Atonement

By Seniya

Life

Right then my story ended and a new one had begun
'cause I had some vision in my sight on the journey to be one

Swing Low, Sweet Cheerio by Alice Cooper

Surprises are arguably moments of absolute surrealism—no, that's realism, I'm wrong. Because nothing confirms that you're a living, breathing, feeling entity more than a good surprise. Don't laugh, it's true, and I'm not talking about the momentary jolt that you get when you find out that your friends planned you a birthday party after all (even after the copious number of hints that you've been dropping)…or the sudden rush of exhilaration that you feel at being given a very small…rather a very expensive trinket by a loved one (even if they weren't loved before).

No, I'm referring to the surprises that life throws at you, always expecting you to catch the ball and toss it back. Sometimes you fail (you're human after all, and your underhand isn't what it used to be); and sometimes the ball just sort of grazes your fingers before it slips out of reach…and you blame it on the distress, the absolute inexpressible sensation of having the rug jerked right out from under you. You claim that even after all of these years that you still aren't used to the fickle nature of the world, the sun got in your eyes, the blasted wind knocked the damn thing off course…why else would you miss the ball?

It's practically impossible to catch it all of the time.

………………

He hadn't been ready for this—not tonight. Oh don't give him that look, he had been planning to be ready…he had had every intention of being prepared for next month by next month…really, I mean let's be fair here, it wasn't his fault that next month had suddenly decided to swap dates with tonight.

It wasn't even as though he'd had any warning. He'd gone to bed with Will curled up against his chest as usual; he'd listened to the sound of her careful breathing, and relished in the way that her heart thudded against his arm for as long as he could…until he'd finally drifted off into blissful unconsciousness with the perfume of her hair strong in his nostrils…

And then, soon after (practically seconds after in his opinion) he'd been awakened by her uneven gasping; her small hand had clutched his arm in a vice like grip…practically a tourniquet…she'd been kneeling on the floor next to him…of that much he'd been certain…and her eyes…her gorgeous chocolate brown eyes had been drowning in a sea of tears.

She'd told him that the baby was coming…he hadn't said anything then, although he thought (with good reason) that his stomach had shifted from where God had placed it inside of him. She'd told him that he would have to go get the mid-wife nowthen he'd responded… (primarily with disbelief); the baby can't be coming now Will, he had remembered scolding her in a voice that didn't seem to be his own, next month…oh yes, kind husband that he was he'd told her that she and this baby needed to wait until next month.

But she'd shaken her head and loosened the grip she held on his arm, wrapping her now free hands in front of her (his) borrowed (stolen) T-shirt that she wore to bed, then she'd whispered the word please…and he'd known then that his stomach had completely disappeared from within his body.

He did remember picking her up; yes, he remembered just how fragile she'd felt in his arms…how her weight hadn't even registered in his flustered mind; he remembered kissing her face and telling her that everything would be all right. He also remembered not believing that.

………………

How could she be having this baby now?

The mid-wife would be easy enough to find, it was the getting there however that might be the problem…oh how romantic it had seemed at the time, to build their house so far away from the town…how lovely it had appeared: the view outside the bedroom window. Well a fat lot of fucking good the view did him now when he'd had to drive ten miles into town to search for the damned mid-wife.

It was too early, and much too soon.

But she herself had been easy enough to find, her house was fluorescent, even in the dreary early morning light, owning to her color-blindness he'd heard…once, twice…did it matter?

He'd practically pulled the old woman from her bed, in her bed clothes and all… (oh don't ask, because he can't recall how exactly he'd managed to get into her house in the first place, though he suspects that it involved a great deal of kicking) and had been nine miles to home before he'd heard her screaming that he hadn't allowed her to get her equipment.

………………

Equipment, he turned the word over and over in his mind, but it didn't help, there was still the very unsettling feeling that the word equipment carried—especially when used in conjunction with his Will.

Why do you need equipment? Is she hurt already…is it because it's so early isn't it? Why is the baby coming so early? It's supposed to come next month!

