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Title: Consequence Chose (1/2)
Title: Consequence Chose
Author: Hannah Orlove
Fandom: House, MD
Pairing: OMC/OFC
Rating: PG-13
Notes: Companion piece to Blood Letting. Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
werewolfbigbang. Thanks to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mer_duff for cheerleading, perspi for hand-holding and consultations, and pwcorgigirl and phinnia for beta-reading. Title comes from the song Falls To Climb by R.E.M.
The gel squeaked out of the tube, and when the wand started to glide over Laurel’s still-flat stomach Reuben almost expected it to squeak too. It didn’t make much noise, just Laurel sighing and the machines blipping and Rick the tech murmuring, “Here we go, it’ll come into focus in a moment.” Reuben didn’t say anything, just held onto Laurel’s hand. “And here we are. One –”
“One?” Laurel pushed herself up to see the screen. “Just one?”
Reuben could tell Rick hadn’t expected that fear of a singlet – never a good sign – or the sight of so many heartbeats on the monitor. “No, Mrs. Wilson, four.”
“Four?” Reuben asked, grinning. “Four!” he repeated to Laurel, kissing her hand, holding her fingers tight in his.
“Yes, here they are, one, two, three, four.” He rotated the screen, moved the wand, and pointed to their four children one after another while Laurel and Reuben kept on grinning. After a moment, he shook out his shoulders, “Now, with multiple births, there’s a greater risk –”
Reuben held up a hand, “One moment.” He’d gotten good at this in the past seven weeks, and smoothly reached into his pocket, pulled out a business card case, flipped it open and handed one over to Rick. “That should explain everything.” For some reason, no matter how many times he watched someone read one of the cards, he never got tired of watching their face. Maybe it was for that moment of dawning comprehension, like the one going with Rick right now.
“Yes, yes it does, that does in fact explain everything.” He flicked the card between his fingers.
“I assume you looked at my chart before you came in,” Laurel asked dryly.
“I’m sorry. If you want someone else who has more experience with your – ah, with your specific needs, then I’m sure there’s someone on staff who can help.”
“I appreciate that,” Reuben said, then switched gears and started smiling again. “So what else can you tell us about our kids?”
“Healthy, healthy heartbeats.” Rick was definitely glad to move back to the first subject of the appointment. “It’s too early to determine the gender, but if you want any photos…”
“Yes, please,” Laurel said, back to holding Reuben’s hand in one of hers, the other right above the line of jelly across her bare stomach.
-
When his parents gave their three children their formal going-off-to-college presents at their formal going-off-to-college dinner, it was the same thing for each of them. At least, it was close enough to count: a business card case from a silversmith in New York City, hand-engraved with hair-thin lines. They had different patterns, and said different things on the inside cover, but they were still the same sort of thing. None of them quite understood the gift until their mother explained she and their father knew they’d all use them. Each one was a promise about what they’d be doing someday, a way to show their parents’ hope and support for their future without going overboard. Reuben knew each case had to be worth at least his first years’ entire haul of textbooks, going by the craftsmanship. He still loved it, the little leaves and flowers curling gently around the edges of his name, and kept it in his room instead of taking it with him when he moved to campus. It felt too valuable to have with him when he was living in a new dorm room every year.
Three years later he learned his other brother felt the same way. It’d been in his desk, hidden in the top drawer underneath random crap – letters, movie tickets, rubber bands, candy wrappers, and when he found it Reuben thought the least he could’ve done was take it with him and pawn it to get some money. If he was going to run off at least he could go with some style and really erase everything that mattered, do something bigger than just disappear.
Reuben ended up taking his case with him when he moved out to California. Even though he’d gotten company-printed business cards he still didn’t use it, feeling like he needed to save it for something that deserved to be in there, and didn’t even take it out to look at much. He didn’t think about the case all that often until several years later, when he and Laurel moved back to the States to start a family and a conversation with James reminded him why he tried not to act like either of his brothers. Four days later he headed to the closest print shop and put in an order for enough business-card-sized answer sheets to have at least three refills. They were short, brief explanations to what he knew would be some of the most common questions they’d get asked in the next few months. He got used to carrying the case around and polishing it regularly, slipping it out of a pocket or the breast of a jacket or on one day at the pool in Laurel’s purse when the moment called for a bit of clarification, or when his parents asked him two weeks after his announcement how he planned on explaining things when they went to the hospital. Even James had asked to see one, giving his best faked smile as he read it through.
