"I'll have a blue Christmas without you,
I'll be so blue just thinking about you,
Decorations of red on a green Christmas tree,
Won't be the same, dear, if you're not here with me."
— Blue Christmas
Elvis Presley
The holiday season was upon them and things were in full swing. Bug was due any day now. Both Lydia and her husband were on edge, jumping whenever the baby made the slightest move. Betelgeuse was just as diligent and attentive as always, becoming overbearingly so as they came closer to the due date.
"It's fine," she had to brush him off more than once any time she grunted from a particularly hard kick or had to sit down suddenly without warning. Today found them toasting smores over the fire pit in the backyard, enjoying the unusually brisk weather. It was colder even than the night she went for her suicidal little swim in the pool. Tilly hadn't left her side all day, acting as a hulking white shadow wherever she went as if she was expecting something.
Betelgeuse would have preferred to keep her sequestered warm and cozy inside, but Lydia insisted. She was restless. She couldn't stay locked up in that house another minute.
"Good girl, Tilly," she praised, passing the gentle beast yet another marshmallow. Just then, a flurry of something very cold and icy brushed her face, and she puzzled a look up to the sky. It was swirling with white, lilac, and baby blue clouds; an unusual color for the Neitherworld. It looked more like something that would be seen above, in the living world.
"Beej," she gasped, smiling through the discomfort as bug gave a sudden, sharp kick. "It's snowing! It's—"
Bug kicked again. The muscles in her belly contracted painfully, making her double over and cry out, dropping her skewer right into the fire. There was a gush of wetness between her legs; copious and unpleasant, staining through the white gown she unwisely chose for their excursion.
"Moira," she panted, leaning all of her weight into him as he swiftly came to her side. "Need Moira."
As they got closer and closer to her due date, Betelgeuse became more and more anxious, lingering at her side in a way he hadn't before. There were so many things that could go wrong now. He was terrified, but he couldn't let that side show to Lydia.
The little break outside was a good idea. The roaring fire and the smile on his wife's face were enough to appease him until she was suddenly doubled over in pain. He stared at the sky, then his wife. Snow? In the Neitherworld? Unheard of. He scrambled to call for the midwife, the old witch appearing in a pop of sweet, sage-like smoke.
"Showtime, huh?" She nudged Betel and patted Lydia's hand. "Come on, dearie! Let's get you into the tub. Hubby, time to call anyone you want here."
He was still staring wide-eyed at the pinkish staining on her dress. Buggy was coming, and coming fast, it seemed. He hurried to the phone while Moira helped Lydia change into a birthing gown, for modesty's sake, and settle into the tub. It wasn't big enough. He shot a burst of juice toward it, widening it until she could stretch out and move comfortably without getting up.
"Babs? It's happening. Like happening... now happening. You guys gotta get here."
Contractions were Hell. This put every menstrual cramp Lydia had ever felt to shame. They'd had her in this godforsaken tub for hours. She didn't know how many and was afraid to ask, but it felt like an eternity had passed since the initial bout of muscle spasms that told them bug was coming.
"Ye can stay now, laddie," Moira warned Betelgeuse early on in the process, "but once it's time to push, ye will have to be on yer way. No men in the birthing room. Ye get too emotional. S'bad luck."
When Betelgeuse looked like he was about to object, another contraction came and Lydia squeezed his hand until his ancient fingers cracked.
"You listen to her, Betelgeuse!"
Adam and Barbara showed up not ten minutes after he made the call, flustered and worried and full of nerves like any proper pair of parents would be at the birthing of their grandchild. With her pure white slip floating in the water, Lydia would have looked for all the world like a virgin sacrifice were it not for her expansive belly.
The Maitlands were on… better terms with their unofficial son-in-law, but by no means could they be called chummy. They tolerated one another for Lydia's sake, and she loved them all the more for it. Today, however, their individual patiences were waning. In a rare moment when Betelgeuse left her side to light a smoke, Barbara jumped down his throat about it, never mind that Lydia had been permitting him to smoke around her since about midway through the pregnancy.
Too busy writhing in pain now for her to speak up on his behalf, he had no choice but to stub it out on the counter stubbornly and return to her side, rubbing soothingly at the tense neck and shoulder muscles.
"Aye," Moira started up an eternity later, tapping at the cracked pocket watch hanging from her neck and leveled the dead men in the room with a severe look, "three minutes apart now. Time for you and you to skedaddle."
