A Little Piece of Heaven

Chapter 43: New

I can hear the steady beating of his heart. It's a deep precise rhythm that I can feel pulsing from the inside of his chest to my cheek. He's sound asleep, but he doesn't let himself snore. I press myself further against him until I can hear his steady breathing, too. Our damp hair is sticking to parts of our skin, but neither of us mind.

I inhale as much as I can, but my uterus is pushing up on my diaphragm, which makes my diaphragm push up on my lungs, which makes it more work to breathe. He smells faintly of saltwater and stone and sweat. It mixes pleasantly with his normal aroma helping to soothe my quiet anxiety. Our little 'talk' had only been a few hours ago. I'm exhausted, but I can't seem to fall asleep.

I'm debating on whether or not I should wake him. He hates it when I do that, but I want him to hold me and whisper sweet things in my ear. The uncertainty I've had since the beginning is stabbing me in the soles of my feet. I'm so achy and anxious I can't stand it.

Ache. For some odd reason I think again on the replica. 'A data copy' as Ansem explained it. Was the replica what Xemnas really wanted from my memories? Did he lie to me? If it was, the poor thing didn't last long. I shouldn't have gone back in the first place. I inwardly churn at my own stupidity. I don't know why I do these things. Movement.

I stiffen.

Ansem sighs in his sleep. The cool air wafts over my bangs. I relax again.

Who is lying to me, and who isn't?

It's been hard to tell. I want to say that my Dearest isn't, but he has before. He's leaving me—us, soon and I can't stand that either. I don't want him to. Maleficent...she's only lied to me once and I've had my time to regret that. I ramble on and on in my unorganized thoughts.

He asks: "So you don't trust me?"

I'm thinking: "I don't know. But I really want to."

I hear him release another cool sigh that rolls over my cheeks. I remove bits of wet hair from the gully of my breasts and try to turn into a more comfortable position. Ansem shifts lazily against me loosening and then tightening the grip of his arm around my shoulders. I huff in distress. I miss being able to twist into hazardous, unhealthy sleeping positions; even when my joints hurt in the morning. But now, I've had to strictly lie on my sides. Where's the variety? Nowhere when your full oven hides your toes from sight.

"Go to sleep."

I would have jumped out my skin if he wasn't holding me so tightly.

"I can't." I turn back to my other side peering into his open eyes over the right of his chest. He yawns, a faint yellow glowing under his indolent eyelids.

"What has your thoughts, darling?" He grouses and sits up at a low angle; chin near his collar bones. The raw rise and fall of his torso is hypnotic. He stares, expecting some kind of answer.

"I can't give you anything exact. I'm not all sure myself." I press until my cheek is gracelessly squashed against the hot joint of his shoulder.

"Hmm." He hums closing his eyes like he'll fall right back asleep again.

"And it's not just my thoughts." My voice muffles. "It's more than that. I can't breathe, and when I'm not hyperventilating, I'm peeing."

He chuckles dryly. The vibration makes my ears itch.

"S'not funny." I whine. "My back hurts. My feet hurt. My legs hurt. And I'm still hungry." I don't even want to think about how horrible giving birth will be.

"Unfortunate," he murmurs "you don't have much longer to suffer." He goes so quiet, that I think he's gone back to sleep again.

"Ansem?"

"Go to sleep, Phoebe."

"I will," I groan "but can you answer something first?" Maybe I've found what's really been bothering me...

"What is it?" He sounds irritated.

"I love you."

"That doesn't sound like a question."

"I'm getting there." I snarl.

"Out with it." He growls back.

"When you told me you loved me, did you really mean it, or were you saying it so I wouldn't worry?"

Insert the longest pause in history right... here.

"What do you think?" His tone is level. I almost thought he wasn't going to say anything.

"Which is exactly why I can't sleep." I flip hazardously away from him, facing the other wall.

"I can give you a reason not to sleep." He leans over, his breath in my ear.

"You've had enough fun." I scowl and close my eyes. He hasn't answered my question.


You had been paranoid the whole beginning of December. You went here and there out of the cutting currents of wind, ice, and snow. Back and forth. You needed to have "this" and "that". Making sure details you weren't all that concerned about went according to plan. Ansem didn't particularly help, but he listened quietly in the background. He came and went as much as you did, but he had the sweet luxury of avoiding the clumps of snow plaguing almost every world...and your mother.

