Disclaimed in pt. 1

When Charlie returned, he was greeted by the sight of Claire attempting to pull her soaked maternity pants off. He dropped the blanket and pillow by the door and skidded to a halt in front of her. "Claire, sit back. Just take it easy, okay? I'll do that." He gently pushed her back so she was resting against the wooden beam in the middle of the room, and gripped the soaking fabric in both hands, easing her out of it, and trying to look at anything but all the exposed skin under his hands. Pervert, he chastised himself. He stood hastily, returning the dropped pile of bed dressings by the door.

"Did you remember anything else Jack told you?" he asked, trying to keep the mood light. "Don't we need a bucket of hot water or something? Scissors?"

Claire shook her head vigorously. "No, Jack said not to cut the cord."

"Really?" Charlie turned, in time to see Claire pulling her shirt off. He let out a cry of surprise and swiveled around so fast the world seemed to spin. "You gotta let me know when you're going to do that." Charlie stared at the wall of the hut for a moment. "All covered up now?" he asked, turning his head a little. Claire gave a little hiccup. "Claire?" he asked, turning around again.

Her face was turning red and tears were streaming down her face, her lips pulled down into what he could only classify as the saddest expression he'd ever seen on an adult female's face. She gave a hiccup again and then openly sobbed, clutching her wet shirt to her chest. "Claire?" he asked, alarmed.

"You think I'm ugly," she wailed.

He took a few steps towards her. "No," he said, taken aback. This is not the time to have a bad trip, Claire.

She sobbed. "And you're right, I am. I'm a great huge heifer just like Thomas said."

Charlie had the feeling just then that if he ever met Thomas, dentures would surely be in store for Claire's former love. And perhaps a wheelchair. A motorized one. He hurried to her side, tossing a blanket over her to keep his eyes from . . . straying. "You're not ugly, Claire."

"Then why won't you look at me?" she demanded.

Charlie tucked the blanket in around her. "I'm just a bit uncomfortable with all this. I've never seen—that is—"

Her body racked with pain again and she cried out, reaching for him. He caught her shaking hands in his own, and knelt between her legs, his hands clasped tightly with hers. "Breathe, love, breathe."

She moaned and sobbed and screamed for what seemed like hours until the contraction subsided. Her hands went slack in his, and she took in deep breaths, gasping for air. Charlie ran his hands up and down her arms. "That's it, love. Deep breaths," he encouraged. "Let's get you out of all this mess, all right?" He stood and pulled her to her feet, making sure to keep the blanket securely around her. She took a few shaky steps with his help. He leaned her gently against the wall. "Just stay there for a second, okay?" Quickly, he took one of the other blankets and spread it out on the ground, and then helped ease her down, her back resting against the wall.

He tried to smile, sure that his face was conveying nothing but the absolute panic he felt. "There, that's better now, isn't it? Out of all that wet gunk." Claire nodded silently, still not meeting his eyes.

Charlie continued to fuss around her, setting up pillows and blankets. He found some clean rags in a wooden container in the corner and piled them high next to her nest. "Are you warm enough?" he asked.

"Yes," she said softly.

"What else did Jack tell you?"

Claire looked him in his eyes. "Why won't you look at me, Charlie?"

Not this again, he thought. She must have seen something in his face because she looked away and sniffled. "Hey, Claire, don't do that, okay?"

"You're in love with Shannon, aren't you?"

"What?" he gaped. "In love—are you hearing yourself? With Shannon?"

"I've seen the way she looks at you. And she's a very pretty girl."

Charlie was still flabbergasted. Where was she getting all this junk from? "Shannon? Looking at me?"

"We didn't used to be so different, Shannon and I. Men used to think I was pretty. I had a stomach. And I wore bikinis."

"Claire, you are pretty. What are you talking about, love?"

Claire's eyes were brimming with tears as she looked at him. "And I know you're a fancy rock star and beautiful women must be throwing themselves at you all the time."

Charlie reached out and brushed hair away from her face. "Claire, you are about as far away from Shannon as anybody I know. And that's a good thing. Because you're kind and you're sweet. And you're so very pretty."

