It's the lightness that wakes Bo up.
She's used to sleeping on her stomach, star-fish style, with her cheek on the pillow and limbs reaching every corner of the bed. Lauren, however, has to curl up as close to Bo as possible, wrapping around her body like a vine, skin on skin and her hair spilling across Bo's shoulder. Clearly a compromise had to be reached, and since that first night Bo's gotten used to the weight of Lauren's arms around her waist, her face an inch away or closer to Bo's own. The curve of Lauren's lips under her fingertips when she wakes with a kind, sleepy smile.
Years of waking up to an empty bed, to an unknown or unwanted body, seem like centuries of lost time. She wonders how she ever did without. Without blond hair and brown eyes, and a heartbeat under her palm that beats as strongly as her own.
But now Lauren's not here, and when Bo opens her eyes her hands automatically reach out along the bedsheets for a body that is missing. The clock glows three a.m. and confusion mars her peace; where could Lauren be at this hour? The space beside her is still warm- Lauren's not been gone long- but Bo already knows that sleep will not come easy again without her.
All this runs through Bo's head in a second, and she takes another one to listen. She hears, beyond the soft rain outside and her own breathing, a tiny, steady disturbance coming from the kitchen.
Lauren.
She rises from the bed almost as quickly as the worry rises within her. Tying her kimono around her waist, Bo opens the bedroom door and pads, as smoothly as a cat, to a room at the end of the hallway.
First things first.
This room doesn't look like it used to. Where a toy chest used to be pushed against a wall, a small metal table now rests. Where Bo used to waltz quickly into the room, she now steps carefully over bundled cords and wires, around the metal legs of an IV drip standing tall in the middle of the room. Where the wooden rocker once stood, a larger and better crib now rested, a product of the latest human technology that measured every vital function Bo could name and some that only Lauren knew about. In fact, the only thing that Bo knows is the same is the patterns in the wallpaper; beautiful patterns and stranger ones, ancient spells underneath to protect and bless the inhabitants for as long as the walls stood.
A present from Trick, to guard against invaders of the big and brutish type.
Bo smiles sadly as she makes her way to the crib, the sounds of soft breathing getting louder with each step. Downy golden hair fans out over the pillow.
Not that the spells and incantations had been completely thorough; the enemy this time had been microscopic and sly, deceiving them all until Lauren placed a hand on their daughter's forehead one day and knew that something was desperately wrong.
But as Bo looks down into the crib, Charlotte is sleeping soundly with her little fists pressed against her mouth, her chest rising and falling with comforting regularity. No fever dreams; this is a good sleep, a natural one, not brought on by medicine or magic.
Their child. Their daughter.
Bo smiles, strokes the lightest touch down Charlotte's perfect cheek, and decides not to risk waking her by picking her up, now, even if all she wants is to hold her in her arms again. Charlotte's just had the longest week of her mere fifty-two, and needs rest. The hospital smell still clings to everything in her room, and Bo can't ignore the soft hum of the equipment that looks over her little girl every minute of every day.
Thank heaven the lingering sickness had been wiped away.
So she just presses a hand to Charlotte's back and looks out the window, thinking. It's early, early morning and the streets are still; the streetlamps gleam through the tranquil rain.
When Charlotte was born, the blessed result of Bo's endless searching and Lauren's science, it was the happiest day that either of them had ever known. Bo had felt like some part of her suddenly opened up, some inner sanctum that went on for eons, just to house and hold the love she felt blooming in her chest. Lauren had looked at her, exhausted but joyous, and pulled her into the hospital bed to hold the two of them close. Their hands went together around Charlotte's perfect head and her perfect tiny body, and Bo had vowed to protect the two infinitely precious things in her life at any cost. For all time.
And she had tried, every day since.
Bo shakes her head, buries her thoughts back under, and turns back to her daughter. Charlotte hiccups in her sleep, and Bo leaves her side with one last smile and a gentle kiss against her cheek.
She goes in search of Lauren.
When she gets downstairs, Bo turns the corner into the kitchen and stops.
