"Blackbird singing in the dead of night,
Take these broken wings and learn to fly,
All your life,
You were only waiting for this moment to arise."

— Blackbird
The Beatles

Six weeks. That had to be a record. They had six weeks of marital bliss before things started to go south again. They spent their days after work playing with the dogs and cuddled up in front of the fire, unable to get enough of each other.

Betelgeuse felt like nothing could touch this. Greg was gone, her folks hadn't come looking for her, and Sarah seemed to have fucked off back to whatever hole she'd crawled out of. His afterlife, for once, seemed perfect.

Then the vomiting started. Every morning like clockwork, his sweet wife was rolling out of bed and making a mad dash for the bathroom. He'd learned to keep up with her, ready to draw her long hair back and away from her face as she was sick. It seemed no matter what he fed her, what he had her sip, or gave her to settle her stomach, she was sick. Really sick.

That morning, nearly two weeks after the illness had started, Betel slipped out of bed, lifting her into his arms. He had to keep her close. If one of his many black-list peers was behind this, he couldn't afford to leave her unattended. He took himself straight to the waiting room, knocking at Carmen's window sharply.

"Cara mia, don't worry. I'm gonna fix it." He knocked again when she didn't answer. "CARMEN! I gotta see Juno. ASAP. My girl's sick, I… Ya gotta help me out here…"

Eventually, Miss Argentina returned from the back area, entirely too comfortable with her slow pace for Betelgeuse's tastes. Then, she saw who it was calling for her… and who he had with him. With the same curiosity of the family dog inspecting a newborn, Miss Argentina peered at the clammy living girl through the glass, eyes large and lips forming a perfectly surprised "o". How long had it been since she'd seen a living, breathing person? Not since the night she slit her wrists in her dressing room.

"Y-yeah," she stuttered, gathering herself. No snappy back-and-forths today. Betelgeuse meant business. "Sure thing." The phone was already in her hand, ringing. "Boss? It's Betel. He has his... wife with him. Says she's sick…? Alright, he's coming back."

Lydia was full of weak, half-hearted protests from the get-go. She had heard a lot about this Juno woman and didn't want to meet her whole she was so… disheveled. She wasn't even dressed yet, still wearing the nightgown she went to sleep in, hair tangled and flesh sheened with sweat.

"Beej…" She pouted, brows furrowed deeply, panting against his neck as she burrowed closer for the relief his chilled flesh offered. "It's nothing. Just a bug or something. It'll pass. Let's go home."

He gave Carmen a nod of thanks as he pressed through the door, Lydia still cradled to his chest. Despite her protests that it was just a bug, he was legitimately concerned. What if someone had poisoned her? What if she'd caught something terminal while waiting on a customer? Could the dead pass on illnesses? He himself had put her at risk if they could.

"Shhh… Mia, let me do this. Please."

He let them into the office, staring at the woman who'd slowly become like a mother to him. Juno had seen him through Sarah, through his break from the office, and his imprisonment. If anyone could help him now, it would be her.

A creature of habit, he settled in the chair across from her desk, adjusting Lydia in his lap to keep her comfortable. "Ma… ya gotta help us. My girl's real sick. I thought this was supposed to stop when we got married." He'd seen her sick before, curled up in the chair in the attic and nursing sniffles, but it had never been like this.

Ma? Lydia lifted up from where she was burrowed against him to inspect the woman he would address this way. He'd never said anything about Juno being his mother. Was this her mother-in-law? What a horrifying concept.

"Hello," she offered meekly, embarrassed by the circumstances behind their meeting. "I'm—"

Before she could finish introducing herself, Juno lit a cigarette. Just as she had done for the past two weeks whenever Betelgeuse lit up around her, Lydia very suddenly gagged, squirming in his lap to aim her retching to the floor. In an instant, a trash can appeared to catch the sick which was comprised of little more than water and stomach acid.

"Oh God," she groaned cringing and burying her face in Betelgeuse's jacket to drown out the acrid scent. The fabric smelled like tobacco too, but it was different. More muted, yet fresher and familiar in a way that didn't send her heaving. "I'm Lydia."