"Then why can't you look at me?"

He swallowed. "I'm looking at you now, love."

"No, you're not—ahh!" she moaned as another contraction hit.

Her hands found his and she took deep breaths, crying and sobbing. "Easy, Claire, easy does it, all right? Take it easy, breathe through it, okay?" He found himself babbling to her, nearly incoherently, an unconscious stream of words going through his lips as he struggled to keep her calm. "Don't worry about the way you look don't think about anything except breathing in and out Claire in and out just like that breathe deep breathe breathe breathe I love the way you look Claire breathe deep love breathe deep that's it sometimes all I want to do is just kiss you until your knees go weak and I can take you off and do all sorts of unmotherly things to you breathe let it out let it all out in again breathe and out and in again love you've got it you've got it I wish I were a doctor and I knew all of that stuff Jack does you should be with Jack he's so good and I'm just a junkie breathe breathe breathe deep in out in out just like that . . ." he had no idea what else he told her, but had the sense after that it was probably more than he should have, self-pity mixed in with anger and helplessness and whatever feeble encouragement he knew how to offer.

When the contraction passed, she pushed him away lightly and pulled the blanket from over her body. "Look at me, Charlie."

Her eyes pierced his with stunning lucidity and he was helpless to resist. He stared at her in all her naked, pregnant glory, her body covered with a thin sheen of sweat from her labor, her arms and legs akimbo, and her hair plastered to her face. The words were out of his mouth before he knew he had said them. "You're so beautiful." Then his mouth was on hers and she tasted like sweet fire. He found her hands and held them tightly as she kissed him back. When he pulled away, her eyes were smoky, and her voice breathless. "Charlie . . ."

A contraction ripped through her abdomen and she tilted her head back and let out an ear-splitting primal scream. "Charlie, it's coming now!" She pushed away from the wall and slid down so her back was resting on the floor. Her back arched and she spread her legs wide, her hands gripping her knees. All shame and guilt gone, Charlie stared down at her vagina, his eyes going wide. He fumbled for a blanket, kneeling between her legs. She reached for him, her hands clasping his shoulders. He felt the pinprick of her nails digging into his back as she rode the contraction and he murmured to her again. As he felt her body easing down again, he reached out to touch her face.

"Time to push, love."

The sounds she made as the baby's head emerged made Charlie's skin crawl. His whole body went numb. "Do you see it?" she screeched.

"I- I see it, love. I see it. Push again. Push, Claire, push!" he coaxed. She made a guttural half moan half scream. Charlie was surprised by the way the baby slid out of her. He 'caught' it in the blanket, his mind racing over the things Claire had told him. He used a corner of the blanket to wipe the baby's nose and mouth. Its entire body shook wildly with life, its chest swelling with fresh new air, and then it gave out a cry that sounded like a Bach symphony to Charlie's ears. Claire propped herself up on her elbows, and Charlie thrust the squalling infant in the blanket towards her. "Look at him!" he cried. "It's—it's a he!"

Claire strained to sit up and Charlie put a hand around her back, pulling her up gently to rest against him and the wall of the hut. Charlie raved, marveling at the tiny squalling creature. "That's quite a set of lungs that boy has. He's going to be a bloody opera singer. Look, at that hair he's got already! He's so tiny. How can he be so small?"

Claire was eerily silent, cradling the baby gently, and using the blanket to wipe blood and amniotic fluid from his body. She touched each finger and toe, his nose, his ears, his cheek, finally coming to stare at the place on his stomach where their bodies were still attached by the umbilical cord.

"He's perfect," she said quietly. Charlie's ravings ceased in that instant, and he turned to look at her. She looked at him and the grin on his face drove her into a crying and laughing fit. "He's so very perfect, Charlie!"

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Charlie awoke with a start in the middle of the night, looking around in the darkness. They had fallen asleep together in a pile of blankets, the baby curled against Claire's chest and Claire curled against his. He reached out, his hands finding only cold empty space. He sat up a little and saw a shadow standing over him. "Claire?" he asked.

Pain flashed in his face and the world fell away again.