Lauren is up to her elbows in suds, hunched over the spotless sink. Her hands work furiously underneath the white-mounded water and finally emerge, grabbing a scrubbing brush in one hand and a bottle of bleach in the other.
There is a monitor sitting within arm's reach, a video feed on Charlotte's room, and a running commentary of her medical statistics perpetually updating itself. Lauren's eyes flicker to it constantly; she has to see Bo, standing there. But she doesn't move.
She just sprays the kitchen table, wipes the spot in wide circles, and resumes scrubbing with the wire brush. She wrings out the sponge and does it again, the same spot, the same circles.
And again.
When Bo calls out softly, "Lauren," she doesn't look up but instead shrugs her shoulders, indicating that she's heard Bo, but she's occupied at the moment. Watching her, Bo feels the heart in her chest swell painfully with the force of her love, love for the woman who is standing in front of her, scrubbing the table, and still more beautiful than Bo has ever seen her. Bo tries again.
"Darling, it's three in the morning."
Lauren still won't look at her, just makes that same noncommittal gesture as before; I hear you, but I can't.
"Lauren." And louder. This time Lauren shakes her head, mute, and presses her lips together in that thin line that means she's angry or about to cry, and then her forehead creases with a momentary pain and Bo has her answer.
"Talk to me, sweetheart."
"I can't," Lauren finally says, quickly, dropping the cleaning supplies with a splash and reaching for the paper towels. Her hands tremble visibly as she tears off more sheets than necessary. "I have to get this table clean before anyone gets up. There's not a lot of time."
"The table's clean enough." Bo replies, stepping closer. Every cell in her is screaming reach over and take Lauren by the shoulders, hold her and kiss her until she sees sense. But Bo keeps her distance.
"It's not, I can't get this stain off-"
"That's not a stain, Lo. It's a burn. It's been there since the day we first found out about Charlotte, do you remember?"
Lauren looks at her wordlessly.
Bo takes another step.
"That day, Kenzi asked for cupcakes. It was probably just to distract you from what you were waiting for, but you agreed. You were putting the pan in the oven- that oven," she points to it, behind Lauren, just to remind her, "and when I got home you had the envelope with the results from the blood test, and you wanted to open it alone, remember?"
Lauren's shoulders quake. She hadn't wanted to disappoint Bo, after months of trying and failing to make it work, and Bo had acquiesced when she saw the weariness and worry on Lauren's face. She'd let Lauren take the envelope with her to their bedroom, and waited for an agonizing minute. Now, Bo comes closer and reaches out for a towel, wiping the water and the soap from Lauren's fingers before putting them back down on the table. She moves back, so their hands are inches apart against the wood of the table.
"I was so scared. You had to be more nervous than I was, now that I look back, but you put on a brave face before you looked. I stayed in the kitchen, but I couldn't even think. I barely remembered to put on oven mitts. And then you called my name from our bedroom and I dropped everything, hot pan and all, on this table- and I went to you."
Lauren finally, finally nods, her head down and her hair obscuring her face in waves. Bo reaches forward and cups her face. The strong jaw is calmed in her hold.
"You didn't need to say anything. I barged in and you were laughing, crying- you were the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. You kept saying my name, like I was the one who made it happen, this miracle. But it was you. It was all you."
"Bo-" It's not a voice that Bo ever wants to hear her name in. It's small and desperate and nothing she ever wants Lauren to feel.
It takes Bo three steps forward and she wraps her arms around Lauren's waist, holding with the tender strength she reserves only for her. Lauren sags into her body, her arms around Bo's neck, and Bo clings tightly with the knowledge that she has to support the both of them now. They are pressed fully against one another, and if she had one wish it would be to take the weight Lauren was carrying onto her own back. Absorb this pain into her own body.
Be what she needs.
But Lauren just quakes in her arms, on the brink of collapse, and all Bo can do is hold her and wait, tracing words on Lauren's back to comfort her. Lauren's heartbeat is her heartbeat and her time is Bo's time.
Minutes, maybe hours pass. Bo doesn't know and she doesn't care.