“I don’t see why you need them, that’s all.” They were alone together for the first time that night, loading up the dishwasher and letting everyone else stay off their feet.
“It’s relevant medical information.”
“Once you get your own doctor, then –”
“Then they go on vacation when we have an appointment, or there’s an emergency and we need to see someone right away, or I’d rather hand over a card instead of giving a whole spiel.” He leaned one hand against the counter, the other on his hip. “They’re good to have around.”
“So you’ll just give them to everyone who asks?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Are you sure –”
“No, actually, but I’d rather have them and risk the funny looks. Look, if you don’t want anyone to know, that’s you, but this is for Laurel here, all right?”
“All right.” James sighed. “Would you please hand me those cups?”
“By all means.”
-
The months passed by, the moon came and went, and every day Reuben wondered a hundred thousand times about what would happen in May. He rewrote the cards when she started to show; even if he didn’t need to hand them out as often since everyone in the hospital had gotten to know them by now, there were still the times he needed to clarify the situation a little bit.
Five months in he and Laurel went for a walk one Shabbos afternoon. The sidewalks still had snow piled up on both sides from Thursday’s round, and had melted just enough to freeze a little bit. He was breaking in his new boots; she was out on all fours since paws always had better traction that just about anything that could come out of a workshop or factory. Wind whipped up and Reuben wrapped his scarf closer around his nose; she laughed and buried her face in the snow, getting flakes all over her snout. He reached down to brush them off and she grabbed his hand in her mouth, not biting hard enough to break the skin but plenty firm, shaking it back and forth because she was that happy.
She finally let go when he started to tug, giving him one last lick across his palm. They didn’t get far, just another two blocks to a park bench, where she climbed up to lie down for a bit. He dutifully sat down next to her and started to rub her neck; she always loved that, no matter what shape she was in.
People passed by, saying hello and waving from across the snowy lawn. “Isn’t this better than California?” Reuben asked suddenly. “People know their neighbors here.” She huffed; she’d known her neighbors just fine until she’d moved to the southern part. “Well, okay, but it’ll be easier for them,” and he moved his hand to her belly, “to know other kids. It’s not as kid-friendly out there. Down south out there, anyway.” That, she agreed with, and started to nudge his hand until he went back to her neck.
Laurel stayed on all fours all through the evening, so he sliced up some apples and chicken livers for her dinner, and only went on two legs to get into bed, giving him a look while she stood there naked and gorgeously pregnant. “No comments, please, I just want to get into bed without criticism.”
“I wasn’t going to offer any.”
“Good.” She sighed as she got under the covers. “Did you see the way that woman was looking at us in the park?”
“Which one?”
“Aiden, Aiden Burns, I think. The one who bought that house on Sennot. We brought the pie to her housewarming party.”
“Right, Aiden. What about her?”
“She was looking at us funny.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just that she was looking at us funny.” She shuffled down to move her head off the pillow. “We should invite her over for dinner sometime.”
“So we can give her the skinny on what’s what?” Laurel chuckled at that. “The four-one-one? The dilly-o? What are the kids saying these days?” She shifted then, to laugh low and deep in her throat; if he wasn’t in his favorite flannel pajamas and halfway through the chapter, he’d have joined her. Instead, he moved to read one-handed and scratched the base of her ears with his free hand instead, and he could hear her tail wagging against the mattress even under the wintertime covers.
Two weeks later, Aiden was at their house for her first Christmas outside of her hometown, which for Laurel and Reuben was a normal Tuesday. She was a pleasant girl, very warm and friendly and glad to be eating dinner and having a conversation with other adults that wasn’t just about classes for a change. She talked about the pressure on teachers and filling quotas, and Reuben talked about civic planning and social infrastructure, and Laurel went back to talking about teachers and the local private schools.
It wasn’t until their second dinner together the following week that Reuben explained it was Laurel lying on the couch on all fours, not the dog from the park, and to her credit Aiden took it in a reasonable amount of stride once the worst of the confusion wore off. She stayed quiet, standing there with her muff still on, then nodded and asked, “I forgot to ask last week, how long have you two been married?”
