This story wasn't intended to be more than a one-shot, but there were several expressed opinions that I should continue it, so I've decided to make it a three-part story.
Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays!
In the months since his encounter with Lana and the still-growing child, he has ensured his constant presence at the asylum. It will not do to miss a single moment of his child's glorious incubation period. Despite the fatigue in her eyes, he sees the glow of her skin and the shine in her hair. Her body is responding amazingly to the pregnancy, despite the negative emotional reaction she has undergone. She is no longer expected to take the medication that her former doctor prescribed for her. He is now the sole provider of her psychiatric needs.
He has worked with Sister Mary Eunice to see that Lana gets the best care during her pregnancy. Her cell has been relocated to another wing of the asylum, where the sunlight is able to filter more directly in through the bars. He hopes she is taking advantage of the opportunity to soak up the vitamin D. There is a dangerous lack of natural light in the asylum, which he knows could have an adverse effect on the fetus.
As difficult as it is for him, he cannot attend her infirmary visits on a regular basis. He was able to stay with her at one appointment under the guise that he was concerned about the effects the psychiatric drugs were having on the unborn child. Of course, he pretended the child wasn't his, that he was simply concerned as a doctor, not a father. Denying his child had been extremely difficult for him, and he'd spent all of the day in his office in a mixture of self-loathing and self-pity.
That day, however, had been the first time he had glimpsed the future. A rapidly blinking heartbeat signified the proof of life he'd hoped for so desperately. He had managed to compose himself for the remainder of the appointment, but upon entering his office, he fell to his knees. Tears streamed down his face and he silently thanked God over and over again, his child was alive. From that moment on, the child's well-being became his sole purpose for living, which meant Lana's health was priority number one.
He sees her now, slumping on a sagging chair cushion in the common room. Her head is drooping, her long, dark hair hanging in her face. More than anything he wants to go to her, kneel, and place his hands on her stomach. He wants to kiss the taut skin that is currently protecting his child from the cruelty of the outside world. But his time will come.
Sister Mary Eunice parades around the room with an exuberant smile on her face, talking cheerily and calling Lana's name to ensure she is emotionally present now. She has been talking about this baby shower for weeks now, and has gone out of her way to ensure that this child's arrival is celebrated. She has used cloth from the patients whom are unable to control their own bladders, folding it and using safety pins to simulate the diaper of an infant. They are hung lackadaisically throughout the common room, along with leftover streamers from the Christmas celebration last December.
Lana, as expected, is resistant to the idea of celebrating her child's birth. She does not move from her place in the chair despite the false cheer in the Sister's voice and the request to partake in the activities she has planned. She looks up only to confirm that she is, indeed, still in this place, and he sees the defeat in her blank eyes.
And then, in the midst of what is considered a Briarcliff celebration, Lana's eyes are no longer empty. They are filled suddenly with disbelief and confusion. He sees this happen as he watches her, and perhaps without realizing it, her hand presses to her swollen abdomen. Sister Mary Eunice does not see her pained actions, and it takes Oliver just a moment to collect himself before rushing over to her.
She is surprised to see him, though she should not be, and the horror flashes briefly in her eyes for just a moment. It is quickly replaced by pain and a grimace.
"What's happening?" He demands suddenly, not quite sure what to do with his hands in the moment. He sees her try to speak, but the words that come out are slurred and quiet.
"Pain..." she gasps finally, "it hurts..." Her fingers are pressing at the base of her belly, and without taking a moment to consider what the other people in the common room might think, his fingers replace hers. He looks to her face, which has gone pale, and feels the panic rising in his throat. He attempts to call out for help before he realizes that there is no one to help. He is a doctor and also the child's father. The responsibility of help falls to him.
"You've got to calm down, Lana," he tells her harshly, because he knows that the more excited she becomes, the higher the baby's heart rate and blood pressure will rise. His concern is not her, at this moment, but the child inside of her. His mind is only focused on preserving the child's life.
"I need to get you to the infirmary," he says quickly, and he sees the relief flash in her eyes. It takes him a moment to collect his thoughts before he speaks again, "No. Not the infirmary. I can't have you there. Your room."
"I need a doctor..." she wheezes the words, and he's already pulling her to her feet. "Oliver, please..."
"I am a doctor," he hisses at her, feeling the sting in his heart at the thought of her not trusting him to perform basic medical duties. If there is anyone in the world she should trust with the life of their child, it is him.
