Author's Note: Remember that this is set in the 1860s, so medical knowledge and techniques by today's standards are incorrect or outdated.
He walked over to where she knelt on the floor and rocked. But didn't touch - she seemed to be focused inward. The best thing to do would be to leave her alone as much as possible so as not to add distress or irritation.
Sitting in the edge of the bed close enough that she could touch if she wanted, he swallowed down the nerves. This day had been dreaded for months - the day he'd have to cut her up and piece back together what that goddamn shit had done to her. But it also was a day for which hope had given up until recently - the day of becoming a father. Tanya didn't have to name him the father or name the babe after him, but she wanted to. She wanted to give him her babe to love and adore forever. If she had complications like her mother, there would be no more children. It could very well be the only chance at being a father. And she gave it without hesitation.
She rose onto her knees and set her hands on his thigh to balance as she rocked her hips. Her eyes remained closed and her brow ever so slightly furrowed in concentration where she knelt over a pallet of towels. He gave slow strokes down the length of her back. She was so beautiful even in labor, so at peace with her body. She moved with such grace and quiet strength. Nothing could ever compare to the beauty of this image.
Her breathing picked up as another contraction came. He leaned forward and squeezed the backs and sides of her hips as best as possible with one hand to counter the pain. "Almost half way through the contraction," he purred. She'd been laboring for two hours. Although the contractions came frequently and lasted longer, she made little progress. But it didn't seem to distress her. The poor love still hadn't gained quite enough weight from the malnutrition and her muscles still suffered some weakness from the atrophy, which wouldn't aid her in birthing.
Three more hours. No other patient had ever labored so long on the floor, but she seemed to prefer it. She laid her forehead on her arms over his thigh, as if it grew hard to cope with the pain.
Moving her hands to the bed, he stepped behind her. Leaning a hand on the bed for support, he knelt. A sharp pain bolted from knee to hip. It was hard to hold in the gasp of pain, but she wouldn't agree to this if she knew it hurt. Setting his hand on her back, he applied hard pressure on the back of her pelvis where women said it hurt most. "Better?"
She nodded.
There could be so many other pressure points relieved if he had use of both arms. The duration of labor would begin to take its toll on her soon. "Should I get your grandmother? With two hands, she could counter the hip pressure - "
But she shook her head. "Stay," she breathed and pushed herself up. So he stood too. The poor thing paced with her hand on the small of her back and the other stroked the babe.
"I didn't mean I won't help." He reached out to touch her arm to bring her back, but she shook her head and pulled away. It was hard to tell what hurt more - the rejection or the fact that she seemed to think she had to do this without him.
But when she breathed hard again, she returned and set a hand on the side of his neck and the other over his heart as she closed her eyes and bowed her head. He remained still, despite the hard twist to his heart - she sought comfort from him during the worst of the pain. She would give direction for what she needed. The contraction seemed to pass and she resumed pacing, her expression extremely concentrated.
When she came again and set her hand over his heart, he opened his arms and stroked the sides of her hard belly. She seemed to rely on his breathing pattern to follow.
After a time when she sank to her knees on the palette at his feet, he took a step away to grab a rag to wipe her damp brow. But she caught his leg, with her eyes closed. "Stay," she panted.
"I'm just going to get water for you at the nightstand." Returning with a glass of water and a filled basin, he pressed the cup in her hand. "Drink a few sips so you don't get dehydrated." Once she did, he pulled off her damp chemise. "You're overheating. It's just you and I, so we'll keep this off to cool you, sweetheart." He wiped the cold, wet rag across her brow and neck and body over and over until her cheeks didn't glow so red. The entire time, she kept her hand over his heart.
Labor had never been this intimate, always consisting of standing out of the way while the woman labored most often with another female for moral support. But she turned to him for that support when she very well could've summoned her grandmother. No words could describe the intimacy, the invisible bond that silently strengthened the love for her. Unfamiliar, raw instincts to protect her took hold with intense force. This wasn't just the familiar protectiveness to keep her from harm - it was a primal instinct to keep anything that might hurt her far, far away. She was too vulnerable in childbirth and needed him for absolute protection.
