I didn't want to think about how all of it could go all wrong. I didn't want to think about how our child could grow up without knowing his or her parents or how simply by crying, he or she could bring on a herd of walkers. I didn't want to think about how I could die before I ever got to hold my child in my arms. How Daryl could die on that stupid, ridiculous run, leaving our child to never know his or her father. As much as I didn't want to think such thoughts, that's what I found myself doing as Braxton Hicks left me feeling winded and weaker than ever, on the bottom bunk of the bed Daryl and I had been sharing for the last 30 weeks.
I groaned and forced myself to sit up, hoping the baby could wait another ten weeks. Just ten more weeks and it'd be safe. Safe for him or her to enter this cruel, harsh world.
"Hershel!" I called when another round of pain coursed through my body. I didn't feel pain like this, this early on with my son. I almost lost him in the first trimester, but after that small incident, my pregnancy had gone without any problems, right up to labor. I had him naturally with no problems at all. He was a tiny little guy, but healthy and lively. This time, something felt wrong. "Hershel!" I called a little louder, pain coursing through my body.
I heard the familiar scuffle of his footsteps on the concrete floor, followed by another pair of footsteps. A moment later, he and Maggie were standing in front of me, a look of concern plastered on their faces.
"How long have you been feeling like this?" Hershel asked as I explained what was wrong.
"A day or two," I admitted. "Since Daryl left for this stupid run."
"It could be stress…" Maggie mused.
"Ain't stress," I said through clenched teeth. "Was more stressed with my son way back when, ain't ever felt nothin' like this before."
"Can you lie down for me?" Hershel asked gently, his hand resting on my shoulder. I nodded and leaned back, the pain worsening instantly.
"Son of a bitch," I hissed.
"Daryl's back," Carl's voice echoed through the cell block.
"Thank god," Maggie whispered in spite of herself. "Relax Harleigh."
"Tryin'," I muttered, forcing myself to take control, forcing myself to ignore the white hot pain. A new wave of pain hit me, causing me to cry out in spite of my best efforts.
"Hershel, somethin's wrong with the baby," I moaned, forcing my eyes shut. Before I could say anything else, I felt my body contract in a way that was so distant but so familiar none the less. Hershel barked orders at Maggie and Beth, who had come as soon as she heard my pained cry. Both girls rushed off to find whatever it was their father had asked for. Moments later, I saw the father of my child at my side, his hand tightly wrapped around mine.
"What happened?" he demanded, glaring at the old vet.
"She's going into labor," he said, his voice strained. I bit back another scream as the pain got to be more than I could handle.
"Get. It. Out!" I screamed, my hand gripping tightly at Daryl's. Daryl looked at me with a panicked, concerned expression. He tried to sooth me but it did nothing for the pain.
Within the hour, I had delivered a seemingly healthy, beautiful little boy. But that was when Hershel realized why I had had complications early on. We weren't just having a baby. We were having babies. I was having twins.
The next several hours went in a haze. I slipped in and out as the pain intensified, until finally, the pain became more than my body could handle. I felt myself slipping farther as the pain turned into nothing but numbness, the urge to push no longer relevant. My mind drifted as exhaustion and general weakness took over, rendering me useless against my body's natural instinct to push. I had no fight left as Hershel demanded for me to push.
"C'mon Leigh, just a little more," Daryl pleaded as he pushed my hair out of my face.
"Can't," I muttered weakly. Even to me, I sounded broken.
"Ya gotta," he said softly. I forced myself to push, one final time. This time, I was stunned to hear the screams of my newborn baby as the pain resided to an ache that only a mother would understand. Pride and relief took over, forcing me to smile up at the only man that ever truly meant anything to me.
"It's a girl," Hershel said with a smile on his face. I beamed at the vet as he handed me my daughter for the first time. I looked down at her tiny, pink face, my eyes welling with tears at how tiny she was.
"She's not gonna make it," I whispered, seeing the way her feet were purple and the sheer tiniest of her body.
"Don't think like that," Hershel said. "She's going to be fine."
"Sure," I said through the tears as I watched my newborn squirm in my arms. I looked up at Daryl, who had tears of joy in his own eyes.
"Welcome to the world, Jo-Anna Beth Dixon," I whispered. Daryl smiled, remembering that that had been our first choice of girls names. "Happy Birthday." Daryl was holding our son and after a few moments, we traded off. Now I had our little boy in my arms. Unlike his sister, he seemed so much stronger, so much healthier.
