Author's Note: We're just one week away from the mini-series coming out! Yay! A few sidenotes. ABC Family has dedicated a part of their main site to Fallen. There's a forum and pictures and such there, so go check it out. On the Fallen RPG (which everyone is invited to) to which I have a link in my profile, my friend Erek posted some awesome icons, so go see those too. Ok so this part is a little longer than the other two. I have more commentary in the end.

Third Trimester

It was a perfectly square sandbox lined with pieces of identical strips of wood on each side. The yellow sand that lay about ankle deep was not the ordinary kind one would expect to find in the playground. Rather it felt like t came directly from the ocean. It even smelled salty. There were no toys, but nonetheless a boy of no more then four or five sat on the edge, idly doodling in the sand with a stick.

"What've you got there, munchkin?" Taylor squatted behind him, thankful that at least in her reams there was no seven months pregnant belly to get in her way.

"I'm drawing a picture," though he didn't turn his head, she could hear the smile in his voice. "Wanna see?"

"Sure," placing a hand on his shoulder, she leaned over and peered at the crude drawing in the sad. She expected to see nothing more than random lines, maybe a few shapes, but the picture before her was more defined. She couldn't make out quite what it was, but there was a something about it that was unmistakable: the outline of a pair of wings.

"Is that a bird?" the child just laughed as if the suggestion was the silliest thing in the world.

"No," he shook his dark locks.

"A… dragon?"

"Nope."

"Okay, I give up," Taylor surrendered. "What is it?"

The boy giggled again and slowly turned his head towards her. That was when Taylor finally saw his face, or more specifically, his eyes. Like twin black whirlpools. Just like his father's. Without realizing it, she shot to her feat and took an involuntary step back. The boy also rose, not seeming to mind her sudden change in behavior, and smiled.

"It's an angel," he said, and something about his voice sounded strangely different.

Taylor felt her heart pound as she shot up in bed, her forehead drenched in a sheen of sweat. It took her a minute to regain her breath as she managed to sit up more or less properly with a pillow propped behind her back. The alarm clock on her nightstand blinked 2:46 a.m., and she reached over to turn on the light to the lowest setting, before burring her face in her hands to try and compose herself.

Why did she have that dream? It was more than just a collection of random images. She'd never had a dream that was so vivid or fresh in her mind when she awoke. Taylor could still smell the salt from the sand and feel the softness of her son's hair against her fingertips. Yes, there was no doubt in her mind that the boy in the dream was her unborn son.

It wasn't the fact that she'd dreamed about him that bothered her. In the last month, as the idea of motherhood was becoming more and more real, Taylor often thought about what it would be like. First words, first day of kindergarten, first trip to the zoo, but in all her dreams she was always one step ahead of the game. It was her subconscious, after all, and Taylor was usually pretty good about distinguishing the dream world from reality. What surprised her this time was that she had no idea what the boy was drawing let alone why he was drawing it. As if he wasn't part of her subconscious at all. As if he had a mind of his own.

"If you've got something to tell me," she rubbed a palm over the now impressive bulge on her belly. "You can wait till you learn to talk. 'Kay, little man? I've been pretty good about all this so far, but I draw the line at ominous dreams. Now what say we both get back to sleep?"

Though not yet born, the baby had already developed some patterns that Taylor could keep track of. When she slept, so did he, which meant minimal movement and therefore rest for her. Right before a meal, when she was starting to feel hungry, her son was particularly aggressive, demanding the food. Taylor turned off the light and rolled to her other side, feeling the child shift within her, and tried to find a more comfortable position letting sleep overtake her once again.

Unfortunately the blissful oblivion didn't last. The second time Taylor awoke, pain was shooting up her lower back and through her abdomen. She clutched her stomach, barely able to breath, but when the pain stopped a moment after it began, it was as if nothing ever happened. Taylor sat up, confused. What was that? It couldn't have possibly been a contraction. She was only seven months along. Granted, her child was slightly bigger than was expected at this stage, and first babies did arrive early sometimes, but seven months was just too soon.

It's probably just cramps, she though, swinging her legs to the side of the bed. I must've fallen asleep in a bad position, and pinched a nerve somewhere. Maybe if I get up for a moment, it'll pass.

She slipped on a robe over her nightgown, not bothering to tie the sash and wandered down the stairs. Brandy was fast asleep by the front door. Faithfully guarding the house, I see, Taylor snickered to herself, before heading towards her kitchen. She opened the fridge and pulled out the half-gallon of milk, puring it into the glass that stood on the counter. It never made it to her mouth.

The glass shattered, spilling milk all over the linoleum floor, and her own legs buckled. Too soon! It's too soon!


Voices. Chatter and yelling, all mixed in with the sound of rolling wheels. A dim light overhead that occasionally got blurred by a face in a white mask looking down. So much confusion.

"Miss Corbet? Can you hear me? You're at a hospital."

A hospital? Why?

"How far along are you? We think you've gone into premature labor."

What does that mean?

"Miss Corbet?"

Go away...

