"To fear death, my friends, is only to think ourselves wise without really being wise, for it is to think that we know what we do not know. For no one knows whether death may not be the greatest good that can happen." ~Socrates
Damon
The secret I had Regan keep from Wes unraveled soon enough. As her belly grew, so did our lie, to the point that others would rather believe she were becoming fat than bearing a child. Even at four months, Regan could hide it well, able to mask the pain that buried itself into every inch of her body. Still, the weight gain changed her center of gravity, and soon she could not walk unless she was holding both my shoulders. She was fatigued all the time, but because she wanted this baby so badly, she forced herself to look happy as she worked in the kitchen. Unbeknownst to the others, she was screaming for relief.
I took Wes out back during lunch to finally admit the damage we were about to cause. Never had this place seen a child. It was all about the theory of sustainability, the fear of not being able to handle so many mouths to feed. But nature's slip-up when it came to Regan did not deserve the idea of abortion. Not her.
"Regan is having a baby," I told the man fearlessly.
"Dam-," He began.
"No. After the way everyone has treated her, you owe it to Regan. Every day of her life she has been ridiculed, hated, and torn apart with words. If anyone deserves to have this baby, it's her. You know it too. From day one you lost your faith in her, and you judged her just as openly."
"No children means no children. If pregnancy comes about, we must enforce the immediate terminati-"
"You touch Regan and you will not live to see tomorrow," I hissed, "No one is going to touch her, got it? She's already four months along."
"There must be consequences," He growled back.
"Then punish me. I will accept the consequences if that's what you need to sleep at night."
With Alaric on one side and Matt on the other, they held my arms against the wall of the house. I felt the warmth of the brick on my cheek before the belt slapped against my bare back. It tore through me, wet beads of blood and sweat dripping down as I stifled a cry. I thought of Regan and of our baby, and so it grew easier to take each blow. I lost count after eleven, but some told me it was into the thirties that Wes finally put the leather strap down. But the pain could not be worse than Regan's and so I sucked it up, even as my back burned ruthlessly.
I had Jenna clean the wounds, and she was kind enough to lend me some pain ointment before congratulating me on the baby that would be coming soon. I laughed in disbelief. I was going to be a father.
My sweet Regan never learned of the price I paid to keep the baby, but it didn't matter. The greatest amount of pain in the world was worth her happiness.
All Regan's life, she had felt inferior as a human, as an earthling. People questioned her ability to mimic our behavior and our actions. That was Regan's reality for too long. I believe that in some way, my beloved was more of a human than anyone I had ever met, and in her eyes alone the stars would freckle her corneas with their brightness. In the end, she was the greatest star the sky had ever met, and even the sun quivered at the thought of being outshined.
It took everyone some time to grow used to the idea of Regan carrying a child inside her. They stared, scowled, rolled their eyes, and some even whispered things beneath their breath. As she had always done, she kept her head lowered in submission, almost relinquishing to the elitism of those around her. Each day I needed to remind her of her validity, and to hold her in the tightest embrace of reassurance.
Although the weight gain for Regan was relatively small, in proportion to her tiny frame, it was brutal. There never seemed to be a morning where she was not in pain. Something always hurt, swelled, and ached. Six months in, and she lost her ability to walk without bursting into tears. Her gait shifted to the point that the leg braces no longer fit correctly, and undoubtedly ended her reign of mobility.
Her urinary tract was an issue from the start. The increased pressure on her bladder caused frequent urination, and many times, frequent accidents. I acted as her legs for the entirety of her pregnancy, making the endless trips to the bathroom with her in my arms. She only cried in the seclusion of our room, when the feeling of hopelessness flourished, and the ache of her back and hips became too great to bear.
"It'll all be worth it," She would sniffle, "Our baby is coming to meet us soon."
"Yes, Reg. A baby just as angelic as you."
That exquisite girl lived for the moments when the baby would kick, the moments when the baby would whoosh around inside her body. Soon bedrest became a part of her day, and the two of us would snuggle for hours before dinner. Even in all my sweatiness, I would cradle her ever-changing silhouette in my arms after work. Regan had this way of softly shutting her lids to relish in the feel of my fingertips stroking back the long strands of her beautiful blonde hair, possibly the most beautiful site a person could see.
By month seven, the female housemates were much more willing to accept Regan as she was. Jo and Jenna began to offer to help her shower, change, and keep her occupied during those long days without me there. I was used to doing the caring by myself, but some reassurance came too. In those last couple months, that is what Regan needed. Instead of being pinned to a basin, people were there to carry her back and forth from the bathroom to the bed. And her enthusiasm showed. Some nights she would just smile at nothing, but I knew the smile was for the female companionship she received in my absence. They were the closest things to friends that she had ever had.