This was the worst day of his existence. He was forced to do nothing more than watch his wife writhe in agony and live with the knowledge that he put her there. He stayed at her side as long as he possibly could, kissing and rubbing her face and shoulders, holding her hand through contractions. He was grateful in a way that the Maitlands were there. Their panic somehow justified his.
But then the contractions got closer together, and Moira was telling him to leave... that meant it was close, right? Bug was about to make an appearance. He pressed one last firm kiss on her lips and brushed her hair off of her sweaty face.
"I'll be right outside. I love you, Tesoro."
He went out into the hallway just outside their bedroom, pacing up and down the hall for several agonizing minutes. Adam just sat there and watched. He growled softly. "Say something, Maitland. Ya want to."
Adam Maitland was having a similarly horrible day. He was having to watch the only daughter he'd ever had or ever would have cringe and cry in agony with the knowledge that his worst enemy had put her there and he hadn't been there to do anything about it.
"We didn't leave because we wanted to."
The statement seemed nonsequitor and unrelated to anything, but it was clear what he was talking about. He was referencing the event that ultimately led Lydia to this hideous ghoul's arms, the day that Juno showed up and offered them a reprieve from their haunting.
"We left because we didn't want Lydia to waste her life away in that house with us. She would have, too. You know it. We knew it. We wanted her to get out of there. Live."
Adam didn't even question whether or not this horrible man loved her. How could he not? He waited on her hand and foot, she never wanted for anything. Oftentimes, he found himself jealous and bitter, wishing he could provide for Barbara half as well as this monster did for their daughter. Mr. Maitland had no doubt in his mind his granddaughter would get the same treatment.
"This isn't exactly the life we pictured for her… but I have to admit… I don't think she would have done any better with any of the assholes in that one-horse town."
This was the closest to a "good job" that Betelgeuse would ever get from the bespectacled ghost. It was an approval; a blessing. The blessing Betelgeuse had never asked for or even wanted. But there it was nonetheless. Before he could accept or mock it, or whatever his instincts inclined him to do on this awful day, a horrific cry made them both start, two sets of eyes locked on the forbidden door.
"BETELGEUSE!"
He halted his pacing to look at his unofficial father-in-law as he spoke. His arms crossed right across his chest, he nodded and stared at the man with a tired expression. "You're right. She either woulda ended up with some asshole that didn't love her right or turned into a spinster. I don't blame ya for goin'."
He recognized the acceptance for what it was, but it held little weight for him. He was about to say something more when the heart-wrenching cry came from his wife. He stared at the door, eyes wide.
"Fuck it!"
He popped in to the room, immediately at Lydia's side and taking her hand. "I'm here. I'm right here, baby... I got ya. You're almost there, kitten..." He had no idea of that was true, but he was desperate to get her mind off of the pain.
This baby was ripping her apart from the inside out. Indescribable pain wracked her body while Barbara comforted her from one side, Betelgeuse on the other, Moira assessing the situation between her legs and poor Adam banished to the hallway by his lonesome. That their no-nonsense midwife didn't bother shooing Betelgeuse out once he appeared was troubling.
"I'm scared, Beej," his wife wept before getting swept under by another wave of crippling agony, her broken cry echoing horribly around the tiled room. "I'm really scared. It hurts. I forgive you," she gasped, well aware that he was blaming himself for this pain. "It's not your fault. It's not—"
A choked cry cut her off, Barbara shushing and muttering to her sweetly all through it, though terror was clear on the Maitland woman's face as well. Moira's expression was frustratingly unreadable as she knelt in the tub-turned-pool, watching closely.
"Aye, sweet lass, it's time to push now. The babe is crowning. Now one… two… three… push!"
Giving it her all, an agonized groan tore from her throat as everything clenched up at once in an effort to squeeze their long-awaited bug out.
"I can see the head," Moira informed the room, ever calm and calculated. "Again, child."
"I can't," Lydia shook her head, sobbing and out of sorts, "I can't do it, I can't—"
"You can," Moira insisted with a hard gaze, imbuing as much confidence as she could in the girl with that one look. "One… two… three… push!"
The barbaric process was repeated a handful of times until Lydia was sure she would pass out from the sheer agony, but then she heard it. A baby's cry.
"It's a lass!"
She barely had the wherewithal to lift her head, stare at the fleshy pink little body and recognize that this was her daughter before yet another deluge of pain took over, pulling more screams up her hoarse throat. Moira's momentary joy passed over into shock.
"I knew it was twins," she muttered lowly, inaudible beneath the screams. "Come take your babe, Da. We got another comin'."