The voices of doctors and nurses only bothered her. Taylor would have given anything to disappear into the dark oblivion of her dreams, where nothing was ever loud or confusing or painful. These people were trying to keep her focused on the real world when all she wanted to do was rest, but something in the back of her mind kept calling out to her. It was a kinder voice, soft yet insistent.

"Mom."

In the darkness that was her mind, Taylor turned and opened her eyes. It wasn't a child that she saw this time, but a young man, probably a few years under twenty. And if her son's child version had his fathers eyes, there was definitely no denying it now. Then he smiled, and Taylor couldn't help but be reminded of her lover yet again.

"Didn't I tell you not to do this?" she asked in an annoyed tone that one would use when scolding a small child.

"You did," to her surprise he agreed, "and I'm sorry, but I had to see you." He looked down as if afraid of continuing the thought, but then met her gaze once more. "I'm not going to be able to remember any of this. Funny thing about still being in the womb is you've got all the knowledge of the world, but as soon as you're out in it, every thing's a complete tabula rasa. It means blank slate."

"I know what it means," Taylor replied indignantly, folding her arms. "How do I know you're not a figment of my imagination?"

The young man just smiled and shrugged. "You'll just have to trust me. Look, I don't have much time left. I just wanted to tell you," he took a step forward then stopped, once again deciding how to put his thoughts into words. "I just wanted to say, don't be scared. In the end, it'll all turn out okay."

He suddenly crossed the distance between them in one long stride and pulled her into a hug. "I love you, Mom," he whispered, "and I'm very sorry."

He pulled back before Taylor had a chance to respond and began to fade into the darkness. Recovering her wits, she stared at the disappearing figure of her son. "Wait," she called to him, and he paused, glancing back at her over his shoulder. "What's all this about angels?"

Her eyes opened to the bright lights of the delivery room, and Taylor found herself in bed, in a white hospital gown. Her dark hair was a sweaty mess, strands plastered over her neck and shoulders , and she felt incredibly weak, as if her heart could give out at any moment. There were a few nurses in the room, constantly checking some sort of equipment and glancing at her in concern every few minutes. Aside from the doctor standing at the foot of the bed reading her chart, she thought she also spotted another man. He too was dressed in a white doctor's coat, but there was something about him that unnerved her. Though he was clearly standing in the middle of the room, nurses walked past him as if there was no one there. Before she could ask, the doctor stepped to the side of the bed and looked down at her.

"How are you feeling, Miss Corbet?" the elder man asked.

"Like someone rammed a sharp needle down my spine," she replied, still barely able to keep her eyes open. "Please tell me this is just false labor and I don't have to push a human being through my body tonight."

"I'm afraid you do," she opened her mouth to protest, but the doctor continued. "We've given you a drug that was supposed to slow down the contractions, but I'm afraid it hasn't worked. Now, I don't want you to be alarmed. The baby is coming, but he's a very descent size for this stage of pregnancy, so I believe his chances are good. You're about nine centimeters dilated, so it'll be time to push soon."

Not having the strength to argue, she sank back onto the pillow and turned her head to look outside. It was still dark, but the barest glimmer of light could be seen on the horizon. This would be the dawn that greeted her son as he entered this world. Taylor would have thought it was poetic if another series of contractions hadn't hit her. She shut her eyes and tried to breath through the pain.


It was incredible. The doctor and nurses were baffled, saying that they hadn't seen anything like it before. A child that by all norms was supposed to spend at least two and a half more months in the womb was born perfectly healthy, with all vital organs fully functional, and of descent weight and size. Taylor didn't care about the miracle behind it. Her son was alright, and even though she was exhausted, there was a wonderful sense of euphoria. They washed the baby, who protested rather loudly, and placed him in a small cradle by her bed.

She couldn't take her eyes off hum. He was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. All the months of sleepless nights and bathroom visits were more than worth it. Taylor wanted to hold him, but the nurse had advised her against it. In her drained state, there was a chance she wouldn't be strong enough. So for now she was content to just lay on her side and watch him squirm and gurgle. Taylor yawned, and remembered that she was under orders to get some sleep. She needed rest if she wanted to get out of the hospital soon, and after getting over the trauma of being born, her son would demand to be fed. Reluctantly turning on her back, she made herself comfortable, but before she had the chance to fall asleep, Taylor saw a man sitting in a chair across the room.

It was the same man she saw when she was brought into delivery, she recalled, the one that didn't seem to belong. Now that she got a better look at him, that feeling only grew stronger. He was dressed in a typical doctor's coat, with dark curls tumbling to the nape of his neck, and watched her carefully with piercing green eyes. Taylor shivered.

"You're not a doctor, are you?" The man stood, and for a second, Taylor could see beyond the physical appearance, and images of armor made of light and wings the color of coal flashed in her mind. She blinked, and everything returned to normal. "Let me guess," sarcasm was heavy in Taylor's voice. "You're an angel."

"An archangel, yes," he corrected. "My name is Michael."

"Wonderful. First this one," she looked at the tiny bed where her son lay warped up in a light blue cloth, "and now you."

"The child... spoke to you?"

"I know it sounds crazy, but yeah he did, before he was born."

