A/N: First fic on here. Kay-verse, content warning for animal peril. Thanks for reading! Feel free to review!

I'd done all I could to ensure that he kept out of the pantry, but I could hear his nervous footsteps out in the kitchen- up and down on the tile floor, a ceaseless rhythm and a constant reminder of his presence.

Sasha was exhausted. I'd employed Marie to keep Erik busy while I attended the dog- a task she was handling rather poorly! In all honesty, he probably would have been a reassuring presence to the golden-haired dog panting under my hands; she liked him far better than she liked me. She was my dog, though- I remembered picking her out of her litter, laughing as she covered my hands with licks and butted me with her tiny head; Charles had paid for her up front, and we had brought her home immediately.
And it was, after all, my fault in the first place- had I closed the garden gate, no wandering stray would have come along. I'd seen the mutt prowling the neighborhood, but by the time I chased him from my garden, it was done- my precious purebred spaniel had been impregnated by a roving mongrel. It was a topic I had avoided discussing with Erik- I could imagine a host of uncomfortable questions upon telling him! But it was inevitable; his frustratingly perceptive eye had noticed a change in the dog quickly. The confrontation was unusual in its passivity.
He'd been sitting by the fire, sketching some product of his imagination beyond my comprehension- even before he began studying architecture formally, he had been drafting things that I did not understand. His focus was not as intense that night; he stopped and started again, fidgeted, glanced around the room- I set down my sewing and looked at him pointedly. I was observant enough to know when he wanted to ask me a question.
The dog was lying next to him. He gently ran one long hand over her skull before turning to look at me. "She's going to have a litter of puppies, isn't she?"
I had nodded. "Yes. In a few weeks. They'll stay here for a bit, until they're weaned, then find new homes in town."
I sat prepared for a barrage of questions that did not come. He accepted the explanation with uncharacteristic ease, remaining silent for a few long moments before returning to his sketching. I reluctantly resumed my sewing.
He didn't speak to me about it again- his incessant pacing outside the pantry was the only sign that he had any understanding of the potential risks of motherhood.
Four squirming bundles pushed at Sasha's stomach; the dog gave a low whine as the fifth, and last, emerged- but no high-pitched whimper accompanied the fifth puppy at birth; its body was still. This happened with dogs, I knew- the weakest of the litter did not always make it; still, the sight made my heart heavy. I wrapped its cold body and set it aside.
"Four out of five, Sasha," I murmured as I gathered up the dirty towels and set them in a basket beside the door. "And the rest are healthy."
The dog ignored my voice, squirming closer to the bundle of the dead puppy. I picked it up as a knock came on the door.
"Mother? Can I see her?"
I suppressed a sigh of irritation. He was concerned- it was only natural; and the ugly reality was over, for the most part. I opened the door, and he stepped inside with an uncharacteristic nervousness. Upon seeing him, Sasha's stub of a tail wiggled a greeting; he dropped to his knees beside her, stroking her face and speaking to her quietly. His voice was weighted with relief; he had been terrified, I realized- there was a tenderness in his strange golden eyes that was reserved only for her. She indulged in his affections for a moment before turning her attention back to the bundle in my hands and letting out another low whine; Erik immediately whipped around to look at me.
"What do you have?"
I cleared my throat. There was no lying to him; he would know. "Erik- there is always a weak one in the litter. They don't always make it."
When he looked at me, his eyes were hard. I felt myself shrinking; it was absurd, I told myself, he was a child- but the intensity of those golden eyes, inherited from neither me nor Charles, but some distant unknown ancestor, never failed to intimidate me. It wasn't until he snatched the dog from my hands that I reacted to his anger.
"It never took a breath, Erik, there's nothing to be done for it- put it down-"
He ignored my protestations, pulling back the corner of the towel to look at it. "You knew she was having puppies," he said coldly. "You should have done more research- how long has it been since this one was born?"
"Erik. It's dead."
"How long?"
"About five minutes," I answered reluctantly. "Erik- I know it's upsetting-"
"Quiet," he interrupted. "I asked Professor Guizot, weeks ago- he told me how to help. You should've let me in when she was having them! I know how to help her."
An anxious note had risen in his voice; he sat cross-legged on the floor beside Sasha, who whimpered and nosed at the bundle he held. "Not yet," he murmured, his voice low and gentle again. "It's alright."
A heavy silence settled on the room. Marie had appeared in the doorway, her thin face taut and apologetic- I glared at her and shook my head. She had allowed him to barge in and begin this useless pursuit; just a few hours of distraction- that was all I had asked! And now Erik sat on the floor, body tense and rigid as he concentrated on the stillborn puppy in his hands. He held its body firmly and used the towel to rub its back briskly. All I could think of was the inevitable outburst of frustration and rage; he would be furious at his failure, and this was no mere object to him. I could see his shoulders tense more with anxiety as the puppy refused to draw breath; I reached a hand towards him.
"Erik-"
"No!" he snapped. "It's not too late yet- there is a way." His hands trembled as he unwrapped the blanket and took the still little dog out carefully. Golden, like its mother- he took its head between his index finger and middle finger, with the neck and back resting against his palm; taking a deep breath, he flicked his hand forward, swinging the puppy upside-down. I took one step forward- I couldn't allow this to continue; I couldn't let him accidentally mutilate the thing- he wouldn't forgive himself for that. As I stretched my hand out, there was a small noise- a quiet puff of air from the puppy, and an almost undetectable whimper. I looked back at Marie, and her face mirrored the shock and wonder I felt; it had been dead! And Erik- he swung the puppy down one more time, and a few drops of liquid splattered from its tiny mouth. Wordless and utterly focused, he picked up the hand towel again and went back to rubbing the puppy's back; this time, it was only a few moments before its tiny cries grew louder. As its breathing became normal, he set it down next to Sasha, who licked his hand before nudging the puppy into place among its siblings.
"I told you," he said, looking at me pointedly, but there was no concealing his joy- his relief.
I felt hollow. Five puppies- five perfect puppies, all wriggling now at her side.
"Mother. I told you," he pressed, eyes searching my face- looking for some shared joy. I shook my head.
"Go to your room."
"I saved him, mother. I knew what to do-"
"Did you hear me?" I demanded, locking eyes with him. "Go upstairs! Get out of here- go!"
He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out; a clouded look of confused pain crept into his eyes and he stroked Sasha's head one more time before standing up and making his way to the door. Marie put a hand on his shoulder.
"Here, Erik, your mother has had a long night… let me bring you upstairs… you've done a good job," she murmured as they left the room. She shot one concerned look back at me before closing the door, and I heard their footsteps retreating up the stairs. Finally alone again, I sank to my knees. Five perfect puppies. Five- five! God had granted five flawless children to my dog! I cradled my head in my hands.
I had only asked for one!
Sasha's nose prodded at my hair, but I pushed her away; I didn't want her near me! The new mother, celebrating her perfect litter- what crueler way to taunt me?
No birth was perfect. If it had died- that one puppy, one failure- but no! It was alive, and it was beautiful; they were all beautiful, all five, and I could not bear to look at them.
I crawled to the corner of the pantry and crouched there, a wounded creature incapable of coherent thought or reasoning. I said my prayers at night; I attended mass on Sundays. So why had God seen fit to punish me- and then mock me like this? I curled up in my corner, forehead buried in my knees.
I did not think. I did not pray.
I cried with the pitiful senselessness and futility of a lost child until dawn's gray light came through the window.