She returned again during another contraction. The instinct came like a rush of energy, every muscle heightening with tension like a lion pacing outside a cave to keep watch. A need came to pace the deck to ensure she could deliver without any threat nearby. But she needed him here. She needed a doctor more.
"I'm right here," he whispered and pressed on her hip as best as able with one hand as he swayed with her. With his bad arm, he stroked the back of her hand that clasped a fist full of his shirt. "Relax your body, sweetheart," he purred and smoothed her hand flat. "Think of letting the babe come down. Breathe out." He released a long, slow breath that she copied. "Slow breath in through your nose, love. And out."
She followed and set his hands on her belly, guiding him in slow strokes downward. "Don't stop," she breathed, and her brow knit as she struggled to control her breathing during another contraction.
"Let it come. Let it move the babe down," he said in low tones that seemed to sooth her. "Deep breath in." She struggled to not pant. "Good, sweetheart," he purred. He gave firmer strokes. "She's moved down a bit." The fib seemed to help calm her, as if the lack of progress and the increasing pain had begun to take a toll.
The poor woman labored hours longer without much more progress, seeming to find the most comfort standing with her back to his chest as he stroked the babe and coached her breathing.
By nightfall, she seemed to tune out everything but the babe and moved her palette to a corner. He sat on the edge of the bed and leaned his elbows on his knees, watching closely. She labored hard and should've been so tired that she wouldn't be able to deliver, but she seemed to find renewed energy. And then she pushed.
His heart shot into his throat. It was hard to refrain from rushing to her. But pushing a first babe often took a long time, and she seemed to want to be left alone. He picked up Tiger's tools and waited. Once she showed signs of distress, she'd be ready for surgery to fit the babe. A surgery that would gladly be exchanged for breaking his other arm if it meant she could avoid the pain it'd bring. Walking over slowly so as not to distract, he set the tools on a fresh towel and then washed. Kneeling on the floor beside her, he waited. She rocked and seemed to find a rhythm to sooth the pain as she pushed. It was the gentlest delivery that she didn't rush. She seemed so at one with her body, as if listening to her instincts for what to do. It was beautiful to witness her bring life into the world.
A soft moan of distress came minutes later and she pressed his hand to her. "Hurts," she whimpered.
The babe's head was almost there. "I know, love. There'll be enough pressure in a moment that some of the pain will fade. Then I'll be able to help you get her out. Can you stand to deliver so I can reach? It will be easier for you than being on your back."
Her breathing sped up to fast pants, and she took his hand to stand.
"Good, love. Now, this will look like more blood than it is. You shouldn't feel it." He grabbed the scissors, leaned down and worked. The goddamn bastard had caused so much scarring that she still couldn't fit the babe with a normal incision. Tears welled at the sound of her whimper as he had to cut more. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Then he grabbed a towel and pressed. "I have to support so you don't tear, love. We're going to see if you're able to stretch because I can't make it much wider without causing complications. I'm going to force her to come slowly so you don't tear. I need you to not fight me."
She grabbed his shoulders and nodded even though she trembled.
Jesus, it was worse than imagined seeing the pain from his doing. "She's coming. Let your body take its time," he cooed. "Once her head comes, I can help guide her shoulders."
"Please," she begged, her body trembling. "I can't."
Taking her hand with his broken arm, he held as tight as possible. Tears burned. "Tanya, if I reach in to help, you'll hemorrhage from a tear that large. Focus on the babe. She has dark hair like you, sweetheart." Oh Jesus, the babe stopped. She kept pushing. He readjusted his pressure. She didn't come this far to have a cesarean and die from hemorrhaging or an infection.
Her strength visibly drained with each heartbeat, and her knees buckled.
He caught her, still holding the towel to the incision to minimize the blood loss. "Oh your knees, Tanya. Gravity will help," he ordered and uprighted her.
She weakly held onto his shirt, pain evident on her face. "I can't," she panted, even her words growing weak as her face paled.