Catching the hint, Juno stubbed her cigarette out in a nearby ashtray, banishing any residual smoke with a flourish of her wrist.

"I know who you are, girl," the older woman informed not unkindly. "I've heard a lot about you. Your husband's right, by the way. A rare occurrence, I know." A flash of a smirk at the vastly unamused Betelgeuse did little to reassure him that all was well. "You're not supposed to get sick. Which means this is something else…"

Considering them both carefully through a shifting gaze, Juno's fingers twitched to light another cigarette, but she refrained.

"When was your last period?"

Lydia froze, counting back the weeks. She had missed one, hadn't she?

"But… I can't…"

The caseworker burst into a gale of laughter, interrupting the girl before she could continue.

"'Can't' is a word you should strike from your vocabulary, little girl. Betel, c'mon, you know how your powers work, don't you? Put two and two together. Have you been thinking about certain things while doing certain things?"

He winced when she started to be sick, his fingers twitching for the cigarette he couldn't have. He hated seeing his wife so miserable. All he could do was hold her hair and rub her back. It was terrible.

At the implication that this could be morning sickness of all things, he scowled. Impossible. Though for him, that didn't exist… He looked down at his wife with wide eyes. Was that… could that be?

"I… oh. Oh my god… How? I know how but… what'duh we do? To make sure?" He was staring at his wife's stomach now, his mind racing at the possibility that his child was growing there as they spoke. "Lyds…. I… I think yer pregnant…"

The whole scene was entirely too comical to be legal as far as Juno was concerned.

"How do you make sure!?" She repeated, cackling. "I'd start with a pregnancy test. You can find them in any corner store topside. I have to say though if this is what I think it, it's a… unique set of circumstances."

Juno had seen children birthed from the dead, born dead and meant to spend their entire lives in the Neitherworld, but they were recycled souls. They weren't biological products of their parents, even if the process looked the same.

"I'm not sure exactly what you two can expect. This isn't at all typical. I would recommend against seeing a living doctor. If there's no heartbeat, they might think something's wrong and take drastic measures when everything's fine."

They both looked shaken, like two scared children in way over their heads. Her mirth faded.

"I'd lay low for a while if I were you. Stay between home and work, no unnecessary outings. Keep an eye on that girl, Betel. If she's really having your kid… You know there are people who aren't gonna like that."

He nodded gravely. There were already people reporting him for bringing his wife to the Neitherworld at all. He didn't want to imagine what they might do when they found out she was growing an entirely new life right under their noses.

He turned to his wife and took her hand. "Let's go take a test. I don't want you to freak out until we know for sure… and even then, whatever the test says we can work through. You and me forever, remember?"

He stood and pulled Lydia back into his arms. "Thank you, ma. I'll let ya know what happens. Send ya a cigar or somethin'…" He carried his wife out past the Waiting Room. As they left a bouquet of yellow roses appeared on Carmen's desk, the note attached saying: Thanks, Car! You're a gem. Your Friend, Betel. P.S. Send ya an invite to the shower.

When they were finally home, Betel took her straight to the master bath, setting her on the counter and summoning not one, but three different pregnancy tests. "Gotta be sure here… lemme know if ya need anything. Tea? I'll get ya tea."

Lydia was stuck in a sort of shocked daze all through the rest of the conversation with Juno and all the way back to the house. She didn't even take advantage of the opportunity to look her fill of the waiting room, somewhere she had once wanted to visit very badly against her husband's wishes. Confused and still taken with nausea, she blinked down at the different pregnancy tests in her lap, all varying colors and brands and waiting periods.

"Peppermint please." Lydia hated peppermint tea, but currently, it was the only thing she thought she might be able to stomach. "No honey."

She waited until he came back with the requested hot beverage before even attempting the first test. Using a tiny cup she saved a sample of urine for each of them, dipped each stick for at least ten seconds to make sure it was thoroughly coated and there could be no errors, laid them out on the counter to wait, and then emerged from the bathroom, unable to stand checking on her own.

What if they were negative? What if they were positive? Both options were equally terrifying. With a pitiful little noise, she threw herself into her awaiting husband's arms and he caught her readily.