Finally, through the quiet tears soaking her shirt and the warm weight of Lauren in her arms, Bo hears a small noise murmured into the crook of her neck.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't." Bo whispers softly, tangling gentle fingers in Lauren's hair.
"Don't ever apologize to be about how you feel." She waits, but Lauren doesn't say anything else.
"Could you tell me what's going on?"
A pause. It's drawn out long, then longer, until Bo begins to wonder if Lauren has heard her.
The clock ticks.
"I did this." Lauren says, eons later, pulling back and looking up at Bo. "I did this, and I have to fix it. I have to try."
"Babe, you didn't do anything wrong."
"You don't understand- this was my job, Bo, I-" She falls silent as if choked off, biting her lip with the strain. With the indecision.
"What was your job, hmm? Please, just talk to me, Lauren. We agreed that we would talk things through- no more avoiding, or pretending like it doesn't matter. Please, please don't shut me out."
Lauren squeezes her eyes shut and nods her head almost desperately- I know, I know- and presses the flat of her palms against Bo's shoulders.
"I love you."
After all these years, Bo still melts when she hears those words.
"I love you too. So much."
Lauren smiles, for the tiniest moment, but then the frown and the hurt is back in the creases of her face as she touches the hem of Bo's kimono, and the shirt underneath. She takes a wanting breath, and then another. Her eyes flicker to the monitor again, where Charlotte is still sleeping soundly.
"You protect her." She begins. Bo waits. Lauren gathers her thoughts, and tries again. "You protect her, Bo. When people try to hurt her, hurt us, you protect her. You are so strong- so strong, I'm never afraid when you're here, when you're with us. You keep her safe."
"You do that too."
"But I don't, Bo. I can't, at least not physically. My years with the Fae, my time with you? I know this." She breaks free of Bo's arms and swings her hand out in a wide, panicked arc.
"This- this is what I can do. I'm a doctor, this is my purpose, this is how I contribute to keeping her safe. I should have at least protected her the only way I know how- and God, I failed. I failed, Bo, and we almost lost her."
The frantic cleaning, and constant surveillance by Charlotte's bed.
Oh.
The past week comes back to Bo in flashes; Lauren grabbing her hand and telling her they had to go to the hospital now, Bo rolling up her sleeve as the doctors prepared for a blood transfusion. Charlotte's flushed little face, her thrashing arms, and Lauren having to be forcefully sedated so she wouldn't fall sick herself from overwork. She'd stayed awake for two straight days and fainted once already, and still she didn't quit.
Bo wonders if Lauren is made of steel, or of magic. What was Fae when it came to human love?
Oh, sweetheart.
"Listen to me." Bo says, firmly. She doesn't let Lauren turn away again; Bo brings her close and peers into frightened eyes, wet with unshed tears, and strokes away a solitary, escaping drop with her thumb before pressing a gentle kiss to the damp spot.
In some place within her, Bo can understand. In all her years of doctorly experience, Lauren has seen so much of wounds and war, death and disease. She's saved and lost more patients than she can count. Bo knows how heavily it weighs on her; she told Bo, once, that it felt like plunging her hands into a waterfall, and whatever she could grasp, she could keep.
She can't ever catch enough.
Bo hadn't known what to do or say to that, and she still isn't certain now. But she has to try.
"Charlotte getting sick was not your fault, Lauren. You did everything right as a mother; this place was practically sterile and our baby had never been happier or healthier. It came completely out of the blue and it was not your fault."
But Lauren's eyes are far away; she's gone somewhere Bo can't reach her, and Bo presses her lips to Lauren's once, twice, to get her to come back. When that doesn't work, she tries words again.
"It was bad luck and bad timing-"
"-and bad genes." Lauren interrupts, so soft that Bo almost misses it. "Bad decisions."
Bo knows this look, when Lauren is avoiding something. There's something else. Something deeper.
"Love." She says more forcefully, pressing her fingers to the curve of Lauren's temple and rubbing a slow circle. Lauren's lips are inches from her own, but out of closeness more than intimacy. "What on earth are you talking about?"