It felt like more than a month ago he had led you back to the Dark Margin. And years, not six months since you discovered you were pregnant. Toby had probably gotten tired of seeing your face to exchange money for service (only one appointment was ever free of charge). It wasn't like you were enthusiastic about it either. For a while you let your guard down. Ebony was going to be late, you were assured.

Okay, more time to plan, right?

But here you sit bewildered, dazed, and unsure of what to do no later than a day after being told exactly that. "She's going to be late." He said. "The very beginning of January." He said. Dammit, Toby was wrong!

Today, one week before the holidays, you felt your first contraction.

In the beginning, it was dull, barely there. But now, it's an ache that spreads like poison in your lower back, lower stomach, bowels, and groin. It's unbearable, and you cringe with each flooding wave of pain.

You try to remember what Toby told you. When you wanted to rest you couldn't lay down all the way. If you got anxious it was good to walk or pace. Remember to take deep breaths to keep yourself calm. But, you really can't take deep breaths, and your teeth keep chattering because you're absolutely freezing. Without Ansem here, his bed provides little comfort.

You whimper squeezing your eyes shut. When you open them, what do you know? He's there. He's always there when you look twice.

"Do you need to leave?" He asks carefully selecting his words. He lingers in the doorway taking subtle note of your distress.

"N-no, I'm not ready just yet. It's early labor, I think." You'd need to leave when your water broke.

For the next couple of hours you watch him, watching you, watching him. He paces in and out lurking about like an hesitant animal. He comes close, but never close enough to give you the comforting contact you desperately need. He seems more anxious than you are, and it's infectious. You realize it's the same thing the other Heartless have been doing when you try to alleviate some of your stress by limping up and down the hallway. They stalk around you, their twitchy antenna trembling in curious excitement.

"Is there anything you need?" He crosses his arms and leans his weight against the door frame, suddenly interested in something in the carpet. He's probably gotten tired of hearing your pitiful whining, but how could you help it?

"Yes." You groan. "Please come here?" You beckoned him with an impatient hand.

You sat up more as he approached; legs spread awkwardly half under, and half over the sheets. He sits unhurriedly at the edge taking a moment to remove his heavy top coat, and gloves. When he props against you, you take a sharp, involuntarily inhale. He smells like outside and reeks deliciously of darkness.

"What is it?" He tries not to show how alert he is, but you can see it in his dilated eyes.

"Can you press here?" You reach behind, and guide his large, hot hand to your lower back, right over your dimples. "I think it will help." And it does. The counter pressure of his hand feels absolutely wonderful. You let him hold it there while you grab his other hand and press it gingerly against your neck. The heat that radiates from his palm warms the frigid surface of your skin. You sigh for two reasons all at once.

"Are you cold?" He normally doesn't ask stupid questions.

"Positively numb." You shiver yanking his hand to pull his entire arm around you.

"Then why haven't you lain under the comforter?" He's here, but not at ease. His body feels unbending alongside your back.

"You know I don't retain body heat well." You fidget. Your contractions where slowly becoming closer together. The difference in time is slight between them, but you notice. Not only were they increasing in frequency, but also in pain. You were so very tired, but the worst had yet to come. You wished you could get it over with.

"I need a bath." You decide watching the opacity of sunlight glinting from the window. Like a dial it had traveled a full cycle from one end of the room, to the other. You remember your mother mentioning something about bathing being a stress reliever. Then again, your mother was in labor for two days.

"And is that appropriate?" Too soon the sweet press from his hand is gone. Slowly but surely, you stand to your numb feet wiggling your toes to get some kind of blood flowing. There's no immediate circulation, but there is an instant flow.

"Ansem?"

"…" He remains calm, interested in something in the carpet again.

"Ansem?"

"I see it." He mutters, cocks his head to the side, and watches the stream of fluid travel down your legs and pool messily into the carpet.

"I suppose now, it's safe to assume that this is the appropriate time for you to leave."


December 19

3:57 A.M.