"You can," he snapped. "If you push hard, the her head will come and I can pull her out. You have to be stitched to stop the blood loss. Push!" His heart thundered. She was too weak. Sheer will would be the only way she could deliver without surgery.
She pushed but it made little difference. Even her belly didn't contract as hard.
"Harder! Push!"
Her whole body trembled. The scarring from that bastard would make her die in childbirth.
Fear and panic took hold, drowning everything out with the mocking that she and the babe would die in his arms too.
Grabbing her hand, he pressed it to the top of the babe's head. "Right there. She's right there." It wasn't right, but fear might be the only way for her to find the strength. "If the cord is around her neck, she's dying. Push and I can help both of you."
She opened her eyes and looked at him for the first time in hours. Fear flashed in her eyes - fear as if she could sense Death. It faded away, replaced with determination. And she pushed.
A little head emerged into her hand.
"She's beautiful. She's coming, love." He grabbed the babe's head and maneuvered the shoulders.
She pushed and babe slid into his hands. Love unlike anything ever felt hit with such sudden force that he burst into tears. "It's a boy." He wrapped the babe in a towel.
She sank to the floor, her face white. But she smiled and held out her arms for the babe, with tears shimmering in her eyes.
He handed the tiny babe that fit in two hands to her and suctioned the airways clear. A tiny cry filled the air.
She didn't smile.
"Tanya?" His smile faded, fear gripping that she was going unconscious. Applying pressure to slow the bleeding until the afterbirth came, he glanced at her.
"I shouldn't love him." Then she looked up and her face crumpled. "But I do. I want him to be yours."
"He is mine and has been for the past four months." He stroked the babe's head. "I love him because he's part of you and he's our son."
"You don't have to make him yours. He'd be the firstborn son and - "
"And he is my firstborn son."
Tears slipped down her face. "I love you."
"I love you." He brushed his lips over hers. "Do you feel alright? You're terribly pale."
She held the babe close. "Just tired." She seemed completely content to soothe the babe and oblivious to everything while he took care of the afterbirth and stitched after hooking up a line to give her blood. Her color began to return, thankfully.
"Mark, he won't nurse."
He looked up from his work. The babe would take and then turn his head away and fuss. "Sometimes they don't realize what it is. Get a bit of milk there for him to taste." He kept stitching before the high of birth wore off and this became painful for her.
The babe fussed again after a moment, and her face grew red in embarrassment. "I don't know what I'm doing wrong."
"You aren't doing anything wrong. He needs to learn. Give me a few more minutes because you're bleeding more than I like from this surgery. I never like a new mother to lose more blood than she will anyways from giving birth. Are you feeling alright?"
She nodded and busied herself with the babe again.
He sat back. She had so many sutures. The poor thing would have trouble sitting until a few days.
"Ah!"
He startled.
"He's nursing!" She beamed a smile and then made a funny face.
The babe fell asleep.
"Oh." She frowned. "That wasn't much. You must be tired from such a big day." Then she looked up, her energy seeming to come back a bit. "Why is there a tube in your arm?" Her eyes followed it to where it ended in her thigh. "Are you giving me blood?! You're not well!"
"A bit won't harm me, and you lost more than your share. You'll bleed for a few weeks after birth, so you need it. Don't argue with me," he ordered. Thankfully, she didn't.
"Is he alright? I've never seen a babe this small."
He washed his hands, got her in bed and took the babe. He unwrapped the babe. He was quite small - not even five pounds and had minimal body fat. Respirations were adequate, and he didn't have sounds of lung or cardiac issues. If his stupid arse had married her weeks sooner like he should've, she and the babe wouldn't still have signs of starvation.
"Is something wrong with him?"