She'd ignored each and every one of his questions, choosing to address them all with the same knowing look of utmost condescension, an expression that in his opinion made him realize just why she was so old—death had clearly wanted to avoid coming into too close contact with her social skills.

The bitch had insisted that he turn around, using horrible threats concerning Will's safety until he'd obeyed. She'd then started the blistering tirade about it being his fault that they'd had to turn around anyway so he should really stop looking at her like that because he face might stay that way, and then his sweet little wife would gladly leave him for a more reasonable man.

Truly, it was all that he could do to keep himself from tossing her off of the carriage, (something that he suspected that she knew due to her smugness, oh yes, he needed her so she could do whatever she wanted to tonight…but tomorrow, oh yes tomorrow he'd throw her off the carriage…twice for that matter). She grinned at him, revealing a mouth full of the remainder of what had to have been a very terrible smile.

Her way maybe, of reassuring him that everything would be all right.

He didn't believe her either.

………………

She had taken an insanely long time to collect her precious equipment, and after that she'd complained all of the way about his idiocy in building a house that was at least ten miles away from (as she termed it) "civilized people". He imagined that she must mean herself, in which case he found himself feeling remarkable intelligent at his foresight.

………………

The house itself seemed different when he'd reentered it with the mid-wife in tow…it was almost as if someone (a woman no doubt since so far tonight they'd all seemed so intent on upsetting him completely) had sucked all of the happiness out of the atmosphere; replacing it not with the sense of expectancy that he had planned on practicing to feel, but with a sense of dread…one that only escaladed when he heard Will's voice (usually so soft and heartening when she'd whisper her I love yous in his ears) screaming from inside of their room.

His heart sank, and his blood ran cold…time stilled about him before he instinctively made a dash for the upstairs…only to be beaten by the century old mid-wife, who (not really surprisingly) was very fast… (Obviously because she was so used to having to outrun death).

………………

The weather-bitten old hag then slammed the door shut in his face with out another word to him; leaving him outside, alone in the early morning darkness to dwell in his miseries.

Oh, that was it! He'd toss her from the bedroom window the very moment Will was healed! No, that wouldn't do…knowing that he'd murdered the old harpy would undoubtedly upset his wife…she was strangely attached…he'd just have to be satisfied with throwing her arse out of the carriage at every given opportunity (anything less than five however, seemed completely unreasonable).

Certainly she must have realized that Will was too small to be having any baby by now. That she'd need at least a few more weeks to get bigger…to look more like those other pregnant women with their large round stomachs and lush, rosy faces…no, no this wasn't good enough! She was still too tiny…why didn't she look like them? Why hadn't he paid more attention to that fact before…why hadn't he ensured that she'd eaten more…or walked less…or something?

The sounds of her screams were muffled now…due to the fact that they seemed to have the entire universe separating them…but they were still loud enough to be heard through the obstruction of the heavy oak door. He found that he preferred the screaming to the silence actually, as sadistic as he knew it must sound…with the silence, his mind wandered…conjured up terrible memories of a boy who he'd known when he was younger…one who'd said that his mother had died in childbirth…

Will couldn't die…not from something like this…she of all people was too strong…but she'd been crying…oh God he could remember the tears more intensely than anything else…he could count the number of times (on one hand) that he'd seen Will cry…although this might have been the first time that he'd known her to cry because of pain…

………………

The door swung open then, and from the room emerged…the mid-wife, her face turned up into a painful looking smile…did that mean that the baby was…here…his heart shuddered, and then raced again…No, another scream, another lance that went straight through his insides, stayed stationary and then twisted about full circle…he should have known that the only happiness that this cod piece would be able to find would be in more suffering…

She looked around the hallway before her grabbed her frail shoulders in his arms, "Why is she still screaming?" He'd meant to sound menacing…to frighten the woman (who he was certain should frighten him) so that she'd fix Will quicker. But she only shook her head and asked him for towels.

"Towels?" He hadn't planned on sounding incredulous, yet incredulous he did.

