Prologue
A bead of sweat ran down the side of Cléo's face as she bowed over the table, the pain of the contraction washing over her body. It was endless, and merciless.
For hours Cléo wrestled the painful reactions of her body, fighting with them. There was to be no victory though; she just could not stop the pain. She fought to keep calm in the midst of the worst situation imaginable, but the more time passed, more and more of Cléo's sanity faded out of her frightened orbs.
She had every right to be frightened though. She was stuck in her dining room without any help. There was nothing here.
Pain washed over her every time a contraction hit, shoulders tensing and head bowed low. She hadn't wanted to sit down. That only made it worse. Cléo wandered around the room, leaning against the walls and table to bring her some measure of comfort.
She wasn't entirely sure what to do, but she knew she had to do something. She desperately needed to figure something out.
Her upper body slumped on the table as the contraction faded away from her and she lay still for a moment before wearily lifting her head. She brushed the sweaty locks from her flushed face. Drenched in sweat, she looked positively exhausted.
When her eyes lowered her pregnant belly, they overflowed with tears. Her head fell forward again and her shoulders bobbed with her sobs. Her tears mingled with the sweat on her face. It was painful, and she was tired — it was the middle of the day, for Heavens sake! She didn't have a chance of peace now though; every time she got remotely settled a contraction would tear through her like a bomb. There was nothing but the same four walls to comfort her through it.
Burying her face in her hands, she prayed. She called to God — to anyone who might hear her and stop this all from happening.
Nothing answered her though.
The pain — it was so much more than she could handle. It was almost unbearable. The pain had built steadily over the first hour or so until it became solid, harsh contractions. Most importantly though, how did she end up in labor to begin with?
She didn't know. She didn't know anything. She was certainly not pregnant when she woke up, she was sure of it!
Cléo gasped raggedly as another contraction rode firmly over her, trying not to let her fast breaths run away with her. A deep pinching in her hips made her heart beat like a drum.
She could feel it. The baby was coming.
Her contractions were lengthy and regular, and that told her that she was close. Her body was done pushing the baby lower, and was preparing to deliver. It had taken her some time to get to this stage.
What if something went wrong? She couldn't help but think of it. What if the baby — or, Heaven forbid, babies — got stuck or if it — they? — were so small they needed help after they were born?
She lowered her forehead down to the tabletop to catch her breath as the contraction started to ease up.
Despite her fears, she trusted her body's instincts. And those instincts told Cléo that she would soon be a mother.
It was already uncomfortable to stand with her legs close together, having stood with them apart for the last hour. Surely that had to tell her something about how low the baby must be in her pelvis. Perhaps it had already started to come. She had been feeling the urge to push for the last few contractions, but she had pushed them aside until now.
Was that really the right thing to do?
She couldn't do that. She couldn't do that to herself or the baby.
Her mind was slow from the pain and exhaustion, but she had to think, to find something. She screwed her eyes shut, trying to ignore the tight clench around her belly and the strong urge to push.
What could she do?
Your sister's a nurse — trained in delivering babies, she thought wearily. Do you remember what she told you? Anything?
Cléo snapped her eyes open, inspiration hitting her suddenly — she needed to check the baby's position. As best as she could anyway.
She stayed still and waited patiently, gritting her teeth until the contraction had faded away again.
Once it had, she eased herself slowly upright and turned herself around, resting against the edge of the table until she felt stable enough to take her hands away. They instantly went to her stomach, gently padding the bump.
"A head," she murmured, as she felt a little knob just above her pelvis. Okay, the baby was head down.
Straightening up from the table, her expression wary but controlled, she took a deep breath. She was afraid, she had every reason to be. Her heart was pounding like a runaway train under her t-shirt. Cléo's hand curled with the next contraction, breathing through the pain as she waited for it to pass. She needed to focus, to ensure she and the baby made it out alive.
Her eyes squeezed shut as she listened to the drum of her heart. She could lay down to slow down the birth, but staying upright during labor helps it progress faster and ease the pain. That's what her sister said, at least.
Unshed tears clung to her eyes — tears of pain and fear. She had never seen a birth before. She had never really deemed it something to concern herself with. She thought she still had time before having children.
Typical of her, she thought. She was notorious for making things up as she went. Things didn't always go right, she knew. Sometimes she had to make urgent, on the spot plans of how to proceed. Today was no different, she told herself. She just needed to think around the problem.