"Get together for a picture," Glenn said eagerly. He had found a camera a few weeks prior and was eager to take our first family photo. Daryl laid Jo-Anna on my chest, his arms snaking around my shoulders. I smiled brightly, both of our children protectively wrapped in my arms.
Once the picture was taken, I looked down at our son. We'd had a huge toss up over boy names since the very beginning.
"Blake Jagger Dixon," I whispered. Blake had been the name we settled on at one point. It was a strong name. Just like our little boy. Jagger had been my firstborn's name.
Daryl kissed my forehead before taking our daughter into his arms. Seeing him holding the tiny newborn made me feel even safer, even more confident that our little girl would make it. He kissed her forehead gently, his large hands wrapping protectively around her tiny, fragile body.
I felt something I hadn't felt since the day Jagger was born. I felt pride. I felt so much pride, it was unbelievable. Even after the world went to shit, Daryl and I managed to bring not one, but two precious, beautiful babies into the world.
The wail of a newborn jerked me out of my sleep. I groaned and rolled over, nudging Daryl. It was his turn to get up. By the high pitched cries, I knew it was Jo-Anna who had woken. Unlike her brother, who hardly ever cried, Jo had been crying loudly for several days now, though Hershel and Dr. S could find nothing wrong with her.
"Mmm," he muttered tiredly, rolling over, not fully awake.
I wanted to scold him for getting more sleep than me, but instead, I got up, my hands searching for the lantern. Jo's wails grew more urgent before turning into a rough, wet cough. I flipped the lantern on, earning a troubled look from Daryl who had fully woken at the sound of our newborn coughing.
"Is she okay?" he asked, pulling himself up out of bed.
"I don't know," I said softly, picking the tiny baby up. Even after eight weeks, she was still tiny, far smaller than any baby I had seen before. I shifted her in my arms before gently brushing my hand against her forehead.
"Daryl, go wake Hershel," I said as calmly as I could.
"What's wrong?" he asked, now at my side, his gaze locked on our daughter.
"Go. Wake. Hershel," I whispered.
It didn't take long for Daryl to return with the worried vet, but even in the short time that had passed, it had been too late. I looked up at them, tears streaming down my face. In my arms laid our little girl. Cold and limp, her face twisted in a look of pure torture. I was curled protectively around her, my back pressed tightly to the wall.
Daryl looked like he was going to be sick as he sank to his knees, a tortured look on his face. A tiny moan broke through the silence of the room. I looked down at the infant in my arms, unaware of the fact that she had turned. Her mouth opened and closed in a way so similar to suckling, it seemed almost surreal. Her little hands jerked, her face twisting as her mouth snapped open and closed some more.
I couldn't do it. I couldn't end the child in my arms. Luck have it, I didn't have to. Molasses, who had been watching Jo-Anna with a mother-like stare since the day she was born, had been alerted by the infant's troubled cries before either of us had. She had run off to find someone who could end the child. Molasses had taken on the role as nanny dog since the day the twins had been born, though she seemed to revolve closer to Jo as the weeks passed. While Blake had grown significantly since then, his sister had not.
Without sparing me a second look, Dr. S, a smart, kind man who had recently joined our group, took the baby from my arms and left the room. I didn't need to be lucid to know what came next.
Daryl wrapped his arms around me, tears streaming down his face as he pulled me close, letting my body fall against his as sobs took over. I heard the load wails of our son from the opposite box that served as his crib, but made no move to comfort him. The wails soon ended as someone, probably Beth or Maggie, took the baby from the cell, giving Daryl and I some space.
Together, there on the floor, we mourned the loss of our daughter, a child we never really got to know.
There aren't words to describe what a parent goes through when they lose a child. Not after the first or the second or the third. For me, I felt nothing but remorse and hate and anger. It wasn't like when I lost Alana. She hadn't truly been mine. It wasn't like what Jagger's father tore him from my arms. This was an all-new type of pain. This was the kind of pain that eats away at you, pushes you so far, you're ready to put a bullet in your own head. This was the kind of pain you can't get over. The kind of pain that leaves you begging for mercy, in a world where mercy no longer exists.
A/n - Don't hate me! I had to find some way to bring the sickness into the prison, and it seemed logical to make it start with one of the twins. Besides, I didn't want Daryl and Harleigh to have the "perfect little family". It just didn't fit their characters. ;)
I promise, there will be light at the end of this dark, twisted tale. Maybe.