"And water," she stated, freeing herself from his stunned grasp and hopping down the stairs with the speed of a much younger woman.

"What are you going to take a bath for?" Caleb followed her blindly, stumbling over two…no…three of the stairs in his haste. "Why is she having the baby now…it's too soon…so do something to…fix it?" It didn't seem adequate, Will didn't seem like she could be fixed. "…make her better."

He was so comfortable with having men at his command; with looking at a situation and knowing exactly what the best way to do remedy it was, exactly how. Fight, protect, kill…simple, so simple to unlock the secrets of a soldier's world…yet…all of those traits seemed completely worthless in the outside world, when the battlefield had faded away from sight. He didn't even know how to stop his wife from feeling this pain. For the first time in maybe years…Caleb felt helpless.

"Fix it?" The hag croaked. "It is perfectly normal for a woman to have her first child early…you men understand so little about what is important. And of course, if you're not used to hearing her screaming…then you must not be a very good husband. In my humble opinion, it's a miracle you got her pregnant to begin with…"

"You're insulting me at a time like this…when Will's upstairs dying?" Ten times, he'd push her ten times off of that carriage and nothing else would satisfy him!

"Dying?" She actually had the audacity to laugh! Twenty!

She noticed his frown and clicked her tongued in a bad-tempered manner. "Look, will you get me the towels or no?"

"I'm not helping you take a bath…although you might need…" She screamed again, and Caleb refocused his attention to the upstairs, following the sound of her raw, shaking voice, filled with the intention to just hold her and kiss away anything that may be ailing her, since an alternative was invisible…even though the ailment might be old and haggard and lurking downstairs.

………………

When he entered the bedroom however, he felt his bravery dissolve. Blood…she was bleeding now…and he'd seen more than enough; long crimson streaks on his (her) T-shirt and on the covers…was this why the old woman wanted to water…to wash away the blood?

He couldn't stand it…she was dying…now he was convinced. The world about him danced, a whirlwind of colors and rancid, bile tasting emotions. And anger…because he found that he was more furious now than he'd ever been before, he turned and walked away; barely avoiding a collision with the irritating old toad herself (a woman that he had only now discovered that he'd have to learn to trust with his life)…

He did however register the grunt of satisfaction that she emitted upon noticing his departure…he needed Brandy.

………………

Will could be so utterly annoying when she chose to be. Had she really hidden all of the liquor, he knew that she'd said she would, but had she really. It wasn't in the kitchen, the countless upturned pots and pans and ransacked cupboards ensured him of that…didn't she realize that he might need this now? To calm the damn nerves that were marching through his body, screeching horrendously in his mind, terribly upsetting his susceptible psyche…A thought struck him and left him freezing…maybe she hadn't…perhaps she'd been putting off preparation as well…maybe that's why she was bleeding now…

And screaming…although the sound of her voice had become steadily less frequent over the past few minutes; it was that that was more disturbing that anything else…

He needed to leave. There was no good to be found in loitering about downstairs, he couldn't help her…he couldn't even look at her…it was too strong a contrast to the spirited girl that he had grow so used to seeing almost everyday for all these years…

He wanted her to be okay, the thought of an alternative…any alternative left his feeling sick to the pit of whatever was left of his stomach. God maybe…obviously enjoyed a good laugh at his expense (watching him squirm helplessly about because of the rigors of pregnancy) but no, he couldn't be so vicious as to take his Will away from him…

………………

Hours later (or maybe half an hour, but that's beside the point) Caleb had decided that there was solace to be found in pacing. His thoughts as well as his nerves were behaving like crazed animals, jumping around and screaming in his mind, all vying for his cherished attention (which was still focused on Will, impatiently waiting for the strange consolation that he received from hearing her cry out).

And without any wine (he'd begun to imagine that she might have thrown it all away), rum or hell even lukewarm fruit juice he was painfully aware of each second passed in that eerie calm…those were the moments where he'd double his stride and attack the multitude of flowers that had invited themselves to play house on his front lawn. After all, he had never wanted flowers…especially those damn daisies…he'd destroyed them first with a long stick that he'd found discarded on the grass.