Starvation. He palpated the potbelly. It was like he had goddamn starved even late in pregnancy, almost as if... Grabbing the basin with the afterbirth, he dug through. There. The placenta had started to die not unlike those of starving women's babes back in Africa. She'd given birth early not because of the scarring but because her body had finally rejected the pregnancy. The placenta was too large compared to the babe - like that seen from starvation. She'd likely been underweight prior to pregnancy too, further complicating fetal growth. Think. She had plenty of food the past four months - this shouldn't have occurred this late in pregnancy unless something was still wrong with... His eyes flew to her. She had filled out and usually had sound color. Her heart rate had even increased within the past weeks to that of an average person not needing to conserve every possible bit of energy. She ate almost or as much as himself. With the babe out, her ribs protruded far more than thought. Her grandparents didn't have willowy frames...her frame should have more fullness like her grandmother. The blood drained to his feet as it dawned. Oh dear god. She was still starving.
He reached out and palpated her stomach, already far smaller than it should be right after birth. Jesus, pregnancy had masked the starvation. There were no goddamn textbooks to guide this. She must need more food intake not just for a few weeks but for several months. Shit. Her stomach being full at meals wasn't a normal stomach being full but that of a stomach shrunk from malnutrition. It had to be the explanation.
She looked at him with a solemn expression and fear in her eyes. "There's something wrong with Charles, isn't there?"
Bile rose in his throat. "You're both still starving," he whispered.
Her eyebrows rose in surprise and then she frowned. "I'm not hungry after meals. My bones don't show anymore. I'm fine. Mark?"
He walked out and knocked on Lily's door.
She opened it with a grin. "Did the babe come? We heard crying."
"Watch Tanya," he croaked. Then he spun on his heel and walked to the back of the ship. Holding a hand to his mouth, he fell to his knees as a wave of nausea hit. He'd starved her and the babe, and only by God's grace had they both survived the pregnancy. Leaning over the railing, he heaved. He had no business practicing medicine. He'd killed Anna and now almost Tanya and the babe. The babe looked so fragile and wouldn't make it if he didn't eat plenty - from a woman who herself starved. He was such a sick bastard that he'd found her 'willowy' - starving - body arousing. He heaved again. He should be shot. A fucking fine physician he was and a perverted husband.
"Where is Mark, Grandmama?" She glanced at the door again as the babe nursed. Twenty minutes he'd been gone. This wasn't like him.
Charles shifted in her arms. She adjusted the blanket to keep decent.
Mark walked in with a large plate of food and set it on the bed. "Eat." His eyes were red, as if he'd been weeping. Goosebumps covered his bare chest.
"Grandmama, would you excuse us?" When Grandmama left, she caught his hand.
But he pulled free and backed up from the bed as his face hardened. "You are to eat all of that!" His voice cracked.
"Mark, stop blaming yourself," she said softly.
A snort of disgust filled the air. "Yes, because I'm doing an excellent job of poisoning my first wife and starving my second! And I almost killed our son!"
Her brow furrowed. "I do not expect you to be God. I was with child to complicate things, and even I thought I was better. You are human and will make mistakes. Get over here and hold your son."
He hesitated.
"Come," she ordered. "He needs his father right now more than a surgeon."
He came closer and sank onto the edge of the bed.
She eased Charles onto his bare shoulder. "Burp him."
Mark's hand covered the babe's entire back, and the little thing curled up his legs and arms into a tiny ball and slept. He shook his head. "I'll hurt him." He tried to return Charles.
"He won't die," she said softly. "You are a good surgeon and will get him better. And you will be a good father."
He cradled the babe on his shoulder and burst into tears, shaking his head. "I let you both starve..." His words melted into sobs.
She pulled him down to hold him. "You know now. You'll heal us." Stroking his hair, she pressed a kiss to his temple.
Fussing over her and the babe seemed to ease his guilt, so she let him.
"I'm checking your bleeding for the next several days, and you will undress for exams so I can monitor your weight." In other words, so it's easier to notice any issues because he didn't trust himself anymore. He checked for mastitis and then gently palpated her belly.
She frowned. "Why do I still look pregnant?"
A snort filled the air. "You should look far more pregnant. Your womb took nine months to stretch to fit Charles. It can't go back in a day. Each week will be significantly less. Nursing him will help to cause contractions to shrink it too." Then he grew very serious and laid his fingers over where ribs showed prominently now with the babe out of the way. He palpated where her stomach sank in right below the ribs. "Did you ever finish your plate and leave our table hungry?" The man didn't meet her eyes.