Lauren takes a deep, shuddering breath, and Bo feels it in the fibers of her body.
"The virus got to Charlotte because of me."
Bo's brows scrunch in confusion. She knows it was a virus. A Fae virus, that had once devastated populations but was now rendered harmless thanks to the advent of vaccination and better feeding practices. All Fae children got the vaccine in their initial shots, and again with boosters, but there were always the unlucky few who slipped the net and fell under. Charlotte just happened to be one of the very small population, but their daughter was strong and the medical response swift, and there was never any real danger that it would be fatal.
The doctors explained as much. Lauren hadn't said a word.
"I don't understand."
"The vaccine, the medications; they only work when they come into contact with healthy Fae cells. To fight the infection, they all have to have immunity; any weakness in the defense means the whole thing comes crashing down. It's useless, worthless- I should have known, no Fae cure is ever going to be of any good to her, Bo-"
"Lauren, it's okay-"
"It's not!" Lauren barrels on without a halt, her fists pressed together over her eyes, voice getting louder with each frantic syllable that leaves her lips. Panic raced through her, comes off of her in waves.
"Her cells- the reason the vaccines didn't work- it's my fault. The reason she's weak is because she's human. Because she's mine."
God, Lauren.
Bo can't believe what she is hearing.
For a minute she thinks that someone else has taken over Lauren's body, and is now spewing words that don't ever belong in the same sentence, about the same person as the one standing in front of her. How could they? Through Dyson, and Tamsin, and even Evony; Lauren had fought for her, calmly proving at every turn that her humanity earned her a permanent place in Bo's heart, despite the obstacles in their way. No part of Lauren is weak.
For someone so strong, it never ceases to surprise Bo that Lauren hides so many cracks within herself.
"Stop, baby, please."
Lauren doesn't.
"She could die, because of me. Any day now, some other disease is going to come, something else I can't stop and can't fix, and it will take her because I cursed her with it."
Stop. Stop saying those things about yourself. Stop saying those things about our daughter.
"That's not true. You know that's not true."
The tears are blurring Bo's vision now. God, how long had Lauren had to keep this inside of her? How long had Bo failed to see it?
"It doesn't matter- it is what is, Bo, and I'm so sorry. I'm sorry for putting you and Charlotte through this. I'm sorry for what I couldn't do, what I can't be."
That is what lights Bo's fire. Lauren is sorry? For what? For being herself?
"Don't ever be sorry for that."
Lauren makes some disbelieving, hiccupping noise. Bo is suddenly angry.
"Are you saying that it would be better if we didn't have her? That you would rather not be the mother of our child?"
"Bo, of course that's not-"
"Oh, but it is." Bo says, softly. They've stepped away from each other now, arm's length, because this is not a conversation two people can have that close. This requires pain and hurt, and some distance, and Bo wants none of that to be in Lauren's memory the next time Bo has her fully in her arms. "
You don't think I worry about losing her too? That one day, I'm going to fail you and Charlotte and everyone else that I love? I put a target on her back, Lauren. I'm the unaligned Succubus. The reason I even have to protect her from others is because of me, her mother. I'm as much to blame for her lack of safety as you are- maybe more."
"That's different."
"It's not." Bo says, firmly. "But you never hold it against me, and I've learned not to hold it against myself. Do you know why?"
Lauren shakes her head, her hands trying in vain to wipe the tears from her cheeks. She shrugs in helplessness.
"You're stronger than I am. You see things differently."
"I'm not stronger than you, Lauren. Never stronger." Bo reaches forward, tentatively, and touches her face. "When we first met, you were a slave and I- I was a monster. But you choose to look beyond my past and into my future. Into our future." She takes a shuddering breath and lets her hand trail up to cup the back of Lauren's head. Lauren's own grip seems ready to break. "You say you would do it all again."
Lauren nods, but her eyes widen as Bo continues.
"I don't believe you."
"How can-"
"Because if you really believed it, you wouldn't be afraid of this. You wouldn't be convinced that this is your cross to carry. I know you're scared about what Charlotte will bring, Lauren, but so am I. You don't have to bear this on your own."