Not too late after, they hand him (not before trying to pinpoint his secluded location in the dark corners of the sterile building) a paper with a grand heading in grand text. His glowers at them, and they keep their distance adverting contact with his eyes. He tilts his head. Under the boisterous text is a line, already filled, for a specific name. He sees there are more, lines for weight, date, time, as his eyes scroll down the stiff sheet of textured cardstock. These lines are filled leaving only one blank. The point of the pen in his hand pauses. The nurses and an android assistant note in nervousness that he's thinking. He stares at two, tiny, messy, black, footprints, and one thumb print from a mother's right hand. His thought vanishes for an undetermined reason, a simple signature is struck, and the birth certificate is complete.

The nurses breathe a sigh of relief when they are finally able to walk away.


"Can I go home?" I whine throwing my head back against the pillow cushioned behind me. I stare at the ceiling. I hate hospitals. This building is a maze, and it's not at all what I'm used to. Toby's personal facility was smaller, much more comfortable, and not as cold given with the chilly weather.

"Not just yet Mrs. Greendown." Toby wiggles his finger at me whispering to a squatty nurse over something on a clip board. She smiles at me as she leaves. "Congratulations on the baby girl." I fake smile back. I'm not in any mood to be friendly.

"Can I see my baby?" I puff out my cheeks and pat my stomach. The 'thump thump thump' is hollow. I feel hollow, and tired, and sore, and yes I'm still hungry. Actually, after sleeping from 4:00A.M. to 4:00P.M. I'm starving. "Toby." I bark. "Toby, I want to see my baby!"

"Don't worry, you'll have the opportunity." He's grumbling over something to himself.

"Can I have my opportunity now?"

"Just as soon as—"

"Dr. Blair?" A shiny white android rounds in on the geared balls of her heels. I glare at Toby counting how many times his eyebrow twitches when he talks to himself. He was always twitchy when we were younger. "Dr. Blair has a visitor." She chimes in her programed feminine auditory.

"Oh, is your mother coming?" He asks me still distracted by whatever is on his clipboard. I think the clipboard is an excuse for him not to directly talk to me.

"I'mnotsurecanIseemybaby?" Oh, I'm pretty sure it's not my mother.

"I suppose they can come in. You've gotten your energy back, ?" I purse my lips and finally allow myself to go quiet. I fold my hands over my strained stomach and wait. Any minute now.

"Here you are." The android extends her pearly, level arm through the doorway in my general direction. There's quiet, steady movement from behind. I glance at Toby who still has his back turned, a hand rummaging through his chestnut brown hair. If I had popcorn, I'd be eating it, and cackling like a witch. Somehow I knew this would be inevitable.

I'm sure Toby expected to see some slicker from one of the wild packs of men who roam the streets at night howling cigar smoke at the moon. From the look on his face (which has flushed) this is quite a surprise.

"Hello." Toby turns promptly in a swiveling chair. He drops his pen. It clatters loudly against the floor filling the silence that had fell upon the hospital room. Ansem doesn't acknowledge him, he's evaluating me.

"Who might you be? A relative?" Toby pushes his glasses back on the bridge of his nose.

"The father."

"Oh, well, hello again. Could you give and I a second? We'll have have your newborn very soon."


You paced in a dead corner not to far from her open room. For how close it was, it was still miraculous that you went unnoticed. Then again, it wasn't. You even remembered to change before you came. You stuffed your hands into the warm pockets of your dull black over coat. You kept a low key unseen by the odd things that passed you by. You leaned alert against a cold, solid, white wall. The cold that seeped through the building penetrated through your coat and stung at the skin of your back. You didn't mind cold. Cold was familiar unlike everything else around you. All the noise you hear is extra external static to what you were deeply thinking. You stood impatient, tuned in, listening to the conversation from the opened room door.

"I'm sorry I assumed y-"

"I know what you assumed, Toby. Do I look like the kind of woman to kick up her heels in the back of a Cadillac? I don't run with those kinds of men."

"You looked like that once."

"I know what I looked like, but that's not who I am now."

There is a long, tense pause. You squint crossing your arms.

"You used to dance, Phoebe."

"That's an old chapter of my life. I've changed and let that go."

Another pause is filled with the clatter of medical machinery.

"Is...is he safe?" You could hear the waver in the man's voice.

"For me. Not for you. I know he doesn't look very inviting, but mind yourself, please?"