In those long months, no touching ever grew past a few kisses and a long embrace. It was no longer important to me, not when each day I was forced to watch her clench her jaw at the pain filling her body. No, I could not be that selfish with her. Regan laid in bed at night, attempting to initiate some form of love making. She touched me as if unsure, kissed me questionably, and whispered in my ear like it was a secret. I tried to avoid all aspects of intimacy that would lead to more pain for her already weak body. She was still trying to pull me past the guilt of our last encounter that ended in her bladder infection, but I held back out of complete fear.
"When you come to our room later, I want you to close your eyes, okay?" She breathed in her long nightgown.
And so of course I did. Up those stairs, I walked barefoot with a fire, a burning excitement at her tease. Even as I reached out for the doorknob, my heart ticked nervously. I closed my eyes, pushing the door open with a great big breath. The room was silent, but I could hear Regan shift amongst the covers. Then just moments later, a soft giggle. She told me to come closer, and again I moved meticulously, reaching my hands out to feel. The laughter grew when I stumbled toward the bed, finally feeling the edge beneath my fingers.
"Hi, Damon," She whispered.
I sat on the mattress, eyes still closed. Her legs were right beside me, and I could not help but laugh. Then, a guiding hand found mine, the touch warm as it tugged me nearer to her. I felt her cheek first, which she held there for so long before planting the palm over her lips to kiss. My moves were hesitant, and the temptation to open my eyes was becoming unbearable. She used my index to trace a path from her jaw to her neck to her torso, all to feel that her nightgown was missing. I pulled away then, snapping my eyes open to look at her.
"Aren't you going to offer me the ability to feel you inside me?" She asked, her smile fading when she saw the seriousness I expressed through my features.
Regan looked unbelievably beautiful with her blonde hair draped over her swollen breasts, her lips a warm pink. She held my hand tightly, running her touch over the knuckles while she awaited my response. I watched curiously as her eyes fell and a tear rolled down her cheek. She knew already, without another second to spare that I had made up my mind.
"Reg, I-I can't," I told her softly.
She nodded, grabbing the nearest blanket to cover herself with. As I stood in the doorframe of the bathroom, I heard her muffled cries, and even when she thought I was occupied in the shower, I did not move from that spot. I listened to her disappointment, her embarrassment for trying, and her inability to understand my choice. She hid her belly under layers of sheets, throwing some over her head, even. It broke my heart.
When I finally came to join her on the bed, the sunshine from the window fell only on her body. I laid beside her, unperturbed by the mountain of blankets she had hidden herself beneath, watching her freeze when I began to peel back each one, slowly until an angel appeared. Her hands were clamped over her face, and carefully I moved to be just inches from the girl. My fingers first touched her waist, stroking the skin up and down gently.
"Please look at me, babe," I begged.
She shakily removed the blindfold of her hands, forcing those hazel circles to bore into mine. I smiled slightly to show her it was okay, but there was so much resistance in the way she looked at me. I leaned in to kiss the wetness of her cheek, and for an ephemeral time she smiled too.
"Let's clean you up." I helped her into a sitting position to throw the nightgown over her head before carrying her tiny body.
The bathroom break gave her time to blow her nose, wipe the tears away, and quickly empty her bladder. I brushed her hair for a few minutes, but Regan preferred not to show any emotion at all. She simply allowed me to carry her back to the bed, preparing herself for the dinner she would eat in the confines of that room. Instead of food, she was going to taste only my lips.
I took her by surprise, capturing her mouth with a sublime pressure that caused every hair on my body to stand straight up. She reached for my cheek, keeping me where she wanted. I fed her kiss after kiss, inching my finger under her nightgown. As I pushed the fabric up, Regan gasped, crashing her pout harder against mine, and a fire grew inside each of us, one that could only be fueled by our skin touching.
I pulled her forward enough to peel the nightgown off, returning my lips instantly to her. She received them without any question, trying to take in enough oxygen to tame the need of her desperate lungs. My fingers slid into her long locks, cradling the back of her head as my thumbs brushed her soft cheeks. Every morsel of my being wanted her in that moment. I looked down into her eyes, and our gazes were intense, fixed so easily on each other. She sat up more, opening her legs to balance the protrusion of her stomach.
Every move was effortless as I turned to sit facing her, yanking until her legs could rest on top of my thighs. She could feel my hardness press so feverishly between her legs, and it caused her to whimper in undeniable pleasure. I nearly growled, holding her just below her shoulder blades. Our child created a blockade between us, but in those moments, both of us could feel that baby together, and it only kindled the fire more. I kissed her again, keeping my hands secured behind her for support.
