(A/N: WARNING: The following fiction deals with mildly disturbing themes.)
I lift my hand and touch my bare fingertips to the glass. I don't realize just how close I am standing until I see it fog from my breath. My eyes are reflecting back at me; I try so hard to look past them.
I haven't looked into a mirror for days.
The glass wall separates me from the containment room, a small grey chamber bearing a single examination cart. A splotching of red lies upon it. The florescent light beats down on it and makes it shine. It is dripping blood in all directions, forming small puddles
It's like a murder scene.
My fingers press against the glass as if I mean to shatter it and make myself bleed the same way. Under that red I see traces of soft pink tissue, melting into a soft crescent with tiny webbed limbs. It's amorphous and unshapely and alien.
It is my son.
Hollander would put it differently. It is the result of a second trimester spontaneous termination. The fetus did not survive the influence of the Jenova cells, and its heart stopped. My hand trails over the flatness of my stomach, shrouded by my lab coat.
A failed experiment.
My palm glides over my chest, shakily expanding with every breath. Did I deserve to breathe, when the one lying on the examination table could not? A sharp gasp escapes my lips and is expelled as a dry sob. Hollander takes this as he cue to approach me. As he steps closer, the scalpel he holds glints in the glass.
I want to reach for it.
His unoccupied hand clasps my shoulder. "Don't despair, Gillian. The next will be a success." That's what I was promised, wasn't it? The triumph of the greatest research experiment of all time. A universal betterment, a victory for humankind. I look upon the bloody remains of my unborn son and wonder where the victory is in this.
Perhaps he's the lucky one.
Hollander's footsteps dissipate. He'll be taking that knife he holds to the terminated fetus, but I keep staring through the glass. I can't look past my eyes, but I can't look away.
I see a murderer staring back at me.
xXxMisguidedxXx
I lie back on the cold metal table. 'Maybe it's your turn', a voice whispers. But Hollander holds a stethoscope, not a knife. He folds back my blouse, revealing my swelled stomach. I close my eyes as though in prayer.
Even if I knew a prayer, I wouldn't know what to pray for.
The metal presses against the curve of my stomach. Hollander's fingers tap, counting the spaces between every tiny heartbeat. He pulls away with a satisfied nod. "It sounds perfectly healthy. Would you like to hear?"
I refuse.
Tonight my own pounding heartbeat is all I can hear. I lie motionless in bed, as I do every night. If I close my eyes, I see white feathers splotched with blood. It scares me and I don't know whose blood it is. I breathe heavily, trying to drown out the woman's whispers of reunions to her children.
Her cold lips kiss my stomach and I scream.
It is not just growing inside of me. It is draining me. Will it even be human? To what hell have I sentenced this being?
It kicks and I feel it tremor straight up to my empty chest.
xXxMisguidedxXx
Women cry out when they give birth. The dilation of the cervix requires the muscles to expand and detract, causing physical discomfort. It's painful.
But that's not why I'm crying.
The baby is crying too, his small lungs taking their first gulps of air. Hollander is wiping away the blood and counting every finger and toe. The verdict is declared: he is a perfect specimen.
I don't ask to see him and Hollander doesn't offer.
I cannot yet face what I have done. When I hear Hojo whisper those words… that's when I gather my courage. I must make amends.
"Just a matter of time."
I rise in the middle of the night, silent and trembling. No one thought to take my keys from me. Why would they? I unlock the chemical cabinet and draw out a glass flask. The clear liquid seems to shine against the corridor light.
I fill the syringe until there's enough for us both.
Hollander never changed the door code to the containment room. The lights flicker on and I half-expect to find the bloody remnants of my firstborn. Instead, a baby lies in a pile of white blankets behind low glass walls.
My baby.
My shadow passes over him, and his sapphire eyes languidly open. His flesh has faded from pink to crème and that dark spattering of hair on his tiny head has dried and fluffed. My child's arms reach curiously toward me. I raise my hand.
The syringe shatters against the wall.
The sound startles him and he begins to cry. I sweep my son into my arms, blankets and all. I sink to my knees, never once looking away from his beautiful face. Nothing more miraculous had ever graced my vision. I push the folds of my robe open and hold him against me. He shifts slightly in my arms and nuzzles me for a few moments, before quieting and latching onto my breast. We melt together as he suckles from me, and my heart quickens with love. This is how Hollander finds us the next morning, nestled together on the floor of the containment room.
"His name is Angeal," I inform the man with a smile.
xXxMisguidedxXx
After that day, I allowed none of the laboratory assistants near Angeal. I entrusted him only to myself. If there were immunizations to be administered, I administered them. If there were tests to be performed, I performed them. He slept beside me, was comforted by my arms alone. During the day he stayed snug in one arm as I filled out reports. During the night I whispered to him my words of love and read to him from books I owned. Hollander scolded me for coddling him, but I meant only to protect him. My baby was an angel born into a world of monsters.
A month after his birth, I snuck away with him and showed him to my husband. He fell in love with Angeal, held him as if he was his own. We whispered plans of returning to our hometown and being a real family. When Angeal turned three months old, I appealed to Hollander for our freedom. "Angeal needs to grow up as a normal child would," I spoke calmly, as desperately as I wanted to scream.
Hollander leaned back in his chair, resting a hand on his temple. "Gillian, this project is too important. Angeal must be monitored at all costs. I understand your concern-"
"Do you?" Angeal cooed, shifting in my arms. My resolve grew firmer. "You can't raise a child in a laboratory. Human beings can't be controlled the same way rats can. What happens when he grows up and asks himself why he should be taking orders from you and I? His strength can be easily used against the company, and if that happens everyone will be pointing their finger at you. ShinRa has to be his choice. Or at least, we have to make him think it's his choice." He stared past me, brow furrowed in thought. I dealt the final blow: "I don't like the way Hojo looks at him. I fear that he may be planning to sabotage us. Please. For his safety, Hollander."
Hollander sighed, and I saw my victory at hand. "Where would you have him taken?"
I pursed my lips in feigned contemplation. "Somewhere isolated. A smaller town where he can grow up with dreams of something more. I'll take him to Banora in the Mideelian Islands. I still own a house there."
"Banora?" His frown deepened. "Genesis was taken in by the Rhapsodos family. Don't they live in Banora?"
"All the better. I can keep my eye on both of them. Is there anyone you trust more than me?"
I walked out of the ShinRa building with my child in my arms, a smile on my face, and ferry tickets in my pocket.
xXxMisguidedxXx
Sometimes when I would awaken, I would feel as I had during my pregnancy. Or rather, I would feel nothing at all. Other times I would wake up with tearstains on my face and an ache in my chest. But then I would see Angeal's crib, and I'd creep out of bed and kneel beside it. My heart would swell to bursting as I looked upon him.
My past is full of mistakes, but Angeal isn't one of them.
(A/N: Any criticism is welcomed. Huge kudos to Cookiecat for letting me bounce ideas off of her. This piece wasn't half as good before I received her input. The greatest gift a writer can receive is a well-rounded critique, and Cookiecat has plenty to give. XD)