With great pregnancy comes great moodiness. A bit of a longer chapter today, because 7 is too adorably out of whack to glance over.

Also, I blame the title of this chapter on my Tuesday night class. :P

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Interior Design

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Three months. That meant 12 weeks, or 84 days. 7 had hoped that calculating the time she had left would make it seem more substantial than it was. Three months wasn't a whole lot of time to carry her baby's soul in safety; surprisingly, 84 days didn't make the time seem any vaster. She had already spent several of those days in quiet contemplation, trying to get a grip on the facts. Her life had already changed so much; it had turned upside down and changed completely, yet again. And when the child was born, there would be more changes.

She now had a solid 73 days left, give or take. On the evening of the eleventh day, she sat alone in her bed with a pen and some paper, waiting for her husband to return from the ruins. On the floor beside the bed, she had a neat stack of other, completed drawings—amateur sketches of her child's body, and what it might look like. The shape was consistent, roundish and sort of stumpy, a fraction of the size of an adult, and quite adorable. The soft, chubby shapes reminded her lovingly of 9. That made it hard for her to stop smiling to herself as she worked.

It was the materials that changed from sketch to sketch, and how they were placed. From the beginning, she had seen a certain design in her head, of tough burlap and sturdy canvas together as one. Her first drawings had been projections of her first, rather sloppy ideas. But this was the fifteenth sketch she had done, and it had almost come together. As she finished this latest design, she sat back and gazed with pride and wonder at her work.

This was it. This was the one. She was sure of it. She couldn't wait for 9 to get back, so she could show him.

It wasn't long before he came back, with his pack full of findings he had gathered for the baby. Even if the designs weren't complete, he could still prepare the metal frame and the wiring. He had been gone most of the afternoon, on a new mission to gather what he needed. 7 had offered to help him, but he had insisted on her staying behind.

"But you'll be gone all day without help," she had pointed out. "And it's gotten colder out these past few days. Let me help you."

"5 offered to help me. We'll be alright," 9 had insisted. "You just stay here and take care of yourself."

At first she had been miffed. It wasn't like having a baby suddenly rendered her unable to take care of herself. But then she remembered—the little soul was sapping her energy, using it to get bigger and stronger, itself. She didn't ultimately mind lending her child her own strength, but she was glad that she hadn't been out with 5 and 9, after all. Even eleven days into her pregnancy, terrible fatigue seemed to smack her in the face every afternoon around one o'clock.

Of course he would have known it would happen. He had read the book, and knew all the technical junk that bored her to death. She had laughed at herself, as she had sat down to draw that afternoon. One of these days, surely she would learn how to just listen to him. One of these days…

But for now, her 9 was home from what looked like a successful search. He deposited his pack in the corner, and looked back to her with his usual, wonderful smile.

"It's not that cold out," he said with a goofy shrug, and sat down beside her. She set her pen and paper aside and snuggled into his arms. "I've had a good day. How about you?"

She sighed contentedly, resting her head on his chest. "It feels like I've gotten a lot done today."

"How are you feeling?"

"A little tired. This monster of ours is eating all my energy."

9 nodded his head thoughtfully, recalling what he knew. "Good… That's good. That means the soul is getting stronger. It's becoming less fragile, and more stable."

"Shouldn't I be getting bigger?"

"In a week or two. It's only been a week, after all."

Huh. When he said it like that, 12 weeks suddenly did seem like a long time. She wanted to reach for her final sketch, but she was too content and suddenly too sluggish to lean over and get it. She wrapped her arms around his waist, cuddling closer, as he held her safe and warm. For a long, lovely moment, she was silent, enjoying the sound and the feel of his heartbeat against her cheek.

"9, if I had a human name, what do you think it would be?"

He leaned his back, staring at the ceiling as he thought for a moment.

"…Victoria," he mused. "Or maybe Elizabeth? Or… Stella? Luna…?"

After a moment of deliberation, he finally nodded vaguely. "No, it's Luna. Definitely Luna."

"How come?"

"Because you're so beautiful and pale, just like the moon. You're the light in a world of darkness, hope in the dead of night, all soft and silvery.."

She sighed dreamily as she let his words sink into her skin. She hoped the soul inside her was absorbing this.