"Bo, you know I didn't mean that I didn't want this life with you."
"I do know that." Bo says, softly. "And I'm sorry for even implying it, but you were still feeling that way. You're still reserved."
Their hands are clasped, now, fingers laced and impenetrable.
"Life hasn't been easy for us. But you've been so strong through everything, Lauren. Losing Nadia and making it through five years of hell. Saving me when the Dawning almost took my sanity. Rainer and my father and Kenzi's death- you've pulled us through, every time. You save me. And you saved our daughter. Lauren, there is no way that you can say you caused any of this, when you're the one who always makes it better."
"Those things aren't mutually exclusive, Bo."
"I don't care. She's everything we've ever wanted. You're everything I've ever needed. You can't have control over everything, and that's not a reason to blame yourself for this."
"I'm a doctor. I know where the fault lies."
In an instant Bo has closed their distance with a mix of hurt and indignation.
"Yes, you're her doctor, Lauren. But you're also her mother. You're the one who brought her life. We all have weaknesses, but you love me no less for mine. Why should I love you any less for yours? Why should Charlotte?"
"She doesn't know yet."
The fear is implied, yet it's a little less than before. There is hope.
"And when she does, she'll still adore you just as much. You've given her humanity. You've given her love, and empathy, and kindness. She is so lucky to have part of you within her, Lauren. She is so lucky to be your daughter."
Lauren relaxes, ever so slightly, and Bo sees the finish line and presses forward. "We don't stop because life throws us a curveball. You, of all people, know that. And it's going to be different for her; maybe we'll be scared more than usual. Maybe there's more to do, and more to worry about. But I would take that over not having her- or you, or this life that we've built- any day, and I know you would too. I've never doubted that, not for a second. Please, please don't doubt it either."
It is the speech she never intended to give, and every word of it is true.
"-Bo." The voice she hears is hushed, reverent. Lauren's eyes say all the thanks Bo needs. This conversation will be in both of their minds, later, and will probably be reiterated at some point. But they have established their position; this is their stronghold, their fortress. Words seem too little to encompass the emotional crucible they've gone through, and survived, together.
So the decision is mutual. They take a break from talking.
Lauren steps forward first. Their kiss is wet and salty, delicate and with promise. Bo sighs into the taste, her arms around Lauren's waist, their hips lined up and their noses gently brushing. She feels the smile of her love against her mouth, and it's a feeling she wants to bottle and keep forever. They kiss again, and again, pausing only for breath, lazy like they have all the time in the world. Bo loses and gains her breath, and finally breaks away only an inch, whispering against Lauren's lips. She doesn't want to end this moment but she must, to move forward.
"Let's clean this place up."
And it will come with the healing.
Lauren presses her mouth to the bare skin of Bo's chest, above the collar of her shirt, and nods silently. Bo tilts her chin up and kisses her a last time, savoring the softness that is Lauren's lips, and sends up a silent prayer that this woman is hers. They fix the mess together- Bo grabs a large trash bag and throws the bottles of disinfectant and scrubbing utensils inside, while Lauren piles up the mounds of paper towels, and the sponge, and throws all of that away as well. The soap suds are drained, the sink stopper left out.
Bo takes Lauren's hands under the running water and washes them, gently, until they are bare of everything except sweet-smelling skin. Bo presses them to her face and breathes deep.
"Bo?" She looks up, smiling.
"Yes?"
"Let's go back to bed."
They take Charlotte's monitor with them, stopping by her room for one last check. Lauren walks to the window, stands there looking at Charlotte, and Bo knows that she's not seeing the medical charts or the MRI scans or the way she looks in baby scrubs, not anymore.
There is peace in Lauren's face and in Bo's heart, and there has never been a more perfect moment in either of their lives than when Charlotte herself opens her eyes, coos, and reaches out for both her mothers.
And that, permanent or not, is enough.
AN: I wanted to try an AU from Bo's POV, and this seemed like a good occasion to do it. For any of you reading my multi-chapter, look for an update by the end of the week. Fingers crossed I can finish it by then. Thanks all, I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.