"Excuse me!" Sister Mary Eunice calls the words as she sees him helping Lana to her feet. "This celebration is not over!"
He ignores her as he guides Lana from the common room. She is grasping his arm for support, her fingernails digging into his skin, most likely reacting to the ache inside of her, but the pain is nothing to him. He is concerned only with the life Lana is carrying, and any other sensation at the moment is nothing but a brief wind, passing through without so much as a reaction from him.
She is whimpering as he drags her down the dark hallways and back to her cell. Tears are beginning to glisten on her cheeks and she's asking for the same thing, over and over. "A doctor. Please call a doctor... something's not right."
The fact that she seems to forget that he attended medical school, just as any other doctor, only infuriates him further, and he clenches his teeth as they approach her door. He pushes it open and forces her inside.
He tries to help her onto the bed gently, but she collapses on the dingy mattress, the first real scream of pain bursting from her lungs, her head thrown back and eyes closed.
His heart rate is increasing, and he paces the room briefly, watching as her legs fall apart, her head falls back, and she begins to tremble. He moves towards her, attempting to calm his nervous hands as he reaches for the hem of her gown. He pulls it back and is unable to contain his deep gasp as he sees the blood that has already begun collecting in her white underwear.
"Dear God, Lana, what have you done?" His hands thread into his hair, his mouth open in a mixture of surprise and disgust. She is writhing upon the bed now, her breath coming out in sobs as her thin fingers clutch at the bed sheets. "What have you done?" It's all he can do to repeat the words, watching in horror as the blood continues to flow from her. It's starting to trickle down her legs and he goes to reach out for her before he realizes the blood is everywhere, and he pulls away. He can barely think now because her screaming is so loud and God, he can't touch her, she's dying, it's all he can think, and his child is dying too, and this is all her fucking fault.
He wants to kill her right now, at this very instant, and his hands clench into fists at the thought of them being around her neck. Watching her kick and struggle, her face bloating and the blood rushing to her head as she bleeds out from between her legs and her lungs search desperately for the oxygen he will deprive her of. As his poor, dead child remains inside her.
She keeps screaming and he keeps thinking of reasons to murder her right now, in this instant, and the voices are getting louder and louder in his head and he can't fucking stand it anymore because she is the reason his child is dying again and he goes to move toward her, his hands trembling with rage and hatred for everything that she is and he's going to do it, he's going to kill her and the baby is already dead and he's so confused but through his cloud of confusion he knows that the only thing that can rectify any of this pain is knowing she's dead too and he's going to curl his fingers around her neck and-
Lana's cell door bursts open and Sister Mary Eunice rushes in, trailed by Dr. Arden. There is a commotion among the room and he thinks his fingers are around Lana's neck, that they've caught him in the process of taking her life, but he's still several steps away from her. Sister Mary Eunice is speaking quickly, barking orders at Dr. Arden, who is already yelling for the nurses to bring him a gurney. He feels the hot tears against his face and drags an arm over his eyes, his heart still racing.
He is unable to speak, but he realizes the voices weren't in his head at all; they were the voices of the doctor and the young nun in the hallway, echoing as their footsteps pounded up to the room. They've heard Lana screaming and have come to help her. His first reaction is to get them out of the room so that he can continue with her slow, agonizing death before he realizes that Sister Mary Eunice has a vested interest in his child and has most likely come to preserve its life, not the life of Lana.
The nurses come with the bed and Dr. Arden assists them in shifting Lana onto the gurney, her screams still echoing in the foul air. He watches the doctor plunge a needle into her bicep and within a matter of seconds she's fading, her screams quieting and her body going limp. She's being wheeled out of the room and he instinctively goes to follow but Sister Mary Eunice is suddenly in front of him, her presence blocking him from moving.
"Dr. Arden has the situation under control," she tells him, her eyes flashing dark as she stands before him. Her negative energy radiates over him, "You need to compose yourself, Oliver. God, look at you; you're a mess."
He remembers his mussed hair and the tears on his face. He's losing control of himself. This won't do. He must gather his emotions and be presentable. But there is still a pressing matter on his mind.
"The child..." he barely chokes out the words, "is it..."
"The child will be fine," the woman confirms, her voice dry, her dark eyes still focused on him. Her pink lips curve into a tiny smirk, eyes narrowing. "Now is the time to prepare yourself, Oliver. You're about to become a father."