Disclaimer: I do not own the His Dark Materials series or any correlating elements.

Bonjour, everyone! I'm sorry that it's been a while, but here's the fifth installment of the story! I've been finding it hard to get into the right sort of motivation and attitude to write this part. I'm really trying maintain the sort of strange, precarious balance between Mrs. Coulter's feelings for Lyra and for her own intrinsic motives, so please let me know if I'm either straying from this path or managing to balance it! Thanks for reading, and have a good day :)

o5.

Dubious Doubts

"Yes, Dr. Cooper? Please arrange a sled for Trollesund to set out immediately."

Mrs. Coulter's eyes gleamed as she held the gold-encrusted telephone to her ear, the cord entangled in her long, auburn furs. Her free hand clasped the bony edge of Lyra's shoulder, and the golden monkey entwined his tail with Pan's. Lyra was shaking slightly, but Mrs. Coulter didn't really know why. She was safe, after all, and as Mrs. Coulter pulled her daughter to her side, she wondered if Lyra felt guilty or sad about Lord Asriel's arrest. It would be a ridiculous emotion, of course, but one very plausible for a twelve year-old girl.

"I am very well aware of the time," Mrs. Coulter snapped, her blue eyes now hard as she glared at the telephone. "I need a sled to Trollesund, and I need it now. Is there some sort of complication preventing this arrangement, Doctor? Are you trying to tell me that you're not effectively doing your job?" The monkey screeched, and as Mrs. Coulter listened to Dr. Cooper's profuse apologies, she let her mind start to wander.

It was only natural for him to worry about why she needed a sled at one o'clock in the morning. Shouldn't a woman be tucked away in her chambers at that time of night? Shouldn't she be poised and pleasant as she goes about her business? But more importantly, why would a woman need to leave a fully secure, maintained location of which she runs? Why would she be taking a single child with her? And why would it be so imminent?

In all sincerity, what was she doing? Mrs. Coulter didn't know, and even if she would admit it or not, it bothered her. This strange, new sensation seemed to be ripping away all that she's ever known, and even though a part of her flinched and winced at the rash, braze decisions, reckless, impulsive actions, and foreign, estranged motivations, the other part of her didn't mind. It recognized this to be true and just; it recognized this to be the only real thing she's ever known or done.

"Trollesund?"

"Yes, darling," said Mrs. Coulter, clearing her head. She moved the girl along by gently pushing her forward, taking care not to push too hard. "We need to get going. Now."

To Mrs. Coulter's relief, her daughter didn't bombard her with a myriad of defiant, demanding questions, and they made their way out of the central office without too much fuss. As they continued down the main hallway and then rounded the corner of a side corridor, they approached the canteen.

Out of an adjacent door came a small group of children, their scrawny bodies draped in clean, second-hand clothing and their drooping eyes round and fearful. Halting, Mrs. Coulter watched their diminished, shivering figures, and as they stepped out into the hallway, they all turned to look over at her.

"It's her!"

"There she is!"

"I knew she'd stay with u –"

"I thought she sai –"

"I want my mummy!" A little girl of around seven or eight broke from the line and came running over to Mrs. Coulter, her light brown eyes brimming with tears. Stunned, Mrs. Coulter felt the pathetically thin figure wrap around her waist, clinging for life.

It was a very strange and remarkable feeling. A gentle sort of tenderness overcame Mrs. Coulter at that moment, much to the golden monkey's dismay. Slowly moving her arms to hold the child's head and place a hand on her back, for a moment, Mrs. Coulter felt like a mother again, bringing back memories.

She was sweating, her dazzling skin covered with shining beads of sweat. The perspiration spread to the rest of her bloated, stretched-out body, and she screamed as yet another spasm conversed from her lower abdomen.

"Almost there, Mrs. Coulter," said a soft, low voice.

Locking eyes with the doctor's, Mrs. Coulter very much wanted to believe him. As he smiled at her, holding her hand and stroking it gently, she wanted to trust that the excruciating pain that was childbirth was merely a fabrication of her imagination. Squeezing his hand back, a small smile twitching at the corner of her still ruby red lips, she wanted to believe that this doctor was there for her and her alone, marveling in the softness of her hand and the glimmer of her gaze.

But as yet another contraction spurred from the very pit of her womanhood, Mrs. Coulter remembered why she was there. More pain than fathomable elapsed from her lower body, and as the doctor cheered and urged her along, pressing her hand even harder as she screamed and yelled while instinctually pushing, the event that is new life began to slide into existence.

With a final shove and attempt for peace and relief, Mrs. Coulter felt as though all of the pain and misery of her life was catapulted out of her.

A baby's cry echoed into her ears, and a wide, triumphant smile glistened off the doctor's lips. Her head falling back to the soft, plushy pillow, Mrs. Coulter heard the rustle of footsteps and the folding of a blanket before the now intimate scream of a child. Lifting her head up, panting from the effort, Mrs. Coulter saw the shining green eyes of the doctor and then the smallest of figures that made her heart skip a beat.

"Meet your daughter, Mrs. Coulter," the doctor crooned, passing along the pink bundle. Her lips parting in a gasping laugh, Mrs. Coulter reached out and took the figure, gazing down on its features. She saw Asriel, but she saw herself as well.

And at that moment, the smallest shuffle of the tiniest of childish footprints stamped themselves securely over her heart.

"There, there, darling," said Mrs. Coulter, her voice directed towards the little girl yet her eyes trained on the intense face of her daughter. "Your mother is closer than you've ever thought, and she loves you more than you will ever know."

What are you doing? fumed the golden money, his lithe tail curling tightly around Mrs. Coulter's left foot. Why do I feel so guilty and determined yet anguished and defeated?

"I don't know," Mrs. Coulter murmured, dropping her gaze to meet that of the little girl's, which was haunted yet hopeful as she continued to stroke the child's flat, lifeless hair. "I really don't know."

As she stood there, lost in the own pits of her heart, a shadow crossed behind her and then vanished before attracting any kind of attention. Strong, purposeful paws lightly scraped the carpet of the flooring, and amongst the midst of the children's jabbers and wails, the lowest tint of a growl could be heard.