Loving the Devil

Part 14: Changing the Devil

Mood disorder, nervousness, absence of interest for the newborn: it was hard to diagnose a post-partum depression when it came to Cruella. Surely though her apparent total lack of maternity was slightly worrying. In fact, after three weeks since Fitzgerald's birth, she hadn't spent longer than five minutes alone with him and – even more worryingly – she hadn't held him in her arms yet, not even once. Isaac took care of everything: changing the diapers, feeding him, putting him to sleep; and when he wasn't there, it was Belle or Maleficent to play the part of surrogate mom. Cruella wasn't jealous, but the strange sense of inadequacy was wearing her out. Actually, she tried more than once to approach the crib and remained to rock it, staring at the baby with a naive curiosity; however, every time a sort of repulsion prevented her from doing more.

Maybe it was the repulsion for responsibility, for love or, more simply, for life.

"The baby is asleep…" Isaac announced one evening, entering their bedroom.

Cruella, already in bed, just nodded. She watched him undressing and laying down at her side: his tiredness was evident and for a moment she asked herself if he was happy of his life.

"How are you?"

The question escaped her lips unexpectedly and she herself didn't know if it was guilty, curiosity or an unusual apprehension to make her talk.

Isaac looked surprise, but soon hinted a weak smile. "I'm fine" he replied with a conviction that maybe he didn't really have, and moved his arm to attract her more to himself.

The woman put her head on his chest and let him hold her, but the strange mix of feeling inside her didn't lessen at all, on the contrary it became even more confused. In his arms she felt safe, protected, even understood, but yet at that contact a certain hate appeared as well. A part of her hated him because he loved her too much; because despite everything he didn't hate her, not even a little. With those thoughts in mind and those feeling in the heart, she silently waited in that position, until she felt his breath become heavier and his fingers stop to caress her hair. Cautiously, she separated from him and casted a look to check: he was asleep, indeed.

Only then, she stood up and reached her little corner of needlework, preparing herself to focus on her son without being close to him: by making him a blanket.

It was already past two and the blanket was just finished: it was white, spotted in dalmatian style and with a red F in a corner; she wanted that it talked to him about her somehow and at least she had succeded in that.

After a last satisfied look to her work, Cruella finally headed to the bed, but right when she was about to slip into the sheets, he heard an unmistakable loud crying coming from the next room. An annoyed snort escaped her mouth instinctively, as istinctively she turned to Isaac with the intention of waking him up; however, the hand she had moved to shake him, suddenly stopped. Instead, she sat up, put the slippers on, grabbed the blanket and it was her the one to show up at the crib. Another instinct had won, maybe the maternal one.

"You are really a little devil, aren't you?" she asked, while she stared at the little face growing more and more red and almost shining into the half dark of the room.

She used an annoyed tone, but the voice trembled, revealing more fear and helplessness than she wanted to admit to herself. She didn't mind the yells actually, but she knew she had to calm him down and she just didn't know how. So, she started to rock the crib, tried to say something and then even put the blanket beside him. It smelt like her and maybe for that reason, the baby grabbed it immediately, not stopping his crying though; clearly, he had recognized it was a fake: an empty essence was not what he wanted. He seemed disappointed, but so seemed Cruella and perhaps it was that feeling the one to lead her to look for a contact for the first time. Suddenly she wanted him to stop crying.

"Fitzgerald, tell me, what do you want?" she asked hesitantly, but in the meanwhile her hands had already reached him.

With an unpredictable naturalness, she raised him into her arms and held him against her chest. He was so little, so fragile and she was afraid to hurt him, but yet at the same time she was sure she would have never been able to do that – not only because of some magical ink. The crying had weakened, but it wasn't gone yet, so she started to rock him softly and, without realizing it, started to sing.

"Sweet dreams are made of this...

Everybody is looking for something"

The song, in spite of the deceiving words, was not perfect as a lullaby and her voice wasn't pleasant at all; and yet in less than a minute, every tear was gon and Fitzgerald was even smiling. Cruella couldn't help but smile in return, keeping on singing, at least until she realized that her "audience" had grown. Right at the door, there was in fact her husband with a soft and a bit amused expression on his face.

"Did the crying wake you up, darling?" she asked, looking up at him and trying in the meantime to hide any emotion.

"No, actually it was your sweet singing voice"

She glared at him and then looked immediately back at her son. "He's smiling…"

Isaac just nodded; after so much reading before Fitzgerald's birth, he knew very well that it was a reflex and that it was too soon for a real smile. But he didn't say that, though: there was no reason to ruin that magical moment and the only thing he could do was being a part of it, even if for a short while. That was why he approached them, just the time to hold the baby's hand and place a kiss on his wife's cheek.

"I'm going back to bed… You take care of him, don't you?" he asked rhetorically with slight irony, starting to leave.

"Isaac?" she called him back though. "What the hell have you done to me?"

He looked at her for some moments in confusion. He knew that the question wasn't about some particular event, but more about the general transformation that had affected her in a year. But there wasn't an answer: she had been the one to gradually start to change and she was still changing, day by day, letting her long denyed light emerge from the darkness. He hadn't done anything, except maybe a small little thing.

"I just loved you" he eventually replied, making a smile.

Cruella's expression was instead deadly serious; maybe it was for the lack of sleep or for the magic of the moment, but suddenly she said the most unpredictable sentence.

"Don't ever stop, then, darling"

Here it is part 14! Too much fluff? I was asked by more than one person to write something where Cruella held her son for the first time, so I hope that you liked this chapter!:) Besides, the scene was I described was inspired by Anna's new drawings of Cruella and her baby (too bad, I don't know how to link them at the moment!:/).

See you next week (hopefully) with part 15!