Author's Note — For something like three-and-a-half years now, I have repeatedly begun to write fics about Julian and Ivy's children and the way that they all relate to one another. This fic was supposed to compare the circumstances of each child's conception and birth to their personalities and outlooks, but I only ever finished this first part (Fancy's conception) before the plot bunny went back into hiding. I do think that this makes a very lovely stand-alone piece, though, so I'm sharing it with you now, and maybe one day the plot bunny will return. :)
Disclaimer — Passions is the property of NBC and the late James E. Reilly. I make no profit, monetary or otherwise, from this story.
"Come, Ivy... don't resist me. Not this time."
She should shove him away, send him back to his bed with a swift thrust of her knee between his thighs; her muscles are practically twitching in anticipation of causing him harm. Her hands ball up into fists, perfectly manicured fingernails digging red crescent moons into pale palms.
Then Julian's mouth drops to her neck, lips grazing her collarbone, and Ivy realizes for the first time just how tired she is. She's trying to hold all of the fragmented pieces of herself together, but it's been so long and her whole body aches with the effort. Exhaustion is creeping in.
Sam is back; he moved back to Harmony nearly a year ago with his wife, a pretty little thing with a face as soft and as youthful as Ivy's used to be, once upon a time. They have a baby now, a son like Ivy's, and every day it gets harder and harder to keep the fantasy alive. Sam is married now. He has a son — another one, one that he knows and loves as his firstborn. He's surely forgotten all about Ivy now.
"Ivy," Julian moans, pressing his body against hers, making heat flare up in the pit of her stomach. "Let me in, darling."
She's so tired — tired of maintaining this perfect, icy exterior, tired of suffering silently as she waits for the day that her revenge will be complete. She's tired of longing for a man that she lost half a decade ago.
"Ivy, please."
She acquieses; she lets Julian in. She lets despair in.