Annoying…the lot of them…those sunflowers were particularly disgusting…smiling happily whilst Will was upstairs crying and screaming from the horrendous pain that had been inflicted upon her. He chopped them down too…damn flowers…

………………

He didn't hear her scream again after that.

At first he'd passed it off as nothing…they had been coming less frequently as time had gone on…but after another hour (three minutes) of mind numbing quiet, his legs had felt as though they would turn into jelly…for his arms had already liquefied, and his insides were still wound tightly around the afore mentioned lance of dread, now turned panic.

And he'd been certain that he'd felt as her soul slipped away from this earth. What else could that strange wispy set of white clouds that scratched across the grayish blue sky? Death…oh yes…nothing else but death, his insides clenched again…before he heard another whimper…more like a groan now…and then the voice of the haggard old nurse, as though it was rising from the very pits of hell.

Relief was not forthcoming however…far from it…in fact the depression that blackened his heart only magnified…engulfing his entire body, drenching him the fright that he'd do anything to be able to ignore.

This was far beyond his hands to help, he realized…looked up into the sky watching as those same streaks of white stared down at him, wordlessly he demanded that they reveal their intentions to him…but instead he became only more aware of the dampness on his forehead.

………………

He wasn't too proud to pray as he discovered soon after. It didn't matter in any case…he didn't have anything to loose by begging for aid from the Almighty (or Almighties as the case seemed to be, since one God really didn't appear to be enough) and so he'd prayed shamelessly to any God who would listen, to any God that he could remember…even to a few that he couldn't remember…

This was his fault, he chided. Will certainly hadn't gotten herself pregnant…he should have…never touched her…they'd still be upstairs fast asleep if he'd only had enough self control to keep his hands off of her. If she somehow lived through this…he swore to the rapidly lightening skies that he'd never again lay a finger on her…he could satisfy himself by looking at her; he'd stared away half his life already anyway.

If she lived through this…he'd…stop complaining about her cooking…he'd never again complain about her taking away all of his clothes…the truth was that she looked better in them anyways.

………………

The sign of the sun peering at him from over the tops of the green mountains should have been a sign of great hope—he knew…but it failed to comfort him in the least. The world should have frozen over, much like he felt right now…the sun should be crying, tears of liquid fire should be pouring down its cheeks; it should serving its time in a cold dark dungeon, the skies should be gloomy and foreboding…pathetic fallacy…for he was cold and numb, yet so aware of this loneliness that had snuck into his soul.

………………

He had decided to shut out the sun the only way he knew how: by seeking sanctuary in the empty stables at the back of the house. Ironically, it was here that he'd nailed together the cradle…months…years…ago it seemed. Ah…right…the baby…in all of his fear driven rant he'd forgotten about that.

Well this was that thing's fault just as much as it was his! Why should it suddenly be forgiven…simply because it was a babe? He'd seen children capable of the most vile deeds; why should infants be any different?

He'd already made up his mind to sincerely despise the child when he'd seated himself of the slightly damp floor. The morning's dew had collected about the room…how did it even get in? Tiredness threatened to overwhelm him; his head grew heavy as the black ness took hold…

………………

He jolted upright merely seconds (hours) afterwards, feeling barely rested. Still, he staggered to his feet, wondering what time it was. Outside was brighter; the sun was almost half-way across the aqua blue sky, (so it actually had been more than a few seconds) even the atmosphere was lighter, the breeze grazed his cheeks and ran its fingers wildly through his already tousled hair.

Will…

The old woman was standing outside on the verandah, tapping her feet in a terribly annoyed manner. "There you are!" she snapped as he neared the house, "I have been searching high and low for you boy!"

The screaming was done, he noticed, and the knot within his chest had slackened to some extent. But he still couldn't bring himself to hope…

"Is W-Will…is she…" Alive? "…all right?" His voice sounded hoarse and dull from mal treatment, he swallowed.