"They should all be done in ten minutes. What did she mean 'how your powers work'? I'm so confused. I can't be pregnant. You know I can't be pregnant. It's not possible. It doesn't make any sense."

Peppermint? She was really sick. He hurried to make it, his head pounding with confusion and elation. If this was really happening… it was a miracle.

He settled her beside him when she came back, taking her hand and squeezing gently. "It… could be possible… my magic all has to do with intent. If I wish it hard enough, it can happen… and… that night. After Sarah… I was thinking about it. Hard."

He leaned in to kiss her cheek gently. "Are you mad? Upset? Scared? I can't get a read here, babes… if yer upset, I'm sorry… I really didn't know it would work, I mean… I don't know what I mean."

Lydia focused to answer his question, trying to pull apart and dissect her muddled emotions.

"Not mad. Scared I guess? Juno, she— she said I can't go to a living doctor, and she didn't say anything about doctors down here. I guess that's not a thing, right? Why would dead people need doctors?"

A nervous stream of unnaturally high-pitched giggles escaped past her lips before changing into a dying groan, one that had her yanking at her hair anxiously.

"I don't— I've never even changed a diaper before! What if something's wrong? What if I need a C-section? How are we supposed to know?"

A deep-seated fear emerged, one that had never troubled her before but now seemed a terrifyingly likely possibility given her own mediocre parents.

"What if I'm a bad mom?"

He rubbed her back soothingly through her miniature panic, pressing kisses to her temple and cheek as she spoke. "The doctors down here ain't shit, but I'm sure we can find a midwife. She'll know all that shit, okay?"

The last question pained him, and he turned her to look him in the eye. "Lydia. You are gonna be a fantastic mother. You're caring, compassionate, and empathetic. Not to mention you cook and sew like nobody else. This kid is gonna be spoiled beyond belief! I mean… look at the pets! And those aren't even yer kids!"

He pressed a kiss to the middle of her forehead, sighing softly. "I think yer gonna be perfect. It's me we gotta worry about." A timer went off behind her and he jumped, nearly dumping her off his lap in his haste. "Time's up… come on, let's go see what the tests say."

He made a good point. The babies were all thoroughly spoiled by both of them, though Lydia often did most of the spoiling. Most nights they got fresh meat cut up onto their kibble, and Lydia always supplemented their meals with a tablespoon of salmon oil for their coats and joints. Betelgeuse told her there was no point in going to such measures for hellhounds, but they liked it and Lydia wasn't hearing anything to the contrary.

Terrified and excited and full of too many other emotions to sort and name, she followed behind him on lead-feet, heart pounding in her chest. It was ready to drop should the test come out negative and solidify that she really couldn't have babies, or contrarily burst through her chest if it was positive.

Once they passed the threshold into the bathroom, her face dropped into her palms in an effort to quell her residual anxious nausea.

"I can't look," she whimpered into her hands. "What does it say?"

He approached the tests slowly, as though they might bite. What does it say? None of them said shit! He frowned at them for a moment. "Uh…. where's the box?"

He fished them out of the trash to interpret, sliding his glasses on to read the small print. He looked like a grandfather, holding the box a good three feet away from him to read the instructions. Positive.

He checked the next box.

Positive.

The third.

Positive.

All positive. All taken correctly. He grinned, tossing the box over his shoulder and sweeping Lydia up into his arms. "We're havin' a baby, baby!"

Sudden overwhelming joy coursed through her as she was twirled through the air, so strong and surprising it was almost enough to overpower the churning in her gut from getting spun around like that. Almost.

Flailing, she pushed off of him to rush to the toilet and heave, losing a good bit of her tea. At least it wasn't too terrible coming back up.

"Gimme a minute," she grimaced, catching her breath, "I'm happy, I am, just… this part sucks."

Once she was sure this wave of nausea had passed, she straightened to melt back into her husband's chest. For the past two weeks, he was reliably at her back whenever she was having these bouts of sickness and now was no different.