"And you drive me crazy," he concluded. She couldn't help but laugh lightly at that. Suppose she really was a piece of the moon?

"Alexander."

"…Hm?"

"Alexander," she repeated, sitting a little in his arms, so she could see him. "It means 'defender of mankind'. I was the name of a great, ancient king. It's a good name for you, don't you think?"

Understanding completely, he simply smiled his agreement and held her closer, kissing her gently between her eyes.

"We still need to name our child," she pointed out.

"I know," he sighed, resting his head atop hers. "5 and I talked a lot about that today. Do you have any ideas?"

"It sounds like you have more."

"I'm torn between 10, and a combination of our own names. They both seem appropriate. I mean, 79 for a girl, and 97 for a boy, and all."

7 shook her head a little. "I don't want this child thinking it must become like us, just because of its name. The body will already be made of a combination of us, and the soul is one-of-a-kind. The name should be original."

"Oh, I meant to ask—did you finish the design?"

"I did. It's right here," she answered, stretching awkwardly to try and reach the paper behind her. When she failed, 9 grabbed it himself and held it up so they could both see. The final draft was nothing short of simple and utterly sweet. The child's legs and chest were burlap, while its arms, back, and head were white canvas. It could have been male or female—there was really no way to tell.

"I had thought brown thread for the stitching," she continued, pointing to a seam on the colorless drawing, "or even red, if it seems suitable."

"And for the catch?"

"I asked dad about it earlier, and he said not to hurt my head over it. The soul will outgrow the body too fast for something so permanent to matter. He suggested we think about that when the soul is stable to keep a body for a few years. And then the child can have a say in it, as well."

Even though she couldn't see it, she felt 9 smiling at her. In the past couple of days, she had taken to calling 2 her "dad", or even "daddy", instead of by name. She wasn't sure why she was doing this, herself. But it made her feel very happy and snuggly inside; and the baby certainly didn't have a problem with it. In fact, it seemed like it expanded slightly, feeling her feelings right along with her.

She reached up and ran her fingers over the finished drawing of her child, and she sighed happily. "I really like 10," she commented. "It's traditional, but not too traditional. The child will know that it comes next, you know? It's opening up a whole new set of numbers, a new chapter in our history. And it's all up to him, or her, to make a life and a destiny out of that. It's everything I could ever hope for, for my own child."

"We could call it Dix, or Dixie, as a nickname. While 5 and I were talking about it, he said dix is French for 10. He thought that might help us."

"That's adorable," she agreed. "I like that."

9 was silent for a moment, contemplating her work, and then the wall in front of their bed, where his worktable was.

"I'm going to put this up on the wall, right over the worktable," he announced. "That way, every morning when I wake up, our 10 will be the next thing I see—right after you."

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The weeks continued to march toward winter. It was now November, and light snows had already blanketed the city. But it wasn't deep enough to keep 9 inside. Not while 10 still needed a body, and he still needed building materials. And every day when he went out, 5 was glad to accompany him. They both enjoyed the time together, doing what they did best as brothers.

Even when the snow started falling, 2 usually went with them, as well. Surprisingly, 1 and 8 also joined them, on most days. Being the biggest and the thickest, 8 didn't mind the cold as the rest of them did; he seemed to enjoy the snow immensely. And 1 seemed… almost enchanted by it.

"He used to speak fondly of snow, in the wintertime," 5 recalled. "He was born in January, in the last year that it snowed; he and 2 were both lucky enough to see it, before it melted for the year. They always missed it… The rest of us were always sad that we hadn't gotten a chance to see it."

"They seem to be getting along better and better, these days," 9 commented, tossing a small rock to 5. It had become a silly thing they did, strictly between brothers, as they walked and talked. Whoever had the rock had a turn to speak until he tossed it back. The unspoken rule was that the other wasn't allowed to interrupt until it was his turn again.

"They were brothers, as well, once upon a time," 5 explained. "But things were… difficult." Without much more to say about it presently, he tossed the rock back. 9 caught it, and then knelt to examine something on the ground.

"I wish it was easier to find metal poles, for the framework," he grumbled. "All this snow… We have to hurry. When it starts getting really deep in December, finding what we need is going to be next to impossible."