Laying a hand over his to still him, she searched his guilt-stricken face. "Once the morningsickness got under control, I never knew hunger under your roof," she said gently. "I felt as if I could eat forever and sometimes had two or three plates after you left the table."
"You will resume eating large or frequent meals," he ordered. Then he looked at the babe sleeping beside her. "He must eat every two hours. I don't care how long it takes to get him to actually eat. Two hours on the dot."
Her heart beat faster. "You look scared," she whispered and swallowed back the tears. "Is he going to die?" She looked up.
"His thinness and swollen belly are a concern. If he eats and puts on weight, he will grow stronger."
Poor Mark woke up several times during the night to check her and the babe. He wore himself out and slept like the dead until early morning. His eyes opened where he laid on his side next to where she propped up in bed.
"Look." Happiness made her face almost split in two with a smile. She turned at the waist to show him Charles nursing. "He ate for fifteen minutes, and then he woke an hour later for more. He's opening his eyes like he feels better. Well, not right now because he's getting tired again. He has your blue eyes."
He pushed himself up with a silent gasp of pain from his back.
"I forgot you're wounded," she frowned.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, ignoring her comment. He pulled down the sheet to see the bleeding.
She pulled the sheet up to her waist with red cheeks. "Just because I agreed to be naked so you can check me throughout the day doesn't mean you can just do what you please."
The man rolled his eyes. "May I check your incision?"
"Yes, you may because you asked." She let go of the sheet. "And I tried to get up, but it hurt too much. I think I'll need you to pull me out of bed."
"You're quite swollen. There is no ice on the ship, but even a cold rag would give you some relief." He pushed himself to sit up on the edge of the bed.
"Honey, you should stay in bed with your back. Grandmama can help."
He got up and shuffled to the basin of water and dunked a rag. Then he shuffled back and took care of things far too personal.
"Mark, I can see to the bleeding." Goodness, a surgeon for a husband had its downfalls.
"I need to monitor it anyways," he grunted.
"You cannot tell me that you go back to homes and do this with other women."
"The perks of being wed to a physician," he muttered.
"I was rather thinking the downfalls," she laughed and then whimpered. "Oww. No one says it hurts to laugh and sit and get up after birth."
"You have it worse because of the surgery. I'll help you up to use the chamber pot. And before you bite my head off," he added, "I will wait outside."
A smile tugged. "Then shall I wait outside for you?" The poor man needed a smile - he looked tired and painful and miserable.
"I'm so damn tired that I could piss off the side of the boat and not care who saw, but I do care if someone sees my wife naked," he snapped.
She covered her mouth to hide a smile. "I'm only teasing."
"I'm not in the mood," he growled. "I feel like goddamn hell and my son and wife are underweight and my wife had an extensive surgery right after birth and my goddamn nerves are shot." He held out his hand. "I only have one good arm, so grab this hand and arm."
Settling the babe safely in the middle of the bed, she smiled and pushed back the sheets. "Technically, you could probably call me your mistress being we aren't legally wed." She gave him a shy look from beneath her eyelashes to coax a smile.
His jaw visibly flexed even under the beard and his lips pressed into a thin line. "Thank you for the reminder that you and the babe aren't legally mine," he barked.
Her smile softened, and she set her hand in his and held his arm. "And it makes you taking care of us so much more special because you don't have to," she said gently.
He looked away and his throat convulsed. The man cleared his throat. "Don't say goddamn things like that when I'm trying to be cranky," he growled. Then he tugged her to her feet.
She panted and clutched him as painful throbbing took hold upon being upright. "Oh god, let me faint," she half laughed and half cried.
"Do you need help using the chamber pot - "
"No! Go."
"You have to let go."
A weak laugh melted with the automatic tears of pain that fell. "Oh god, it's so swollen, I'm scared to look if I wet the bed."
That earned a choked laugh from him. "You didn't."
"Ow, ow," she whimpered as the laughter grew. "Shit, I think I'm going to go on the floor." Oh god, there was no way it'd be possible to use the chamber pot without his help.