Her face didn't soften, rather she snapped her lips together into a tight line, "why don't you go and see for yourself…she's fine…there were some complications…more blood than I would have liked, but it's all good now…just let her relax…I know that you're a very restless man…"

As if that were any sort of inspiration! But he walked inside…glad that she'd at least had enough humanity left in her decaying soul to tell him that Will hadn't passed…

………………

He felt like a blasted child, creeping up the stairs with his (once weak) now heavy feet; his heart thundering; his mouth gone bone dry. He waited outside the door for a long time…waiting for her voice, pressuring his ears to pick up the sound of her breathing—but nothing, only more silence welcomed him.

He swallowed one final time, and steeled his gut for what he might see…sickness on the battlefield was cold and unflinching, men with their eyes flung wide open in judgment…but he was certain that Will couldn't look cold, not when everything about her was so soft and warm…

………………

She was lying on their bed, head propped up by several pillows, (still, far too still), her dark red hair was combed back from her face, and her lips were parted and she silently (far too silently) drew breath. Around him the walls of his panic inflicted shell crashed down; the impact nearly sent him reeling. This was more than relief…this was salvation.

He walked over to her side, kneeling in an instant and without a second thought he collected her still clammy hand in his much larger one. Thank you, he whispered to no one in particular…thank you so much

Her cinnamon eyes opened slowly, her head turned a tiny bit to face her husband, giving him a weak smile by way of hello. He watched as every movement played out before him…as the shadows on her face morphed, shifted and changed, before settling on her lips, by her cheeks and at the top of her forehead.

He'd make good on his promise tomorrow, he decided before pressing his mouth atop of hers. He did his best to savor her taste; the feel of her warm, velvety lips as they moved tenderly beneath his greedier ones. Feelings and sensations that he hadn't been sure that he'd ever know again.

"You had me…worried for a while…" he whispered, the smile faded a bit, and she raised a hand to his brow, brushing away the sawdust that she found there, "I'm sorry."

Someone had changed the sheets, he realized, and her clothes, she was no longer clad in that humongous black shirt; someone had placed her in a frilly white dress, one that didn't suit her at all. "What did that woman put you in?"

She laughed softly before reclining into the embrace of her many pillows, "you shouldn't talk about her like that. She's your grandmother after all."

"I didn't ask for that." He retorted; deciding then that he loved the way that she moved her lips, it complimented the softness of her voice.

"Did you see her?"

"Yeah, she's downstairs."

He did notice how her eyes shadowed abruptly, but she managed to smile anyway, "the baby Caleb," she shifted her head slightly to indicate something behind him. "She looks just like you."

Oh right…the baby…had he really forgotten, in all of his trepidation and rage and joy, had he really forgotten that the reason for all of her pain was that he was now a father? He watched blankly as Will began to sit up, "I think that I might be able…"

"No…I'll get her…" He pushed away and walked over to the cradle, staring at the wrinkled, pink…baby? No, he'd never seen a baby that looked like that…she was also too small; maybe she took after Will in that respect. He didn't want to touch her…obviously if she was moved she'd break…even now he could see images of the little thing shattering in his arms.

Her tiny arms were poised on either side of her head and her eyes were closed…he imagined that she was sleeping—well, yes she was; he could hear the drowsy sound of her breathing, he could see her chest as it rose and fell...Someone had wrapped her almost completely in blankets…she must be boiling…but he didn't think about taking them off…maybe they were holding her together…

She had brown hair he realized (well, tufts of something that looked like it would be hair eventually)…he wondered what color her eyes were…

And despite having called her a damnable brat who had already decided to completely loathe…he found that he couldn't feel anything towards this child other than a sense of immense gratitude…and perhaps (perhaps) a sense of growing pride. Maybe she was like Will in that aspect too.

He did manage to convince himself that it was all right to touch her in a few minutes, then, he was able to carry her, blankets and all over to the bed and placed her in Will's (still too small) arms. She however didn't look awkward at all; rather she looked as though she'd been meant to do this her entire life…

After some readjustment, Caleb seated himself next to Will on the other side of the bed. "I don't think that she looks like me." Was he really a father? He hadn't prepared himself for that notion either…although now it seemed to be far more significant than the date that he'd been obsessed about.