"Are you okay?" I panted as her fingers cautiously unbuttoned my shirt. "Can you hold yourself up?"
She nodded with a smile, and I pulled my hands away as quickly as possible to remove the crinkly fabric of my white button-down. We laughed when one cuff hung from my wrist, refusing to let go. But that laugh soon turned into a sweet gasp as I pushed myself up, sending Regan onto her back, legs still holding my hips. I bent forward, one foot on the floor, a knee keeping me on the mattress to pepper her face with kisses.
"You feel me?" I huskily urged, rubbing the crotch of my jeans against her, "That's all for you, sweet girl."
My throbbing member seemed to grow harder with every breath, with every kiss. I moved my mouth down along her jaw, down her warm neck until I could move my attention to her swollen breasts. That day, I was so placid, fearful of making her cry out in pain. To my surprise, they were more sensitive than I expected, and she had to bite her tongue to hold back a groan.
"I'm sorry," I begged, moving my lips back up to her neck.
"You could never hurt me Damon, never the way the world has. Even in death, my pain would never be from your doing," She whispered, taking a deep breath. "Can you please move my hips?"
I stamped my lips on the tip of her nose, reaching down to help shift her hips closer to the middle of the bed. She smiled before feeling for the button of my jeans. I laughed, allowing her to guide my pants down my thighs while I nipped at the skin just above her breasts, soothing the small bites with the warmth of my wet tongue. I paused as the fabric of my underwear scraped along my thick erection, paralyzing me as my brain filled with bubbles. My legs shook the remaining clothing off, kicking desperately to be free.
From deep in her throat, a moan escaped, every kick of my leg rubbing me against her most intimate region. The sensations were driving her crazy, sending her to places she could not fathom. I hovered her fully on my knees, separating her legs gently before swooping down to suckle her bottom lip. That in turn gave me time to push my fingers between her legs, slowly, almost cruelly as I skimmed over her anatomy, making sure to touch that sweet spot on her thigh again and again. She twitched in response, all over. Even her toes showed their approval, quivering at the anticipation.
"Do you feel this?" I whispered against her mouth.
My two right digits slipped inside Regan, and her muscles shook. She nodded wildly, staring right into my eyes as I curled my fingers. I whispered reassurance as her body began to react in ways she had never experienced. She just held onto the back of my neck as I coached her, breathing along with her heavy panting.
"That's it," I encouraged, pressing my thumb against the quasi-lifeless bundle hidden beneath the hood of her netherland.
She reacted to it almost immediately, digging her nails into the base of my neck and nodding. I took her lips in, repeatedly curling my fingers inside her and watching her experience the heavenly phenomenon of arousal. Then to only drive her to brink, I mimicked the act of thrusting, allowing her body to chafe the sheets just slightly. We held our gaze through the orgasm, riding the wave.
"Relax," I mouthed, "Relax. It's just you and me. Yes, baby."
My free hand grabbed hers, leading them one by one to the headboard behind her head. She gripped the wood, trying to catch her breath as I pulled my wet fingers out for just a moment, only to replace them with the tip of my cock. Regan closed her eyes, and I kissed her lips as if to remind her that I noticed. She smiled, and my arms snuck beneath her back to hold her.
"We're gonna finish this together," I cooed before pushing my length inside.
That moment, we both felt the same exhilaration that our bodies were feeding the other. She rocked her hips just slightly, but the action caused us both to stifle great moans, to desperately link our mouths together to feed the demons inside us. I began to move, pulling back before thrusting forward, grinding her clit against my erection. Every movement caused my sight to spot and made my head float in such a way that I was a soaring hawk. With the skin of Regan beneath my fingers, I skimmed every inch, believing somehow I could reach heaven along the path of her flesh.
I thrust into her with a transcendent grace, a melody that grew more demanding of its musician as time passed. We could feel the music between us, and both eagerly waited for the grand number which would reward us with an unimaginable gift. Regan's nails carved visible scratches into the wood of the headboard as I filled her, making her truly whole for just seconds at a time. We exchanged kisses, grunts, moans, breaths, and everything in between. At some point I moved to hold one of her legs under each arm, tickling the insides of her thighs until she belted achy screams of satisfaction.
"Damon," She cried, "Woah. woah, I can't-."
I struggled to hold my release in, scrunching my face in discomfort. It felt like years, every thrust more painful than the next. I held on for Regan. And when I nearly gave in, her back arched and her limbs trembled as the pleasure exploded inside her. My lips assaulted hers, my hands covering hers as they held the wood behind her. Finally allowed to let go, I tightened my hold on her hands, caressing her knuckles lightly. She could feel my arms shake, but instead of pulling away she whispered my name in encouragement. I growled, clicking my forehead to hers as it washed over me.