"How's 7 been, these past few days?" 5 asked, abandoning their ritual.

"Oh, well enough," 9 answered with a tired sigh. "She's changing again, like I knew she would…"

"What do you mean?"

"It happened with human women as well, when they carried children. The body spends a lot of energy rearranging itself, to accommodate the baby. It changes the chemical balance of the body, as well. Humans called them hormones, I think; I'm not sure what they would be called in us, exactly. Either way, it makes the mother's temper very, um… short."

"7's always had a short temper."

"Not like this. She's been so moody, lately. The smallest things can set her off. One second, she'll be perfectly fine; the next, she'll be screaming at me for no reason; the next, she'll be crying on the floor, wondering what's wrong with her. I know what's wrong, and I wish she would let me explain it all. She'd feel so much better, if she would just let me help her understand, but she still wants nothing to do with that damn book."

It was a real problem that he had braced himself to face, but had been a little afraid to see in person. Seeing his beloved wife so out of sorts wounded him, and there was almost nothing he could do to soothe her. But as he thought of her, he smiled.

"All the same—she's still the proud, stubborn 7 I fell in love with in the first place. I can be patient with her. It's what I'm here for."

5 smiled absently, looking off at nothing in particular. "You're both so lucky to have each other. I wish I knew what that was like…"

9 wished that for his brother, as well. He hoped that one day, he would have the chance to love someone as much as he loved his wife. But there was something strange in the way 5 had spoken. He couldn't put his finger on it, but there was something… odd. There had been for several weeks, now, in fact. He had wondered about it silence, unwilling to discuss it with 7, in the state she was in. But this had carried on for far too long, in 9's opinion.

"5, are you alright?"

5 looked back at him, snapped back to reality. "What do you mean?"

"You haven't been yourself, these past few weeks. Is something wrong?"

His eye shifted back and forth, as if startled and looking for an escape route. But it passed, and he shook his head with a goofy smile.

"Nah, it's nothing," he answered, adjusting his pack and starting off again. "Come on, let's finish up this errand and get back home. It's getting pretty cold out."

9 agreed with that, and rose to follow his brother. But he wasn't convinced that nothing was bothering him.

"Are you sure you're alright? You know you can tell me."

"Don't worry about it," 5 insisted, still smiling like his good old self. "I'm fine."

9 decided not to press any further, and leave his brother his privacy. It was better in this moment to humor him, than to pester him. But secretly, it hurt him.

I know, I know. You don't have to tell me about your problems, if you don't want to. Because… I'm the problem. Aren't I?

"So, about this snow," he said instead, "you clearly know more about it than I do." He tossed the rock back to 5.

"Tell me more. I'm fascinated."

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Later that day, they all returned to the library to find their quarters very warm, indeed. 2's steam-powered generator was working its magic. They could all appreciate it, but 9 felt a special gratitude toward it. As long as it was keeping their home cozy and warm, he felt safe leaving his wife alone here while he was out. Even with the twins keeping her company and 6 guarding them like a watchdog, he didn't know if he could have stood leaving her—or any of them—in the chilly, drafty building with nothing to keep them warm.

When they entered the common space, they were all slightly surprised to find it occupied. The twins had taken out a chess set they had made, and 6 was watching their game with rapt attention. Only 4's lone rook and 3's king remained on the board, playing ring-around-the rosy for the title.

"Oh, you're all back," 4 noted with a smile.

"Just in time for the grand finale," 3 added. "I'm so about to win this game!"

"I don't think so!"

But 7 wasn't around. That didn't bode well.

"Where's your mother?" 9 asked the twins, setting his pack on the floor. At this, all three of their faces fell.

"She's acting all chipper and silly-happy again," 3 answered.

"And we all know what that means," 4 added.

"We got the heck out of there before she snaps."

"I sure don't want to be the one to set her off today."

9 sighed slowly and rubbed his neck, not liking what was going to happen next. "I suppose it's my turn to be on her bad side then…"

"Don't go in there," 6 begged quietly. "She's crazy."

"She's not crazy, she's pregnant," 9 corrected bravely. "I'll go look in on her. I might be gone awhile."

