic interludes, their time spent together was limited, and Martha didn't want to spend what little time they had chastising her friends when they could be having fun. As a result, Martha stood in the fountain, jeans rolled up, blue shirt soaked through as she and her friends splashed each other with the cool water. It was a day that she would remember fondly next year, when she had to leave her two 'little brothers' behind. She regretted it almost. She was going to miss being around Zak playing daddy, and Lake being lovey-dovey with Dimitri. As the melancholy thoughts filled her mind, someone scooped a handful of water into her face.
"ZAK!"

She shook her head to clear her eyes of the stinging water. Martha had every intention of retaliating, and she bent to splash him, when she heard Lake snicker. As she straightened, she looked over her shoulder, and spotted Johnny. Her boyfriend was staring at her, in her sodden state, and her disheveled appearance. She sloshed to the edge of the fountain, and Johnny walked forward, meeting her at the edge, and offering her a hand to balance her, as she climbed out. He looked completely bemused, and she sent him a chagrined smile.
"You're all wet."
"So I am..."

Johnny chuckled, and pushed some of the soaking wet hair out of her eyes, and let his hand caress her cheek. Martha blushed, and looked away, while Johnny used his hand to tip her face up towards his.
"You're very pretty."
He was lowering his lips to hers, when suddenly a heavy spray of frigid water hit the two of them, sending the light-weight Martha back a step.
"Hey!" She shrieked.

Lake and Zak were laughing, barely able to hold the water hose steady as they soaked Johnny, and got the wet Martha even more saturated with water. It would seem that they couldn't pass up this chance.
"Oi! Martha! No significant others allowed!"
Angrily Martha stepped towards the boys, and they dropped her hose and ran. Johnny restrained her, one arm wrapping around her waist while turning her towards him. His other arm rest on her shoulder, gently rubbing. Martha smiled as she noticed his wrist, and one of her hands lifted to trace the tattoo there.
"Now, where were we, Martha Smith?"

Martha stared at her boyfriend, absolutely soaking wet, and laughed. He was gorgeous, and she was a mess. She found it to be quite funny. Johnny, however, merely silenced her with a kiss.

In This Farewell

It was a beautiful day, with the sunlight streaming into the bedroom, casting a bright light across the bed, and the figure still sprawled there. She'd been there most of the morning already, a slim figure curled in on herself, scarcely moving, and scarcely breathing. She took a deep breath, and another, trying to ease her pain. None of it worked. She was burning up, and the white pillow beneath her head was dark with sweat. She locked her teeth shut, biting back the full groan that fought to escape.

Earlier that morning, her fiancé had decided to take her two small children to visit a Children's Museum. Knowing that she hadn't felt well the night before, and since she was pregnant with their first child, Jonathan had thought it would give her a chance to rest, and recover from whatever ailed her. She hadn't been this bad this morning, and had made the children breakfast, and kissed all three on their way out. the cramps had hit sometime an hour after that. Madeline Munroe had stumbled back to bed, curling in on herself, hoping that they would stop soon. They hadn't. She rolled over, and paused at a wet sensation. Lowering a shaking hand, she touched the wetness, and raised blood covered fingers.

Panic took her, and she painfully scrambled for the phone, dialing Morgan's cell-phone number. This was bad, but Madeline didn't want to frighten her children. She needed her best friend right now, and she was hoping he would pick up the phone. He didn't, and she tried to leave a message. It was mostly the sound of her tears, and a low voice that begged over and over again. Not knowing what else to do, she set the phone down, and tried to get up. She might have to drive herself to the hospital. She made it to her feet, but she doubled over with pain. She wasn't bleeding heavily yet, but she was worried. Fear rose again, and she was afraid she was just going to die. But then the phone rang.

Stumbling back to her bed, she reached for the phone, and answered it, shaking and trying not to groan.
"Maddie, what is it?" Morgans voice was thick with lust and pleasure, and Maddie flushed with the realization that she'd interupted them. She didn't want to be a bother.
"S-sorry. It's n-nothing..." She stopped with a groan, and curled into a tighter ball.
"Madeline?!"
"I-I'm cramping and bleeding."
There was silence at the other end of the line. To Morgan, it sounded as though she were just experiencing her menstrual cycle, and it irritated him to think that she'd interupted his time with Tetsu for that. She had Jonathan now to cuddle with her. But then his sleepy and one-track mind focused. Madeline wouldn't have called for that, and the soft sounds of her weeping was coming across the line.

"Maddie? What's wrong, sweetheart?"
"I'm pregnant, Morgan. And I shouldn't be bleeding....or cramping or- OH!"
Morgan immediatly reached for his clothes, and jotted a note which he held up to Tetsu.
"Where's Jon? Maddie, stay with me, where's Jonathan?"
"W-with the kids. They went o-out."
While Morgan was glad that his children weren't there to see their mother in such a state, he was scared that she was alone, and possibly suffering a miscarriage.
"Li-li? I'm on my way, alright? Hold tight."

An hour later, Morgan was carrying Madeline into the Emergency Room, having called to let them know he was on his way. He regretted that he hadn't called Jonathan yet, but he was a little more worried about Madeline's safety than Jonathan's potential feelings at the moment. She was still bleeding, and in intense pain, both emotional and physical. She'd figured out by now that she was losing her baby, and the pain it was causing her was immense. The doctors were converging on Morgan, and took her from his arms. She turned those dark eyes on him, begging for something, though he wasn't sure what.