"You're amazing," I huffed vigorously. "You are an absolutely amazing human being."
I pulled Regan so that I could spoon her back. We laid there for a long time, still reeling and gasping from the beautiful moment that we had created. It took us a while to even speak clearly, but eventually we did.
"I was never allowed to be human," She almost laughed, her chest still rising and falling rapidly, "But then an extraordinary man rescued the banished princess from her tower. He set her free."
"Lots of reading?" I teasingly accused, kissing her earlobe.
"Yes, I swear I've read every book in Elijah's room," She snorted.
"And you know what? Rescuing her was the best decision I ever made," I chuckled, "That princess rescued me in return, and for that, Regan...I am completely and utterly grateful."
Of all the ways to embrace death, pain has to be the most feared, the most horrid to accept. Maybe every day we are dying, little by little, completely heedless to the fact that we're closer to the end than we are to the beginning. Watching the hours pass away, and each bringing more concern and fear to all our lives than the last, I learned that all along I myself was dying too, just not fast enough to keep up with Regan.
"Do you think it's the infection again?" She sobbed into my side.
"Wes is going to take of you, babe. Just like last time," I reminded her.
That dreaded urinary tract infection had come back to haunt us, in the last month of her pregnancy. I found it hard to swallow properly, thinking back to our intimate encounter, questioning the choices I had made. But Regan never regretted it, not when I explained how the infection resulted and not for a moment when I apologized. She just took my hand and smiled.
"I love you," was all she whispered before falling into a peaceful sleep.
The antibiotics worked at first. The symptoms of her bladder infection disappeared, and it relieved everyone's concerns. So, for another week I was granted Regan's presence. We used those precious hours talking and singing to our baby, sleeping, and sometimes even reading. No one could see the dark and unsettling future before us, but we preferred that. Our ignorance gave us hope. Isn't that always the way?
Then at 36 weeks, Regan woke up achy, with a fever and pale cheeks. I nearly screamed for Wes, running down that hall to find him. Tears lined my lashes, but there was so much fear that washed over me, keeping the droplets from spilling over. Nothing made sense anymore.
"Damon," He told me in my delirium, "Certain antibiotics only fight certain strains of bacteria. This may not be the same strain as her last infection. I am-."
"No. No. No," I choked, "What?"
There was disbelief and denial and concern. It seemed too unreal to be true. I may have even laughed keep myself calm, to disregard what was being said.
"Her pregnancy is already straining her kidneys. They can't handle anything more, so she will likely go quickly and it will spread to her blood soon enough."
My heart shattered. I threw my head back, brows knit, and tears streaming down my temples. Wes walked past me toward Regan's room, slowly, like each step was painful for him.
"I'm going to carry her to the capitalist city," I shouted behind him, "I'm going to save her."
He stopped, turning on his heels to look at me.
"It's too late," The man whispered, "We need to prepare for this baby's delivery. Get Regan into a cold bath to lower her fever."
The tub was made from a metal laundry bin on the shower floor filled with cool water. She was so weak, she could only tremble and squeeze my fingers to let me know it was okay. I kissed her head, unsure how to admit the fate nature had chosen.
"Reg," I whispered, "The infection is spreading."
Her eyes skittishly moved to look at me. Tears plummeted, splashing just enough to spray her collarbones. Maybe she was too tired to say anything, so she pulled my hands to her giant belly for me to feel our child once again.
"I love you," She sniffled.
Together we spent our last peaceful moments holding hands. I stroked her face before dipping my arm into the cold basin to wrap it around her bony body. The action allowed me to cradle the back of her neck so that I could look down at that sweet girl. Her eyes were rimmed with pink blotches and her lips were pale as my white button-down.
"You're going to recover. We're going to raise that baby, okay?" I hummed, kissing the chill of her trembling mouth.
Regan's heartbeat was as fast as her rapid breaths. Her body shook violently, and to the touch, her skin felt colder than death itself. Jenna helped me dry and throw her nightgown back on, but Regan cried out when I scooped her up to carry her downstairs, clinging to my shirt desperately as her limbs quivered. They prepared a table outside in the sunshine with a white sheet over it. She smiled at the warmth of the light against her skin, but the tears continued to fall.
"You're okay, Reg," I whispered through my emotion.
As soon as her body touched the table, hands grabbed at her, yanking her nightgown, moving her legs this way and that. She began to sob uncontrollably, her lips twitching harder when the reality of death set in. Her hands clawed at me, begged for me. In dying, she grew hysterical.