"Oh my God," she breathed, awed, overcome with love for the being growing inside of her. Pale hands smoothed over her still-flat stomach as she slowly came to terms with the fact that they had done the impossible. "Oh my God. There's so much we need to do! I need prenatal vitamins and books, and— and—"

There had to be more to it than that. Immediately, Barbara Maitlands' disapproving face flashed across her mind and her own expression fell. Barbara would know what to do, but she also wouldn't want anything to do with this baby.

"Beej," Lydia turned in his arms, eyes wide with a mixture of excitement and trepidation, "all I know about babies is what I've seen on TV. I've never even held a baby and something tells me you're not much better off than I am. We're fucked."

He winced and followed her to the toilet, pulling her hair out of her way as she lost her tea. He was elated. They were having a baby! A real child that would grow inside his beautiful wife… hopefully would look like her too. He secretly hoped for a girl, though he knew not to get his hopes up.

He littered kisses down her neck and shoulders as she fell into him, his hand waving idly at the counter as she listed things she'd need. They all appeared, alongside a baby blanket, a stuffed hellhound, and a silver rattle that looked to be antique.

"We're not fucked. We can figure it out! I mean… maybe we should chat up someone who's had a kid. Or at least been around a kid… I think my neighbor and his girl have a kid now. We could ask them! Or Ginger! She knows everything."

Ginger did know everything. Maybe that wasn't such a bad idea. The spider would be over the moon to hear the news, she was such a sap sometimes, crying at the drop of a hat over the silliest things. Neighbor?

"We don't have any neighbors…"

That train of thought was abandoned once she witnessed all the baby things materializing on the counter, countenance crumpling at the rattle and stuffed animal in particular. It was completely different from the one she kept as a child, but she was immediately thrown back in time, back to a day when her mother was sober and Lydia had a stuffed black teddy bear that followed her everywhere she went. Quite abruptly, she was leaking tears, slowly crossing the tile to take the soft thing up in her arms and hug it close to her chest. They were having a baby.

"I'm," she sniffled, complexion blotchy, crying full force now, "so— happy!"

He was startled when she started crying, suddenly worried that he'd said something wrong. He followed her to the counter, relaxing when he realized that they were happy tears.

"I'm happy too, Lyds… I… I didn't think I was ever gonna get to…" He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to compose himself before he started in on the waterworks himself. "You're havin' my baby…"

He scooped her up, stuffie and all and made for the bedroom, settling her at the foot of the bed. "We're havin' a baby!" Tilly jumped up to lay her heavy head in her mistress's lap as though to remind them that she was the baby. Bubbie was right behind her, whining when he saw that his mama was crying.

Betel shook his head, starting to pace. A baby. A real baby… there was so much to do. They needed a nursery, and baby clothes, and a bassinet. They needed a midwife first and foremost… maybe Carmen could do some digging for him.

Three Months Later

By the end of the first trimester, almost all of the important boxes had been checked. From day one, Betelgeuse had set to work making sure everything was in place for the impending bundle of terror. They had a nursery full of furniture he carved and stained himself— he made a big show of dressing up like a lumberjack and cutting down a thick tree at the edge of the property, just to make her laugh.

True to Lydia's prediction, Ginger sobbed endlessly at the news and took it upon herself to start a new line of infant and maternity clothes in honor of the event, telling them they were welcome to anything they wanted from the shop. Betelgeuse hated that she was still going to work, but Lydia wouldn't be dissuaded. He would have been happy to keep her on permanent bed rest with a little bell to ring whenever she wanted something, just like the high-class ladies of his time were kept whenever they were with child.

It was only after she showed him statistics proving that inactivity was more likely to cause complications that he let up on the issue. Their compromise was to cut back on her hours; Fridays off, and four hours a day instead of six. While Betelgeuse rounded off sharp edges around the house and in general went wild with the big bad Daddy act, Lydia worked her way through the books. It was awful. Some of them said silly things like "not to hold the baby too much or it would be spoiled"— that one went directly in the trash. Others listed in explicit, gory detail all the things that could possibly go wrong in the delivery room. Betelgeuse had to take those away from her so she wouldn't stress herself.

All three of them, including the midwife— an absolute angel of a woman named Moira that was burned at the stake for the crime of successfully delivering too many babies in her superstitious village— had concluded that an at-home water birth was the best route to take given their limited options and the uniqueness of the situation.