She gasped another breath and shook her head lightly; she was exhausted.
How far along was she?
Cléo's eyes instantly snapped into a glaring frown. That was one part she did not want to deal with. If the baby's head was showing, she did not want to touch it — God knows the mess that was probably down there.
Resolve steadily gathering, she staggered herself away from the table and moved along the wall, hand trailing a path to the corner. She leaned back heavily against it.
Cléo had removed her pants and underwear when the whole ordeal started, so if the baby was showing now, she could check. She had to.
Taking a deep breath, she let her knees fall apart a little. Her fingers paused for just a moment by her shirt's hemline. She was a little scared of what she might find.
She screwed her eyes shut as her fingertips dipped between her thighs.
She wasn't sure what she was expecting, but she felt wetness. Soft wetness.
Then when she felt the head, reality hit her like a bus.
Her eyes snapped open as she gasped, feeling the unmistakable head of her child between her legs. It was only a small slither, but it was there. Enough to tell her that the baby was coming.
She couldn't believe it. She hadn't been pregnant at all leading up to this day and now she was touching... Beneath the mess under her fingers was something she could not explain.
I have to push, she thought frantically. They're coming.
-8-
Cléo's front door thudded gently shut, and she heard heavy footfalls around her apartment, making their way to her bedroom. It was an older man, with piercing eyes that glittered secretively. Cléo could see her sister in the hall leading to her room, watching the man carefully.
Wandering around the bed, the man looked at the newborn in Cléo's arms — a little girl.
"Extraordinary," he murmured, too low for Cléo to hear. His eyes studied the infant, taking in every little detail. Despite the mysterious circumstances surrounding her labor, Cléo felt uncomfortable with the man's gaze, feeling a twinge of motherly instincts in her chest. There were not enough words to describe what she had endured a few nights ago. She was still showing the scars.
It had been a blessing when paramedics arrived at her apartment, though a little too late unfortunately. It wasn't long after her apartment door was thrown open the paramedics found a very raw sight. It hadn't been pleasant: a young woman half naked with a newborn baby in her arms, blood and amniotic fluid everywhere.
Cléo had been whisked away to the nearest hospital for inspection, along with her baby.
For a while, it worried her how small the baby was but her doctor assured her everything was fine. She was just delicate. But all the important body parts worked. She might struggle to keep warm on her own but aside from that, she was healthy.
The baby had her mother's eyes, and it made Cléo's heart flutter every time she saw it. Cleaned up a little, she found the girl to have a small tuft of hair on the top of her head — a deep, warm brown in color.
Looking at the child, Cléo couldn't believe that this tiny baby came out of her. Birth had weighed heavily on her body, from what the doctors had told her. She bled heavily — not enough to cause concern, but enough to leave her greatly weakened. Hence why she was confined to bed. Cléo's sister, Alessandra, resolved to be there for her as much as possible, to make her as comfortable as could be. Though Alessandra could see how conflicted her sister felt towards the baby.
"How much do you want for it?" He spoke in English, an accent lacing his words, an authoritative tone in his voice. Cléo's gaze snapped to his. He looked at her expectantly. He repeated the question again, only this time in Portuguese; Cléo's native language.
How... much? He thought the baby was for sale?
Cléo didn't tear her eyes off the man, and vice versa. She blinked and looked back at her chilld.
How much do you want for it?, she thought. She cleared her throat gently.
On the 12th hour of the first day of October 1989, 43 women around the world gave birth. This was unusual only in the fact that none of these women had been pregnant when the day first began. Sir Reginald Hargreeves, eccentric billionaire and adventurer, resolved to locate and adopt as many of the children as possible.
He got eight of them.
Hey there wonderful readers!
Okay, so I started writing this... today after rewatching Umbrella Academy and a couple Marvel movies to get through quarantine. I realized that I really wanted to get this out there and maybe some encouragement will help me work on it. Any and all feedback is highly valued. I will be reading this chapter over a couple times in an attempt to catch errors.
Anyway, this fic takes place in the first Thor movie and will be following the MCU, for the most part.
Disclaimer: I only own my OC, Diana Hargreeves.
Diana's Physical Description: Long, dark brown hair with natural curls; height's roughly 5 ft. 1 in.; dark-skinned; brown eyes.