He burst out laughing, grabbed the pot and held it for her. "I should forewarn you that you should stay in the cabin for a few days because with the trauma of childbirth, you might need a chamber pot urgently. I promise I will not think a thing of this."
"For the record, this never happened." Her cheeks burned as she tried to hold back a laugh for the sake of less pain.
"For the record, this makes me less mortified because I'm too tired to go over the side of the ship!" He chuckled like that of an overtired man.
For some reason, that was too funny. "It's alright, I'll hold it for you next!"
Minutes later, she laid in bed next to him, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Oh god," she laughed, "I'm mortified."
He laid on his side and stroked Charles's little fingers where he slept between them. "It's a bonding experience!" He burst into chuckles again and wiped his eyes. "Damn, I'm tired."
She smiled and looked up at the ceiling. "I missed sleeping on my back."
His lingering laughs immediately vanished. "You don't usually sleep on your side?"
"Rarely. It was hard to sleep through the night being on my side from Charles." She glanced at him to see a solemn expression. "Why?"
The man shrugged and kept his gaze locked on stroking Charles's tiny hand. "I got used to you sleeping curled up on me," he grunted.
"I suppose I can try sleeping like that still. At least to fall asleep."
His eyes drifted down to her belly that was mostly flat when lying on her back. "I've never known you when not with child."
She set a hand on her soft belly. "Sometimes I forget we haven't been wed for even six months." Then she turned her head to look at him. "I looked better with child - he at least gave me more curves." Her face burned with embarassment.
He moved his hand to rest over hers and held her eyes. "You have no reason to hide your body from me. I would venture to say that you've been underweight your whole life, and it perhaps accounts for your small frame. You and the babe are like this yet because of me - "
"Mark, it is not your fault. I was at least forty pounds underweight for pregnancy, according to you and Dr. Englewood. I gained twelve the first two months and another thirteen the past two months, so twenty-five. That's still eight pounds for my own weight - "
He shook his head. "You are more underweight than we thought. I think you had starvation bloat that masked some of this. You could still gain at least fifteen pounds."
She turned her hand over to hold his. "My point is my activity has been somewhat restricted, so I don't have the muscle back. It's impossible for me to have all of my weight back. And for all we know, Charles may've been affected so much at no amount of my weight gain would make him bigger."
It didn't seem to convince him.
She smiled as his arms slipped around a few days later and cupped her breasts "Are you feeling better, husband?" Setting down the freshly folded nappie, she glanced at Charles asleep on his floor pallet for his afternoon nap. His hands slid down to her belly that only had a small pooch now. Heavens, it was exciting that he wanted to touch, much less that the starvation didn't seem to make him think her less beautiful.
"You have lost weight," he growled.
So that was an exam, a measurement - not a caress. Hurt surged. Spinning around, she pushed his hands away. "I'm sick of you only touching to measure if I've gained a half pound!" she spat in low tones to not wake Charles.
He scowled. "Your ribs show again!" he hissed. "Am I a good husband to let you waste away?! Be still and let me see."
She stepped back and crossed her arms over her chest. "No."
His eyebrows rose. "No?" Then his brow snapped together in a temper. "What do you mean, 'no'? This is not a choice!"
"I did not get a cabin with a surgeon. You have done enough poking all week. You can touch me when you decide to do so as a husband."
His jaw dropped. "You need medical care!" he boomed.
Charles startled and burst into tears. She fetched him and swayed the babe in a rocking motion. "You are wound so tight this week that I can't stand it. Go for a walk."
"You're kicking me out?" His jaw dropped.
"Yes. You can come back once you find my husband."
He grabbed a shirt, jerked it on - and gasped and cursed at hurting himself - and stormed out with the slam of the door.
She reclined on the bed and nursed the babe. "Papa is very worried about us and life in America." She stroked his silky strands of hair as he gazed up with big eyes that had gradually begun to turn gray the past few days. "It would make Papa very happy if one of us put on weight. You're becoming such a good eater," she cooed.