Will looked at him strangely, before wrinkling her nose, a clear sign of disagreement that made him want to kiss her again. "Of course she does, see look…she has your ears…"

"Ears?"

"Yes," she laughed, "your ears and she puts her mouth just like you do when you're bored."

He stared at the sleeping ball in her arms, not seeing what she saw but still managing to grin back at her, before burying his face in her fragrant hair and draping an arm across her shoulder. "I think that she looks like you."

"Really?"

"Beautiful…" and he lowered her lips to her temple before leaving a kiss there.

She looked at him dubiously, blushing anyway; it was amazing to him, really he'd told her that over a million times and still, he always evoked the exact same reaction. "I know that you don't think that the baby's beautiful Caleb." She whispered grimly.

"Of course I do, if it…she looks like me then she has to be."

She laughed again, and the child in her arms shifted a bit, yawning finally. Will paused, watching the child with insecurity written on her face. "Are you nervous?" Her eyes traveled over his face, lingering on his eyes as though the answer would be there rather than from his mouth.

"Very." He admitted, because even after all of this time he still didn't feel like a father.

"We'll be fine," she seemed happy with his answer, glad at least, that she could reassure him.

"I know," and he believed her, because when she told him something, he always did.

"Where'd you go this morning?"

"I was outside…" he tightened his grip about her shoulders, his way of telling any heavenly entities to think twice before trying anything again.

"In the stables?"

"Like I said, I was worried…and it's your fault, if I told you once Wilma…Stop walking around every damned day."

"Don't swear in front of her."

"She can't understand me."

"Soon she will, and then what are we going to tell people when her first word has four letters?"

"I'll find some way to blame that on you too…"

She stuck out her tongue at him and he smiled slowly before capturing her lips with his. He'd barely gotten the sweet taste of her in his mouth before…

"What is this? The child isn't even a day old yet and you're starting on another one!"

Caleb groaned and pulled away. "You! Out of the bed!" She latched onto his arm and forcibly tugged him away.

"And you, didn't I tell you and that babe to get some sleep…and instead you're minding him! Believe me, you're already lowering your standards by being married to him, if you let him kill you then…"

"Listen old woman, why do you insist on talking? The baby is here, so then why are you?" Will scolded him immediately (she was traitorous like that) before handing his daughter over to the clutches of that she-witch.

"Go downstairs, you're filthy! And clean up that mess that you made in the Kitchen!" Will looked at him imploringly and it was only for her sake that he obeyed. "Get some sleep for me," he muttered against her cheek, dodging a blow sent at him by his flesh and blood itself.

"Bye Caleb." She called after him and then settled into the pillows. "Really," the old woman shook her head, placing her hands on her wide, motherly hips. "I just don't know what you see in him."

………………

Author: All right, take a second...enjoy the fluff, feels good, yes? All right, read my ramblings now...

That's right Caleb; bad, bad flowers. ­

Look: marriage, children and no sex! WTF! Personally, I think I that I'll bitch slap myself.

Ow.

Back to topic: since I've never actually spent time with these baby creatures that you mortals seem so fond of, I'm of the opinion that I did a pretty damned good impression of one based on the google images thing that I worked with. Also, I've never been pregnant (I deserve applause for that me thinks), so maybe the pregnancy pains are a bit over exaggerated…who knows?

As for Caleb's reactions, since I behave like a man, I figured that I must think like one too…I do enjoy writing from Caleb's P.O.V however, you know, from the Caleb that I've created anyway.

So in interesting news, I take requests now, (which is my way of saying: 50 stories! What was I thinking! I've only got plots for five.) No Cornelia death though (ignoring the boos and threats) we have to be fair…I don't remember why...I think that Zadien had given me a reason why ages ago when the show was entertaining…do you think that it still counts now?

If you can't think of anything to request now, that's cool, I'm always contactable. Review please!