Just a little FYI, this is a revamped and extended version of a previous story I've written about Ashley's birth. Because it's one I've used before, I'll try and update again tomorrow because the next chapter is fresh and fun :P
xx
May 16th, 1986:
"Push Helen, push, you're doing brilliantly," the midwife urged as Helen screamed. "Just one more, I can see the head!"
DAMN HIM! DAMN HIM TO HELL! Helen thought as she panted. She was exhausted and angry and far too close to tears for her liking. As thankful as she was she was doing this in a modern hospital, she was cursing her decision to bring another life into the world, into her world. It was no safer than the one this child was conceived in.
She could hear the women around her telling her to breathe, that she was doing fantastically, that pretty soon she'd be holding her child in her arms but all she could think of was John.
Every second of the past 17 hours she'd been half expecting him to teleport into the room, cruel smirk in place. The pain had built slowly, starting with a dull ache in her lower back, giving her the chance to think about what she was doing in far too much detail. Even as the pain built, he'd never been far from her mind, always taunting her and, by the time she was screaming, face turning puce with the effort, his presence was threatening to say the least.
"No, please," she cried softly, eyes scrunched shut. He was going to come and take her baby, she was sure of that. He was going to hurt both of them, make her pay for even thinking about introducing a child into her dangerous life. "No," she whimpered once more before another contraction overtook her.
Then she was screaming, tears rolling down her face as she began to lament everything her baby would never have. This tiny baby (that didn't feel so bloody tiny) would never have a real father, not in the way Helen had, never know what a loving home felt like. Sure James had promised to be there for her but it wasn't the same. Throwing her head back as she squeezed the poor midwife's hand for all she was worth, Helen knew her child would never have a normal life. Nor would it ever see its mother age or have siblings of any sort. What kind of human being was she to bring a child into the world knowing the life it would have? Tears began to fall again but this time it had nothing to do with the pain.
"Oh God," she choked out, her entire body tensing as she focus all that terrible tension on her bludging stomach. "No, no, no, no, no," she whispered, eyes flying open as another scream tore from her throat. "NO! HE CAN'T!" she cried. It wasn't right, it wasn't right, it wasn't right, she thought as her body fell back against the bed, limp and drained. Sweat was pouring off her body as she drew laboured breaths through chapped lips.
"It's O.K honey, you're almost there," the rather disturbed looking midwife said encouragingly. "Are you sure there isn't anyone we could call? Perhaps that gentleman who came in with you?"
Helen shook her head as vigorously as she could. "Just me," she managed to breath before another contraction took over her body. A guttural cry flew from her mouth as she arched her back, pushing for all she was worth.
"That's it Helen!" one of the other nurses cried happily. "We can see the head!" Gritting her teeth, Helen ignored the woman and the niggling voice in her head that told her to stop, groaning and throwing her head back as she pushed and pushed and pushed.
Everyone in the room was cheering her on, telling her how fantastic she was, how close she was and, when finally, with a dark, rumbling growl she felt that tiny body leave her own, they all let out exclamations of congratulations. However, their words fell on deaf ears. As she fell back to the bed, wanting nothing more than to sink into the mattress and sleep for eternity, all she could hear was the pounding of blood in her ears. Tears still flowing, Helen muttered a small prayer.
Just as her mind started to go numb, a startling cry dragged her out of her stupor. Something about it, so insistent, so demanding, called to her, made her heart ache. Something was wrong and she knew it. Instantly she fought the gentle arms of the midwives, struggling to sit up. Then a small, wailing, flailing bundle was thrust into her arms and nothing mattered. Not John, not the pain, not the future, not anything.
Staring down at the small child in her arms, the small girl she corrected to herself, the rest of the world became nothing more than background noise.
"Hi," Helen whispered as new tears began to fall down her face but these were not tears of fear, they were tears of pure joy.
"Did you want me to get your friend in here?" the midwife asked again, drawing Helen's attention away from the girl in her arms. "Or perhaps there is someone you want to call? A father maybe?"
Helen smiled brilliantly at the woman through her tears before she returned her attention back to her daughter.
"No, no one. Not yet anyway," she choked out with a small laugh.
"She's mine."
The small being in her arms gurgled softly in agreement and Helen smiled as tears again welled in her eyes. Her daughter. Her child. Her reason for living.
James could wait, she was more than happy to be greedy and claim the attentions of this little one for a while to come. People were fussing about her legs, cleaning her up and removing towels and such but it all faded into the background as puffy eyelids opened ever so slightly and Helen's heart clenched. Fat fists were fighting against blanket she was swaddled in, pushing in a way that told Helen her daughter was a fighter. Hell, if she survived being frozen for a century, the girl was bound to be stronger than she looked.
And then suddenly she being ripped from Helen's arms. Immediately the baby began to scream, a shrill, painful noise that Helen wanted to echo. She knew, as a doctor, that they had to check the baby out, to clean her up much the same as they'd need to do the same to her but her arms felt empty and her heart broke at the cries of her daughter.
Only when they were reunited did the queer feeling around her chest dissipate. She held the baby as tightly as she dared, unable to stop smiling at the red little face nestled against her chest. Theoretically Helen knew of the chemicals in her body that formed her reflex to keep the child with her but she was not prepared for just how strong those feelings would be. Now she knew she could never leave the child, she was bound to it in a way she hadn't really expected. This was more than she could comprehend.
And, most astoundingly, she didn't want to share her daughter with anyone. Ever.
Her daughter.
Her daughter.
Her daughter.
It was strangely comforting to be able to call her that. Her daughter. Not the product of a madman and a thirst for knowledge of all that was considered illicit to someone of her sex. Her daughter.
And, she supposed, running a finger across one plump cheek, her daughter deserved a name.
She didn't have to think about that one. Ashley. At the time it had been chosen for a boy but, with changing times and all that it now worked for her little baby girl.
Ashley.
They'd been rather drunk one evening, curled before the fire place with heads and hands lounging in places they shouldn't be resting and James had asked her if she ever intended to have a family. She's suspected at the time that he was asking on John's behalf but before she could state as much, Nikola had jumped in with a snort, his hand still running through her hair. He'd argued that her child would be her discoveries, her break throughs and her miracles. Since science was her master, she'd have to have his children.
She's brushed off his words, knowing they were partially true but she refused to tell him as such, instead informing James that she'd once or twice wondered after having children.
Nikola had immediately asked if she would name her son after him. She'd slapped his chest and said her preference for a boy's name would be Ashley. They'd debated the merits of different names for a few minutes before James had left, speaking of sleep, leaving Nikola to end up straddling her, their lips dancing together as her hands explored his chest.
Sighing at the memory, Helen pushed it away. She had her daughter and while she loved the idea of being able to share this strange young creature with her boys, she contented herself with knowing that at least James could play uncle to her.
Lifting her head, she smiled to see James in the doorway, a bunch of apricot coloured roses in his hand.
"Come in James, I think Ashley would very much like to meet her uncle."