There was too much pain. She couldn't do it, didn't Moira hear her? All he could do was hold Lydia and fight back his own tears as she screamed and fought through the delivery. Suddenly, a baby cried.
His eyes flew to the squirming pink baby. He heard something about twins but was already taking up a receiving blanket to take his daughter in his arms. She was beautiful... pink, and squished, and very much alive and warm. He could feel tears on his cheeks but didn't bother with them.
Another baby. It finally registered. He cradled his daughter in one arm and took his wife's hand as she began the process again. He watched as another girl was delivered, but... something was very wrong. She was tinged blue, contrasting with the shock of blonde hair stained with blood covering her little head. Moira cut the umbilical cord. She didn't cry.
Betelgeuse hastily handed his living daughter off and went to take the other up into his arms, rubbing her back vigorously, looking for any sign of life. Nothing.
Meanwhile, he could faintly hear Moira speaking through all the white noise and chaos. Too much blood. She's not going to make it. Give her her daughter. His eyes flew to his wife, pale and still in the water as a shaken Barbara lay their crying daughter gently on her chest. He fell to his knees beside her, the dead infant still cradled in his arms. "Lydia? Mia cara... no... no, please... please, you have to be okay!"
Losing Lydia had never even passed his mind. He pressed his forehead to hers, sobbing. "Please, baby... please don't leave me..."
Lydia was fading. She was barely conscious through the second delivery but forced herself awake through the pain to make it happen. Both their bugs were making it today, whether she did or not. That was non-negotiable.
The water, as much of it as there was, was beginning to tinge pink from the sheer amount of blood she'd lost. Barbara helped her keep the living babe on her chest, too weak to hold her up on her own.
"She's okay," Lydia whimpered nonsensically, a lidded gaze locked on the little blue bug in her husband's arms. "S'just a trick… like her Daddy… It's okay, Beej… Don't worry…"
Then, everything was very still and quiet, all except the pink baby's whining and crying on her mother's achingly still chest. Tilly, who had stayed close but out of the way through the entire spectacle, let loose a mournful howl that gathered all the other beasts from every corner of the house. Barbara was in hysterics, calling for her husband to join them in the room and urging Lydia to please wake up, baby. Open your eyes. Look at your beautiful babies. Please, please, please come back to us.
Moira kept her face down, having witnessed many scenes like this in her lifetime. Not so much since she'd died, but none that she could recall were ever as painful as this one. Best to make herself scarce soon before the grieving husband had a chance to turn the blame on her.
But then something happened that brought the room to a standstill. The babe on her mother's chest was glowing. An impossibly tiny clawed hand grasped at her mother's still, clammy flesh, and then Lydia began to glow too. Just as quickly as the heart-stopping phenomena began, it ended, with everyone including the gobsmacked Moira holding air frozen in their dead lungs to see what would happen next.
Lydia opened her eyes.
Betelgeuse could do nothing more than cling to his wife and daughters and just weep. He couldn't be bothered with seeing how the Maitlands reacted to his weeping, and he didn't watch the life ebb from his wife. He couldn't. Logically, nothing would change. He'd collect her from the waiting room and bring her home. But it hurt.
He didn't even see the child glow. All he was privy to was the gasping of the people around him, and then the excitement of seeing his wife open her eyes. He sat up and put his hand to her cheek, fully ready to kiss her and celebrate when the child in his arms started to cry.
He hurried to place her beside her sister, letting both infants find comfort in one another as he rubbed their tiny backs and littered kisses over Lydia's face. "I gotcha... we're here. Ya did it, Lyds. Look at 'em... they're perfect!"
Lydia was wide-eyed and shaken, still very pale and weak from the experience. Still, she found the strength to pull the sweet bundles closer and keep them above the pinkish water, with Betelgeuse's help. She loved them so much, more than she could ever put into words. Perfect. They were perfect, just like everything else Betelgeuse had ever given her.
"My babies…"
Moira, a true professional, put her astonishment aside and went into business mode. She began gently barking orders to the shell-shocked crowd, instructing the grandparents to bathe the babes in the sink to get them out of the way while she helped Lydia finish delivering the afterbirth.
"Da, help me get our brave lass dry and in bed. She needs rest."
"I'm fine," Lydia objected weakly, unable to even hold on to her husband as he obeyed the midwife without question, carefully toting a magically dried and dressed Lydia to their bed. "I want my babies…"
Not much later, but far too long in Lydia's opinion, she had her clean and dried twins cradled against each breast. Adam and Barbara were shooed out so Moira could walk her through how to breastfeed. The twins were ravenous and latched on easily, so the lesson wasn't much of one at all.