Despite how much ground had been covered, Lydia still felt deeply unprepared. Today found her waking up at the crack of dawn to empty her guts into the toilet, the way she had spent every morning for the past three months. The morning sickness was getting better, but it was still there and now strange cravings accompanied it. Double-checking that Betelgeuse was still asleep, Lydia quietly beckoned the dogs off the bed to follow her outside. The hunger needed to be sated and under no circumstances did she want Betelgeuse to see this.

Once outside, she dropped to the ground and started digging through the dirt on her hands and knees until she struck gold; a fat, wriggling worm, almost as long as her hand. Disgusted with herself, she slurped it down like a spaghetti noodle, sighing in relief at the sensation of its wiggling down her throat. That hit the spot.

It was cute that she thought she could hide from him. The moment she slipped out of bed he started his usual count to ten before following. He watched as she went rifling through the dirt, raising an eyebrow. Definitely his kid then.

He put on a sleepy expression and trudged outside in his bathrobe and a pair of fuzzy slippers, yawning loudly. "Baby? What're ya doin' all the way out here? Tilly woke me up. She's worried about ya…"

The dogs had been even more obsessed with Lydia than before, her scent changing as the baby grew. Now, Betel was taken aback by the sight of his wife, realizing for the first time that her stomach was no longer the flat, nearly concave thing it had been. She was showing.

He grinned, reaching for her. "Lyds! Ya got a belly!"

The sound of his voice startled her out of her shameful scavenge for more snacks.

What're ya doin' all the way out here?

"Nothing!" She shouted defensively with wide eyes, hiding dirt-gritted nails behind her back. Something told her she had been found out. It wasn't that she thought he would disapprove so much as this new appetite was embarrassing and she wasn't quite ready to talk about it.

Lyds! Ya got a belly!

Puzzled, she looked down at her stomach as he pulled her up from the bothered soil only to gasp and smooth guilty, dirty hands over it. She did have a bump! It had sprung up overnight, just barely nudging forward beneath her nightie, making the delicate material pull taut. It must have been more pronounced when she was hunched over on the ground.

"Beej," she beamed, happy little tears already sprouting at the corner of her eyes. She was so emotional nowadays, it was gross. "You can see our bug!"

That was the cutesy nickname she'd taken to calling it since they wouldn't know the sex until birth. Considering her mouth was salivating for something crunchy with lots of legs, it seemed apt.

He dropped to his knees, his eyes welling with tears as he ran a hand reverently over the swell in her stomach. "Buggy… Look atcha… gettin' bigger every day!" He pressed his lips over her stomach excitedly, wondering if the baby could tell yet that he was there.

"You got ears in there? Can ya hear me? I'm yer dad… god, I can't wait t'meet ya.." He snuffled, a tear rolling down his cheek. He looked up at his wife, taken with how absolutely perfect she was.

He stood and kissed her roughly, pulling her against him until he could feel that firm bump pressed against his stomach. He wasn't at all bothered by the aftertaste of her little snack.

"Come inside. I'll make ya some tea and get ya somethin' better to eat than worms. We can cuddle before work, huh?"

Get ya somethin' better to eat than worms.

At this, Lydia flushed a shade of crimson he hadn't seen on her in a while. The jig was up, then. Abashed, she followed him inside, a rambunctious Beelzebub tumbling in after them. He was much bigger these days, but not anywhere near full grown. He was convinced he was still a lapdog, though, and was going to face a rude awakening when her stomach expanded to a point that made snuggling the way he liked impossible.

Lydia was dying for a cup of coffee, but all the books and the midwife had strictly forbidden that kind of caffeine intake. Instead, Moira had her on a special blend of herbal tea that was supposedly beneficial to pregnant women. It tasted okay enough sweetened with honey, but it just wasn't the same.

"Mmm," Lydia hummed, searching the pantry while Betelgeuse prepared her tea, "how about… pancakes. With bacon and eggs and toast. Oh! And fried tomatoes, and lots and lots of cheese and syrup and butter. Anything worth eating has butter."