"We'll make sure 1 doesn't ruin your funeral, dad," 3 offered flatly.

9 smiled back, kind of pleased that the twins were calling him their dad, these days. "Don't worry, I'll be back. I just don't know when."

Without stopping to hear their warnings or protests, he walked off down toward his bedroom, feeling like he was marching off to battle again.

He opened the door to the bedroom to find 7 pacing anxiously, her hands on her hips, looking like she had already snapped and gone into a rage. When she saw him, she stopped short and stared back at him with a wild, manic glint in her eyes. At first glance, he had to admit to himself that it was kind of sexy… But it wasn't her.

"I'm home," he greeted with a cheery smile.

All of a sudden, she had stormed across the room and into his face, an accusing finger stuck in his chest.

"You've been gone for too long," she snapped, a furious glare on her face. "What are you doing out there all day? Hiding from me?"

He threw his hands up, hoping she would calm down. "I could never hide from you. And I'm home now."

To his relief, she backed off and her anger suddenly subsided. So suddenly, the furious glare was replaced with an uncharacteristically bright smile.

"I've been waiting for you to come home. I made you something," she said, walking back to the bed. She picked up a long swatch of dark green cloth draped over the blanket and held it up for him to see. It was a coat.

"I thought you could wear it in the snow, so you won't be too cold," she explained, shoving it a little too eagerly into his arms.

"Oh, 7, it's wonderful," he answered, giving her a warm, thankful hug. Maybe he had missed most of the rage, after all. She felt bigger, fuller in his arms, as the baby soul had begun to fill out her shapely form. Not enough to keep them too far apart, but it was happening. It seemed that with every week that passed, they both grew a little more. And while it warmed his heart, it stood testament to how unstable she had become.

She stepped back a bit, clasping her hands excitedly. "Try it on! I've been waiting all day!"

Not to deny his pregnant wife, he slipped to coat over his arms. The hem reached almost to his toes, and it was warm and soft. He felt like he was still wrapped in her embrace. This would keep him warm in the snow, for sure. It was perfect.

Except the sleeves didn't quite reach his wrists.

"I think the sleeves are hemmed a little short," he commented with a chuckle—which he instantly regretted.

Oh, crap in a bucket…

"You don't like it," she guessed, sounding deeply insulted.

"No, no, that's not—"

"You never like anything I do!" she yelled, pushing hard. "Nothing I do is ever good enough for you, is?"

"7, that isn't true," he insisted, even though he knew it was useless. She stomped to the worktable and snatched up an older sketch of 10's design.

"And this—none of this was ever good enough for you either was it?" She crumpled it up and threw it as hard as she could at his head, snatching another sketch to replace it. "I bet you think you could have done so much better without me, don't you!"

"7, no, please!"

"Stop telling me what to do!" she screamed, jumping at him with her fists raised.

With a speed that he didn't know he was capable of, he caught her by the wrists before she could hit him. He had never had to face her amazing strength like this, and it alarmed him; he was glad that he wasn't a lightweight, himself. He found himself grappling against her, trying to keep her from hurting him. It was totally ridiculous, and he wasn't going to stand for it. He locked her gaze with his own, hoping that he could break through and reach her real self.

"7, stop this! You listen to me," he pleased. "Listen to me! This isn't really you! Snap out of it! Let it go!"

"You let go of me!" she snarled back, breaking free of his grip and stumbling back to the desk. "You can take all of this and just—"

With a battle cry, she flung everything off the desk in a single swipe. Findings and tools clattered to the floor, and neat stacks of their designs flew everywhere like a storm. It looked like a tornado had blown through their bedroom. 7 fell heavily against the desk, breathing heavily from the outburst that seemed to have drained all her energy.

The next thing he knew, she had fallen to her knees and begun to weep uncontrollably.

"I'm so tired of this thing inside me, messing with my head!" she wailed into her hands. "I want it out! I want it out!"

The angry phase was over. Once her mood swung to misery, it was easier to reach her. As he regarded her, dissolving into a puddle on their floor, 9 was suddenly too overcome with compassion to move. He could never truly be angry with her; especially not when she wasn't really angry at him in the first place. He sat down beside her and gently pulled her into his lap, holding her steady and close as she buried her face in his shoulder and went on crying. He began to slowly rock her back and forth—an unusual gesture, but one of the only things that seemed to soothe her anymore—and whispered comforts in her ear. It was alright. There was no reason to cry anymore. Her 9 was there to keep her safe. Everything was going to be okay.