"What did he say?" the question was asked calmly, as if what she'd just said was perfectly normal.

Taylor stared at him, wondering why she was telling this to a perfect stranger – and clearly a crazy one at that – but something compled her to continue. "He said he was sorry, and that everything would turn out okay. Does that have something to do with why you're here?"

"Yes," the archangel agreed. "I am here to bring you home, Taylor Corbet."

It didn't take her long to understand his meaning. "I am going to die," it wasn't a question.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Your death is unfortunate, Taylor Corbet, but also necessary."

"Why? Why would you separate me from my son?" she demanded, fighting back tears. "Why would you allow him to be left alone here?"

"If you are allowed to remain with him, they will come, and they will kill you both."

" 'They'?"

"The Powers."

"Gee, that's helpful," but she didn't want to know who the Powers were or why this man seemed to think they were after her child. The world began to feel hazy, and Taylor realized that she was incredibly tired. Suddenly the truth of his words seemed undeniable. She really was going to die. "He's just a baby..."

"He is much more than that," the archangel shook his head. "He is the One, a messiah to all fallen angels."

Taylor didn't have a clue what he was talking about, but considered the statement nonetheless. "No."

"No?" If it was possible, the archangel looked surprised.

"I may not have read my Bible from cover to cover, but I know that messiahs don't usually end well."

"His life will not be easy, that is true," Michael agreed, "but you cannot imagine how much good, how much hope he will bring to my fallen brethren."

"I don't care about angels!" she balled her firsts at her sides.

"Do you care about that child's father?" the archangel raised an inquisitive brow. "He is among those to be saved." The statement silenced her instantly. "Does that convince you?"

Wordlessly, Taylor nodded. There was no logical reason why she should suddenly believe in angels or prophesies, but with the mention of her lover, everything suddenly fell into place. Her muscles relaxed as she accepted the inevitable truth. "Let me hold him."

"Of course." The angel moved towards the crib and carefully picked up the newborn, placing him gently into his mother's arms. Taylor cradled her son as best as she could and leaned down to kiss his forehead, tears streaming down her face and falling onto the crown of her baby's head. Clearly startled by the new sensation, the boy opened his eyes to stare at her in confusion. There was no about about it: he was definitely his father's son.

"Now listen to me," she whispered so that only he could here. "I know you won't remember this, but maybe you'll be able to feel it in your heart. I love you so much, Aaron," the name suddenly came to her, "and I am very sorry for leaving you, but I'll do anything to keep you safe. When you meet your daddy, tell him that I still love him, okay? Can you do that for me?" She couldn't seem to keep from crying. "I'll watch over you, I promise."

"It is time to go, Taylor Corbet," she reluctantly handed the child back to the angel.

"Would you... would you make sure they name him what I asked?" she inquired, and Michael nodded. "Thank you."

And as the world slowly faded to black, she fealty no pain, only anxiety about the future her son faced. The last thing Taylor saw before the darkness consumed her, was her precious child, peacefully asleep in his crib.


19 years later,

None of the cemetery's few visitors saw him, but suddenly there he was. A young man just over eighteen stood at a gravestone and placed a single white lily at the top of the marker.

Taylor Corbet

1959-1986

Dearest Friend, Beloved Mother

"May you fly on angel's wings"

Wordlessly, he rested his hand against the cold stone and shivered in the wind of the New England autumn. Closing his eyes, he listened for a moment, tuning out all sounds of the world around him. He had been trying for a months to recall the image of her face that came to him within the deadly red fog that was Hell, but nothing seemed to work. He had hoped that perhaps this place might help.

The sound of footsteps echoed on the ground, and he tried to ignore them, but quickly realized that they were heading his way. Before he could turn and see who it was, he heard a woman's voice. "You're Aaron, right? Taylor's kid."

He turned and saw that it was indeed a woman somewhere in her mid forties. She was dressed in a long coat and also healed a bouquet of flowers.

"Yeah," he nodded, looking back at the headstone. "How'd you know?"

"You look just like her," the woman smiled. "Except for..."

"My eyes. Yeah, I know."

"Right," she extended her hand. "I'm Karen. I was a friend of your mom's."

"Nice to meet you," Aaron shook her hand politely.

"She was an amazing person," Karen offered. "I'm sorry you didn't get a chance to know her."

Aaron sighed, closing his eyes, and letting the wind play through his dark hair that had become quite untamed recently. "I think I did know her," he whispered. "At least for a moment.

Author's End Notes: Though I know that it is a general rule that mother's of Nephilim don't make it, Taylor's death in particular was of great importance. In the books, when Belphegor told Verchiel that Aaron was Lucifer's son, Verchiel swore up and down that any woman who was ever with Lucifer was killed. Clearly a higher power protected Taylor during her pregnancy, but once Aaron was born apparently all bets were off. I do feel very sorry for her. To me she was never just simply the woman who gave birth to the fallen's messiah. Lucifer obviously loved her, therefore she was also part of the prophesy. If I get around to writing that AU fic, I'll get a chance to explore both her and Lucifer much further. Till then, my friends, and please review.