"Damon, I'm scared," She shrieked, panting harder to keep the air in her lungs, "I-I-I am going to die. Oh God-."
"Shhh," I hushed in tears, "Hold my hand baby. You have nothing to be afraid of."
Beneath the intense glow of the sun, her giant belly shined like an emblem, and yet I couldn't even look. My eyes remained on Regan's distraught expression. She begged me. She fucking begged me not to go. To calm her, I brushed her hair with my fingertips, kissing her burning forehead again and again.
"Damon. Damon, please don't let me go," Regan sobbed, "Please don't let me die. I want my baby. I want to meet our baby."
Her body trembled in my hold, and the sound of her wheezing lungs persisted. I had never cried so hard in my life. We sobbed together, and for a moment it felt like we were the only two people on earth. I looked deep into her eyes, hushing her. Death is daunting when we must endure it alone. There was no one to hold her hand once her heart gave out. She feared darkness, pain, and isolation. At some point I lifted her head to rest against my chest, smoothing the wet tears on her cheeks with my thumb.
"I'm sorry," I warbled, "Stay with me, baby. Just hold on, okay?"
"I-I-I've never been so afraid," She wearily whimpered, "Damon. Damon. Please just make it stop."
"Do you feel the sun, angel? You're going to be in God's warmth...J-just feel that warm sun on your skin. Let it into your pores."
"I'm gonna die. I-I can't," Regan wailed, clawing at my shirt as her tiny frame rattled against me. "Damon do something."
"Regan," I begged.
She looked into my crazed eyes. And in those last minutes, every breath was in slow motion. Even the way she thrashed was slowed to the point that I couldn't utter anything because it would never reach her in time. The girl grew limp in my arms, and her facial muscles slacked until she was no longer controlled by her body. I felt her neck snap back slightly, and the tears along her cheeks dried in the sweet heat of the sun. I began to hyperventilate, shaking her and screaming her name.
Wes took her pulse before immediately slicing into her corpse. Blood slid down the white sheets, and I was in too much shock to watch, but the brightness of that red liquid tugged my eyes to it. Yes, the sheets rustled in the wind, and for a moment, I felt the breeze whip right through my chest. I died that day, my soul flew up and away.
Some immeasurable time later, cries of a child awakened the air.
"Damon, meet your son," Jo said softly.
My head was locked on Regan's white and lifeless face. I pulled my eyes up long enough to see that beautiful angel. The little bundle was wrapped up in a green blanket, and I smiled as he fussed. His wispy hairs were blonde, his skin the same ivory as his mother's beneath the blotchy pink patches. My fingers brushed his chubby cheeks, and another round of tears hit me.
"Regan, he's beautiful," I sobbed, "Oh God. He needs you. I need you."
My fingers pulled back, and I buried my face into Regan's neck.
"I-I can't do this right now," I whispered in tears. "I can't."
They wanted me to mourn while raising a child. But it was too much, too much shock for one day. I chose to grieve my love first, and although two years later I am still learning to let go, I have not forgotten my son. If anyone could have understood the pain I felt as I watched her leave this earth, no one would have questioned my choice to leave Maverick's happiness to someone else. One day I will tell my son who I am, but for too long I have held on to that heartbreaking image of his mother's bloodied corpse left and forgotten by the same people who derided her. Yes, Regan's disheveled body had laid there beneath the glow of the sun, untouched for hours, for too long...just blowing in the wind.
Author's Note: Thank you very much to LiveBreatheVampires for editing and being an awesome friend!
Analysis: So Damon paid the price for Regan to keep the baby. On the other hand, since the kidneys are naturally strained by a pregnancy, Regan was ultimately unable to fight off her bladder infection. The condition is also known as urosepsis, which usually starts out as a urinary tract infection before moving to the kidneys and then into the blood. It is a very painful way to go. But to be clear, Damon never hated Maverick. For him, raising a child ALONE while mourning the death of Regan was too much. He chose to concentrate on letting go, and although it has been two years, let us give the man some credit here. Imagine having to experience that amount of trauma in such a short amount of time. He has a lot of guilt built up inside him, and a lot more animosity toward Wes and the others who never gave Regan any validity for her existence. Damon is fixated on anger to cope, but he's human...and he is allowed to cope in whatever form helps him to move on. Just as on TVD, Damon was redeemable (the first few seasons made us question that, but he came around). Damon took 150 angry, spree-killing years to get over Katherine, and thus Damon in BITW should have his 2 angry, guilt-filled years, too. It's only fair!
Up Next: Get ready for Delena! :)