After a few minutes, her sobs subsided into deep, shaking breaths. She felt limp, heavy, and tired in his arms. She slowly reached up and rested her hand on his shoulder, thoughtfully stroking his fabric with her thumb.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I… I don't know what happened to me."

"It's okay," he answered gently, feeling nothing but patience. "It happens. I just wish there was more I could do for you."

She sighed deeply, cuddling closer and nuzzling his neck as she said, "If only you could stay here and rock me like this all day. It's so… comforting. It's the only thing that makes me feel like myself anymore."

"If only I could," he agreed, admiring her with a loving smile. Then, out of the blue, he got a great idea.

Maybe I can…

"Trust me, love," he said, kissing the top of her head, "you're going to be just fine."

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There were only 63 days left. December was less than a week away, and the snow was piling up. Each day, 7 watched as her husband and brother went out into the snow to find the last few pieces they needed for 10. And each day, she found herself more content to stay inside, keeping the soul of her child safe while it devoured all her energy. Mostly, all she wanted to do was sleep, recover enough to sit upright before the soul decided to feed again.

When she found herself and the baby at rest at the same time, she would pass the time by talking to it. Juts lying still on the bed, talking to it about whatever came to mind. And on day 21, she found herself doing just that. She was alone, mostly; the twins had gone to the common room to wait for the others, and 6 had joined them not too long thereafter. As she gently ran her hands over her swelling belly, she began to talk about whatever came to mind. Anything she thought the baby soul might find interesting, even though she knew it couldn't physically hear her.

"Your daddy will be done with your body, soon. He said he only needs a few more things; he can find them today, before the first blizzard rolls in. I hope he's alright out there, in all that snow… You know, 10, I had never seen snow until this year. I had always wondered what it was like, though. I'm really glad you won't have to wait a whole lifetime to see it. And not too long after you're born, it'll be springtime. It's going to be green and beautiful again, for the first time in my whole life. You're just going to love it all, 10.

"Oh, 10… I can't wait to meet you. And neither can your father—but he hopes you'll call him 'daddy'." She laughed softly. "You know who else can't wait to meet you? Your granddad. Both of them, actually. Wait… Actually…"

She stopped herself and did a quick figure in her head. "Well, 2 raised me, so he's like my father; but 1 is his brother, so he's technically your great-uncle, not your grandfather… But don't you worry about that, my little love. You just call him your grandfather. 2 will like being 'granddad', I think; it sounds snuggly, just like him. But I don't know what 1 would want you to call him—something much more dignified, probably. I'm sure you'll sort it out, eventually.

"You can call 3 and 4 by name, most of the time. They're your big brother and sister; and they're going to take good care of you. They have so much they want to share with you. There are so many things you can learn from them. If you've inherited your father's marvelous brain, you'll probably soak it all up faster than they can teach you.

"As for my brothers, well, they're your uncles. 6 and 8 probably wouldn't mind it if you called them by name. They don't really do much, but they are here for you, and they love you, just like the rest of us. I'm not sure what 5 will want you to call him; but I'd like you to call him your uncle, anyway. It just seems proper to me. We've been through so much together… And I suspect we'll be through a lot more, eventually…"

She thought of talking about the body some more, describing the little details she and 9 had planned. But before she could continue, two dark heads appeared in the door, interrupting her thoughts.

"We're home!' the brothers chorused, looking incredibly pleased about something. 7 laughed, pleased, herself, to see them, and sat up straight.

"I was just talking about you," she said with a smile, and patted her belly. "10 likes hearing about you. You're both home early today, aren't you?"

"We didn't need long," 5 informed her. "We've been on, kind of a side quest all day."

"Did you win?" she asked.

"Yep," 9 agreed proudly. "We made you something."

"Really?"

"Certainly. You made me this," he pointed out, showing off his long green coat. Since he had taken the sleeves out, she had to admit that it suited him better.