She wasn't really asking his opinion. Ravenous, she was already pulling out all the ingredients to get to work on a full English breakfast. It wasn't a centipede, but it would get the job done and wouldn't leave her mortified.

His eyebrows shot up as she listed everything she wanted to eat, but he didn't comment. If his little Bug wanted to eat all that, then they could.

He settled at the counter to watch her cook, conjuring himself a bag of roasted crickets to munch on. He was sure she'd want some of those too if she could get past being weirded out.

"Can I put jam on that toast? How about I make us some orange juice too. I think I can manage that… lemme help. Just a little." He couldn't help but stare at that lovely little bump and how it displaced her nightie as she moved. He couldn't wait to watch it grow even bigger. Their baby was in there. For real.

Lydia bustled busily over the stove, one skillet frying eggs, another filled with bacon and sausage, and yet another sizzling tomato slices in borrowed bacon grease and butter. A griddle off to the side had pancakes frying and she didn't seem to be having any trouble hovering seamlessly between each dish, flipping and jostling and forcing herself not to just dig the half-cooked food out of the hot pans and eat it as it was.

"Uhhh," she dawdled distractedly when he started talking about toast and orange juice. "Yeah, sure, make toast." He could probably be trusted with toast. The mention of orange juice brought a nostalgic smile to her face, slowing the ferocity of her cooking for a moment.

"Beetle drink?" She quoted herself, grinning silly at him. "Beetle… breakfast?" A pancake flip punctuated the joke. "Beetle…. Juice?"

The draw of his crickets was too strong and Lydia hasted to grab a handful without meeting his gaze, groaning at the flavor as seasoned exoskeleton crunched beneath her teeth.

"It's so gross," she sobbed without tears, but threw back a few more anyway, "but so good."

He chuckled at her little joking walk down memory lane, leaning in to nip at her neck before going to make toast. He hummed as he spread butter, then jam onto the pieces.

He grinned when she went for the crickets. He'd really gotten them for her anyway. "It's not gross! You eat dead animals all the time. That's all it is. And it's good protein!"

He summoned a pitcher of juice as he set the toast on the table, sliding in behind his wife when he was finished. His hand found her belly, rubbing slow circles over it. "Buggy has her daddy's taste, I guess…" He wasn't sure why, but he was certain that it would be a girl.

Lydia found it sweet that he was so sure it was going to be a girl. Her father often lamented not being able to do "boy" things with her, so it was a refreshing change from what she was expecting. After loading two plates up high with everything, she gave him his and settled at the table to dig in.

Insects were tasty and all, but they couldn't replace a hearty meal. Pre-pregnancy Lydia would ordinarily eat a small amount, good enough for a girl of her size, before calling it quits. However, this baby was ravenous. She gorged herself, eating everything on the plate and then returning to the stove for seconds, barely even stopping to make conversation with her husband while she ate. She still retained table manners, but they were slipping in her urgency to devour.

Only once she had eaten an obscene amount of food was she satisfied, leaning back sleepily in her chair and rubbing her full, bulging belly. Lydia didn't seem cognizant of the fact that she was eating enough to satisfy three fully grown men, only that she wanted food and she wanted it when she wanted it, which was often.

"I'm stuffed," she yawned, making a move to transfer herself into her husband's lap as he had long since finished his one plate. Lazy and gorged, she felt ready to return to a hibernating state. "Don't have work for a couple of hours. You promised me cuddles."

He didn't comment on her food intake. After all, she was growing an entirely new person. If she was hungry, he'd feed her. As often as she liked.

He smiled and pulled her further into his lap as she settled there, her eyes closing before she even hit his chest. He chuckled softly and scooped her up, heading for the bedroom. "Cuddles it is."

Tilly looked up when they appeared, excitedly jumping up to greet them. She nosed her way in to put her chin on the baby bump, wagging her tail as though she could feel something they couldn't.

Betel settled his sleepy wife on her side facing him, lying beside her to let her use him as a body pillow. Lately, she'd been bullying him into any position she wanted, and he really couldn't say he minded. As long as she and baby bug were comfortable, he couldn't ask for more.