He stormed back in a few minutes later and slammed the door, still spitting mad. "I will check you - "
Standing up, she hurried toward him and pulled him down for a sound kiss. When she broke the kiss, he stared in surprise. Keeping a hand behind his head, her fingers massaged his scalp. "I am always first and foremost your wife, and second your patient."
The man didn't have any words for that for several moments and looked away. "You do not have a mirror to see how thin you look without the pregnancy. Your weight loss this week is visible. He looks not all that much worse than you," he said quietly.
She stroked his cheek. "Mark, we're going to be alright. He's eating much more now, and even you said I would lose weight with nursing. You load my plate and I eventually eat everything. I'll get better soon. All you do is examine and analyze us. Be here. Be a husband and a father - you are missing out on him being a newborn."
"I have no idea of how hard America will be or how I'll find work." He ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know if there are food rationings in the Colorado winter or if we'll have a warm place to sleep."
She caught his hand that ran through his hair yet another time. "Stop. If worse comes to worse, we live with my grandparents for a time. Sometimes you can't have a plan for everything always."
"But this is our lives."
"And I have lived on nothing but the clothes on my back and in a drafty shack. You are a good shot?"
"Yes, but what does that have to do with anything?"
"You can hunt our food. I caught and cleaned rabbits plenty as a child. I'm sure Grandmama can teach me how to clean deer or other animals." When shame crossed his face, she caught his eye. "Perhaps if I was raised in Anna's class, I would say otherwise. But, you have to remember that I do not know better. Even what you can offer right now is more than what I have had most of my life."
He scowled. "You speak as if it's a bad thing that you do not cry and pout should you have to get your hands dirty. Why is it not that you do know better?" he snapped. "And another thing - I am the physician! If I say you need the sutures or bleeding or your weight checked, you do not argue with me!" he shouted and thrust a finger at the ground, with so much distress in his eyes that he looked close to tears. "You will stand still and let me check if you've lost more weight!"
She tilted her head and searched his eyes. "Mark," she said gently, "I'm not going to die like Anna did."
His body immediately tensed.
"I know you aren't sure why I'm still losing weight, but it could be as simple as the baby weight is shedding. I've gone along with the exams two or three times a day because I know that you're scared because you don't understand what's happening. But I feel fine, and you can't find that anything is wrong." She took his hand. "I'm willing to have daily exams because I understand that after what happened with Anna, you might need that extra reassurance. But I won't agree anymore to it being several times a day because that's not healthy for you to let it be that consuming. I will submit once more today to a full exam to calm your fears. I would not allow any other surgeon to do this much, though, and I'm doubtful you would do this much to other patients."
"Thank you," he said quietly.
Stripping everything, she laid on the bed and let him palpate and check everything he possibly could.
"I'm sorry. I don't mean to embarrass you," he said in subdued tones. "Even besides what I did to her, Anna's death was horrible. She wasted too." Tears welled in his eyes. "I know I'm irrationally scared. I don't want to see it happen to you." Tears slipped down his cheeks. "Maybe if I would've checked her regularly like this, I would've felt the cancer when we could've just cut it out." His face crumpled. "I don't know how to stop needing to check you."
"Oh, Mark," she cooed and sat up. When she held out her arms, he sat on the edge of the bed and held on so tight. "Charles and I will be alright. It's not cancer. You need to have faith and trust in your medical skills. Tell me what all you've checked and what you've found." Her eyebrows rose as he ran through the list of what all had been checked without findings. When he finished, she sighed and sat back. "Oh goodness. There'd be no need for surgery to check anything because I think you've checked it all," she teased.
He didn't smile, but he did seem a bit more relaxed.
"Oh, come now. Sometimes we need someone to tell us when we're acting crazy. You, honey, are acting crazy. I think we need to wean you off of these exams. I will make you a deal - for every pound I gain, you go that many days between exams. So, if I gain two pounds, you can examine me again on the third day."