"Well, what is it?" she asked, feeling 10 flutter with her excitement.

"It's a surprise," 5 insisted. "You have to close your eyes first, while we go get it."

"Oh, that's how it is," she answered, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. It felt good to move a little. 5 smiled back, glad that she was being cooperative today.

"You guys wait here," he continued, heading back the way he had come. "I going to get it and bring it in."

While they waited, 9 couldn't seem to stop smiling. He came and knelt beside the bed, placed his hand on her knee, and just gazed at her for a minute with loving, wondrous eyes.

"Go on, close your eyes," he insisted. "You'll ruin the surprise."

She sighed, marveling at how adorable they were being, and shut her eyes. Now she focused on what she could feel, instead of what she could see. Mostly, she was happily aware of 10's warm, glowing presence inside her and the weight of 9's smooth fingers on her knee.

"How have you been today?"

"Really good. Just… bored, and tired. You're a little early for the mood swings, though; they seem to hit in the evening, mostly."

She heard him laugh shortly, probably more than happy to have missed that window. But there was a spark in his voice—that knowing-ness, of having a solution that no one else had thought of yet. She loved that about him. It made her feel safe and secure, having a husband who could solve problems so quickly.

She felt him shift around until he was kneeling between her legs, hands on her hips, his forehead resting gently against her belly. She wrapped her arms around his head and shoulders, holding him closer.

"9, talk to your 10."

"I don't think the soul can hear us."

"I think it can, somehow. It fills me up with warmth and just… sheer joy, whenever I do."

"…What do I say?"

"Anything. Just talk. Just let it know you're there."

He paused for a moment, nuzzling her while he decided what to say.

"Well… Hello, 10. I don't know if you can hear me, but, if you can… Maybe I should have done this sooner. I know we haven't met yet, but I want you to know that I love you. I love you so much, that I gave you life."

That was such a wonderful thought, 7 let it fill every inch of her. Inside her, she felt the soul release a gentle wave of warm energy; there was no doubt it had heard its father's voice. Eyes still closed, she reached for his hand and placed it against her, where the soul felt the warmest.

"That's your daddy talking, sweetie," she said softly. "He made you, you know. What do you think? Do you love him, too?"

Of course, the soul couldn't answer. But she heard scuffling outside, and her brother's voice grunting as he dragged something along the floor. Within moments, she heard him enter the room.

"This thing is more cumbersome than it looks," 5 commented; she heard a thump, and guessed he was leaning against the wall, or the doorway. "Come on, help me get this though the door."

"One second," she heard 9 say, and felt his lips brush against her belly before he stood up. She smiled as she heard them wrestling with something that sounded large, trying to get it into the room.

"Oh, what could it be?" she wondered.

"Not too much longer," 9 insisted from across the room. She felt his hands take hers, and he helped her to her feet and a few steps forward. "Are you ready, 5?"

"Ready," he answered.

"Okay, 7, open your eyes."

She did, and let the sight of her present register. It was a chair, made of white-painted wood. I had wide arms on their side, with plenty of space in between. The back and seat were cushioned with hand-sewn pillows of dark blue cotton. Curved wooden arcs were attached to the feet, lifting it a little farther off the ground and making it gently swing back and forth in place.

It was a rocking chair.

"…You made this for me?" she asked, her disbelieving eyes wide with wonder.

"Want to try it out?"

She wordlessly let 9 lead her to her new chair, and helped her settle down into it. She had plenty of space to move around—like they knew she would want—and it was a good height for her long legs. She pulled her left knee up to her chest, resting her foot on the edge of the seat, and began to rock back and forth with her other foot on the floor.

It was so impossibly comfortable. And the gentle rocking would keep her mood swings at bay from now on. She felt like her husband and her brother were hugging her dearly at the same time. They had built this with so much love in their hearts. She thought she might cry.

"It's wonderful," she said after a moment. "It might be the nicest thing anyone's ever made for me. Thank you, both of you."

They both smiled back on either side of her, simply happy that she was happy. She took their hands in her own and sat still, just enjoying them, their company, and their beautiful gift.

"I love you guys. You know that, right?"

"Of course we do," 5 agreed. "And we love you."

Yes, indeed. Everything was going to be just fine.