It seemed an eternity before any news came about. Jonathan had arrived with the two little ones, and not long after, Tetsu had come to take them home, and to see how Morgan was holding up. He seemed to understand that Morgan didn't want to leave Jonathan or Madeline, and he seemed alright with watching the twins indefinately. Morgan cast a side glance to Jonathan, who looked dreadfully upset. It seemed that Madeline had only realized she was pregnant a few weeks earlier, and the man was possibly going to lose his child already, and neither of them knew the condition of Madeline. He wished he knew what words to offer the man, but he wasn't sure that there were any. Instead, they both sat there in silence.

Madeline herself was rather quiet. The cramps had subsided, and the bleeding had stopped. Her baby was gone. The enormity of that thought filled her, and she couldn't make any sounds. The doctors were concerned about what they termed as her stoic reaction. Morgan or Jonathan could have told them that it was shock. Her brown eyes were glued to the window, balefully eyeing the bright sun, that cast brightly gentle rays onto her form. Apparently, the child's death hadn't been caused by anything she'd eaten, or any injury. It simply hadn't formed or settled properly in her womb, and the uterin wall had begun to break down around it. Just a biological flaw, a freak accident. Her next child should be safe for the full term.

Next child?

What about this one? She'd failed. They'd asked her several times if she was ready to see visitors. Madeline had said nothing, just staring out the window at that blasted child, thinking about the bloody towel they'd carried away, bearing a bloody lump smaller than her fist. She'd wanted to see it, had actually formed the words, and held out her hands. They had told her that at this stage, the fetus was nothing more than a blood clot. Seeing it would only make everything worse, and that they would dispose of it for her. That was her baby and she didn't care what they said. She'd wanted to see it.

After a little while of giving her space, the staff let Jonathan in to see her. He gave a slight knock to the door before he entered, brown eyes full of grief, and worry.
"Mads?"
She turned her head at the sound of his voice, and whens she saw him, she burst immediatly into tears. He was at her bedside seconds later, gently brushing her hair away. Madeline didn't want distance, though, and she sat up, and wrapped her arms around him.
"I'm sorry, Jon. I'm so sorry...."

What have you done?!

Her marriage was crumbling.

Every morning, an argument. Every evening, a drunken brawl. Every night, desperate sex to quell the anger. She knew that it was unhealthy, and knew that she had to get out. Despite the make-up, and the sunglasses, and the spray-on tans, her family was getting suspicious. It was hard to hide the after affects of her husband's dark appetites. The rope burns on her wrist, the weals on her back from the whip lashes. Dark pleasure turned to a twisted, darker pain. She feared sleeping each night, and dreaded waking each morning. It was a world of no escapes, for the trophy wife had none. Locked away from the world, only venturing out on her husband's arm...

She was dying.

It wasn't a physical ailment, or a psychological fear, or even a broken heart. She was dying in her spirit. Depression had taken hold, but only his physician was allowed to see her. The humiliation of each 'visit' still burned shame deeply into her cheeks. Her family wondered why she didn't smile so much. At least, the observant members did. Her brother. Her cousin. She found herself spending long hours away from anything that could reveal her secret. Countless hours before a mirror, inspecting her naked body; countless hours in the walled garden, kneeling in front of a flower bed where she'd buried her child. The self-abortion to save the child from a chilling future. She hadn't touched a coat-hanger since.

It was taking a toll.

She couldn't eat, she couldn't contemplate it. Often, the woman would cook elaborate meals, sit it at her place, and sit in the chair before it. She would look at the colors, inhale the aromas, and then rise, throw the food out, wash the plate. She couldn't read. Many times, she went to the library, touched the spines of the books, pulled one off of the shelf, sit on the couch and open it, leafing through the stark black and white colored pages, rise and put the book back on the shelf. She couldn't paint, which had once been the greatest joy of her life. She would often set up a canvas, fill her paint tray, lift the brush, and stare at the white expanse. She never cried, though she always picked up the paint tray, hurling it at the canvas in a rage. She always cleaned the mess. She always disposed of the canvas.

She couldn't feel pleasure, or pain.

She would lay in bed, cheek pressed to his chest, body slick with perspiration, red hair darkened by sweat, sheets stained with blood. No matter what he did, she didn't feel desire or pleasure. No matter how he touched, or how he tried. She made no sound, made no eye contact, and made no love. No matter how he tied her, whipped her, smothered her, she felt no pain. She couldn't cry out when he cut into her skin. She didn't cry when he bruised her. There was nothing left in her, just an empty shell of what was a woman. Her life held nothing.

She could remember, though.

She remembered playing soccer with her cousin, posing for pictures with her brother, and falling asleep on her father's lap. She remembered parkour, and Shaheen. There were memories of falling in love, and loving enough to let that someone be happy with someone else. She could recall college, and the fun years. She remembered her daughter, fathered and birthed for the man she loved. She could remember painting with Glass, and laughter with her other friends. She remembered so much. Especially the day that the match had been made. She remembered the wedding, and the gentility on the wedding day, and the brutality of the wedding night.

She remembered so much.

Yet, in a spralling villa somewhere in the middle of Spain's countryside, Bethel Salinas felt utterly forgotten.