"Aye, folks. I believe my work here is done."
With that, the crone disappeared just as appeared; in a puff of smoke, no thanks necessary, all in a day's work. Adam and Barbara stuck around long enough to coo over the beautiful girls, marvel at how different yet alike they were, then were polite enough to take leave and allow Lydia to rest. Finally, things were quiet and the parents were alone with their newborns. Lydia had a babe on each teat, her tired form propped up against a mound of pillows in the center of their bed while she took turns looking between each of them with awe and wonderment.
"Look what we did, Beej," she cried, overcome with emotion. "We did it."
With the room finally cleared out, Betelgeuse couldn't help but watch his wife as she fed their daughters for the first time. He was enthralled, the twins polar opposites in appearance.
The firstborn, pink and very much alive was the spitting image of her mother, dark hair already curling over her tiny head. In opposition, her sister was a white-blonde, clearly dead infant. Blue tinged and without a heartbeat.
His heart ached as he remembered the halting of Lydia's own heart. He fell into the armchair beside the bed and put his head in his hands. "They're perfect... they're so beautiful, but... but you were dead, baby. I lost you for a minute... it was terrifying."
He forced himself to move up beside her, pressing his lips to her temple. "I love you so much, Lyds..."
The residual terror he was holding onto broke her heart.
"I remember…" she whispered, recalling the hazy white mist, the feeling of contentment and peace that washed over her even as the room around her dissolved into chaos.
"I was holding this one," she dipped her chin toward the suckling dark-haired babe, "and everyone was screaming and crying… but I just knew everything was going to be okay. It was like… she was telling me. I don't know how to explain it. One moment I was there, with you and everyone… and then I was somewhere else, walking down this path toward the most beautiful music I'd ever heard. Like singing, but too… too perfect… not human…"
The memory of that beautiful sound was enough to bring another crystalline tear up to kiss her lashes.
"But then something pulled me back. Not with words, but like… a feeling. That I wasn't done yet. That somebody needed me."
He leaned into her as she spoke, running his hand over the blonde twin's hair until she started to fuss and he pulled back with a chuckle.
"Well, we all needed ya. I just kept beggin' ya to stay with us and ya seemed to fight for a long time, but... there was so much blood."
He shook himself, taking one of the babies as they finished eating to burp her how Moira had shown him. "These little princesses need names. God damn miracles... It ain't never snowed down here before, babes."
He laughed as the tiny blonde infant let out an enormous belch, her face twisting as the gas escaped her. He brought her down to cradle her against his chest. "Best Christmas presents I've ever got, goddamn. I can tell ya really put the effort in."
He nudged her gently, crooking a finger to summon the bassinet to the side of the bed. With a snap, it was doubled in size, ready to receive the twin babies. "I think... they should have holiday names."
"Holiday names?"
Lydia smiled a funny little smile at his cheesiness. He was such a sap. Too worn out to do much else other than lie there as he tended to their babes, she watched, heart full and body weak. Something may have brought her back from the brink of death, but it didn't restore her to full health.
Out of it, ready to fall into a deep sleep, she began humming lightly; a Christmas song, one of her favorites. The notes turned into words, whispish and faltering here and there, but every bit as lovely as her usual singing voice. Lydia never sang in front of him. He only ever got to hear her warbling when he was eavesdropping on her showers or when she was doing chores. That she was doing so now spoke to how very badly she required rest.
"The holly and the ivy,
When they are both full grown,
Of all trees that are in the wood,
The holly bears the crown…"
He was just tucking the girls in, careful to lay them on their stomachs to keep them safe from any of the breathing issues that newborns could develop when he heard her soft, melodious voice start up in the bed beside him.
He grinned, turning to kiss her cheek gently as he joined her, his voice rough and off-key.
"Oh, the rising of the sun
And the running of the deer
The playing of the merry organ,
Sweet singing in the choir."
He turned to the girls, pondering the suggestion for a moment as his wife started to doze. "Holly and Ivy…. I like that." He continued the song on his own, reaching out to brush the blonde baby's cheek.
"The holly bears a blossom
As white as lily flow'r…"
The other girl twisted and cooed at the sound of her parents' voices, as though she recognized them.
"The ivy bears a berry,
As red as any blood…"
Her pink skin was so strange to him. She was so alive… so real and human. It was hard to grasp that he had a hand in her creation. "Holly and Ivy. That's perfect, Lyds."