He hesitated. "It's important to closely monitor your weight gain or loss. Once weight starts to come on, I will examine you every other day the first week. If it progresses well, three times the next week and twice the week after. Then it will be weekly until you stabilize at a healthy weight. I will continue to monitor the postpartum bleeding for the time being, however. It's still a bit heavier than I'd like to see, but you seem to be tolerating the blood loss. Now that your milk has come in, the uterine contractions while nursing should help speed along the recovery."
Her cheeks burned. "You know, you don't have to go into such detail."
"It does not hurt for a nurse to learn." He stood and pulled Grandfather's stethoscope out of the bag.
A smile spread so big that it almost hurt. "Did Grandfather put an idea in your head?"
He sat on the bed and set the cool stethoscope to her chest. "I put it in his." The man was silent for a moment as he listened in various spots. "Deep breaths." When he finished, he took off the stethoscope and proceeded to feel along her throat. "It would be some late nights if I needed assistance with surgery, the pay is terrible and there may be a few faintings thrown in. If it was serious disease, I would not take you - I've caught mumps and Scarlet Fever and many illnesses, and do not fall ill to them anymore - "
She frowned. "Is it unusual to have much illness as a child?"
He dropped his hand in his lap and gave a dry look. "Your father let you run rampant near illness, didn't he?"
She shrugged. "I was left to look after myself and scrounge for food. I often found the best place to pick pockets - " Her eyes widened at the slip. Oh dear god. Now he knew he'd wed a thief too.
His teeth audibly ground and a deep sigh of irritation slipped out of his nose. "A child left to starve will take whatever means present themselves in exchange for food. It is that damn bastard that should be ashamed." His eyes narrowed in a temper. "Had I known circumstances when I'd met him, I would've given him my greeting in the back alley," he growled.
"As endearing it is that you want to beat up a dead drunk, it is neither here nor there now." She raised her chin. "I often went to the city to procure means for food. I happened to pick pocket a surgeon, who noticed I was ill. He had me come every two weeks to his house in the city - I was his charity, he called it," she spat and kept her head high. "I did not hate him because he cured me of tuberculosis, Scarlet Fever, dysentery and many diseases of the poor. So perhaps, husband, I should keep you out of the ill houses."
He gave a slow, single nod. "I meant no offense to imply a female fragility." His eyes twinkled. "It will be most interesting should you decide to be my nurse."
That sounded suspicious. "Why?"
"Because you have an incredible intelligence and an instinct for medicine. I suspect I will be kept on my toes."
A blush swept up. "Says a world renown physician to a woman who never even finished the schoolroom."
He leaned across and rested a hand on the bed. "Then it makes me a sound judge of intelligence," he said in a low, husky tone and his eyes fell to her lips.
Her heart skipped a beat and she glanced at his mouth so close that his breath caressed. "Will you make love to me once I'm healed from the babe?" Her voice came out breathless.
"Once we are wed again." He leaned closer. "I will make love to you for days," he whispered and his lips pressed against hers.
A tiny wail filled the air.
He broke the kiss and smiled. Then he fetched Charles from the palette and handed him over. "He's hungry."
Once the babe settled into nursing, Mark leaned forward and nibbled her neck. She giggled. "Your beard tickles, but I very much like it. I've never liked beards before. But yours is so sexy. Don't shave it off."
He growled. "You say such things when I can do nothing about this need for you, woman?" His lips trailed down her collarbone.
"My goodness, you are in need, aren't you? I should get dressed."
A deep growl in his chest answered. "Did I say you may?"
A soft laugh. "I love it when you're surly. May I have my clothes now?"
"No," he panted and guided her hand between his legs, and he kissed her jaw. "You do not have chills and you do not mind me seeing your nakedness. I'm sore and stressed and tired and will have you as I want a while longer."
A thrill of pleasure ran through at his words. "Yes, Mark. But the babe - "
"Has been asleep."
She glanced down. Charles hadn't even started nursing before returning to slumber.
"Tanya, there must be something wrong with me that I still want you even when you're not well." His chest heaved and the kisses grew more passionate.
A smile bloomed as her heart melted. "No, Mark. It simply means that you love me enough to not see what's on the outside."
"I do love you," he whispered against her neck. "I love you more everyday."