“Just under six years now.” Even with the cards he wasn’t used to people asking the right questions and smiled in spite of himself. Jerking a thumb to the kitchen, “Would you like something to drink? We have some tea, it’s just decaf if that’s a problem.”
“That’d be fine.”
“Great. Oh, you can just put that in the closet.” Aiden hung up her stuff while Reuben got the water going, checking on dinner in the oven. Laurel changed for the meal itself, happy for conversation and to play ambassador of their race again. As it turned out, Aiden also knew to ask before touching, and rolled with Reuben’s joke about Laurel’s biting.
Laurel rolled her eyes and pulled up her top, guided Aiden’s hand to the upper left. “Right there, I think it’s a boy.”
“Isn’t five months enough time for that?”
“Yes, but we asked if we could be surprised. We’ve already got names picked out, so we don’t need to know.”
“Really?”
“Really. The tradition is to name children after dead relatives and keep their names alive, so we just picked four for each so we can decide when we meet them.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, we haven’t met them yet,” Reuben said. “When we do, then we’ll know what their names are.”
“Oh. Oh, okay. I can get that.”
He couldn’t explain why, but somehow it was better that Aiden had more trouble with their views on when pregnancies became children than their shifting to all fours on full moons. Shucking off his pants, “I guess it shows where her priorities are.” He shifted down to all fours and jumped into bed, curling up at Laurel’s side. She snuggled up next to him, digging her fingers deep into his fur.
“Or where she wants to be accepting.” She moved up to his chin; he leaned into her hand. “It’s good that she’s trying, but –”
He shifted up, kissing her hand. “Sometimes if people didn’t try so hard?”
“Something like that.” He shifted back down, growled low and round, and she went back to scratching his chin.
-
When it came time to meet them, Reuben had done more than enough reading to knew that no two pregnancies were the same and he’d never do enough preparation to feel comfortable and that everything would be fine, but when he saw Laurel standing in the middle of the kitchen with her breakfast and a look of quiet surprise that didn’t seem to fit with the news, knowing all of that didn’t do a damn thing to help him calm down.
“I’ll go get the bag.” She put the toast down and started to head out of the kitchen.
“No, no, I’ll get it, come on, you – um, grab some extra clothes, we didn’t pack enough, did we, we did, right, finish your toast and I’ll go get it.”
“I’ll be right here.”
When he dashed back into the room, she was halfway done with the first piece. “How can you be so nonchalant and just eat toast?”
“Because I know I’ll be screaming soon and I’d like to finish my breakfast. They’re far enough apart you can have some. Here,” she held out the plate. “Blueberry jam.”
“Blueberry – okay, I’ll stop, for one piece, then we go.”
“Deal.”
Four hours later and not nearly enough centimeters, he had to confess to her she’d been right about the toast; it was just enough to keep his stomach from twisting in on itself. “Should I get you something? If you think I can leave, I can get sandwiches or something…”
“No, it’s okay. It’s a, ahh,” Laurel went rigid in the contraction, “I’ll want something later, but not right now.”
“All right. Is this taking too long?” He asked the attendant. “I mean, for her.”
Doctor Oh shook her head. “No. And yes, I know, even for you it’s not taking too long. Yours won’t be as long as first labors are for most people – you two are really lucky, I gotta say – but it’ll be a little while longer. How are you holding?”
“Not as bad as I thought I’d be.” She gave a weak smile. “I’m ready for it to be over.”
“They are, too.” Oh pointed at Laurel’s belly. “Plenty ready to come out.”
“You hear that?” Reuben cupped his hands. “This is your father and your doctor speaking! Time to come out!” The two women just laughed. “I know they’re never going to listen to me, at least let me pretend for a while.”
“You should go get something, it’s gonna be a while.”
Five-and-a-half hours after that, he was standing in a different room in a gown with his face behind a mask, his first daughter and first son cleaned up and swaddled, so small and delicate, and Oh was right underneath Laurel delivering their second daughter, “Good, good, healthy girl,” and Reuben clipped the third of four umbilical cords. “One left.”
“Just one,” he joked to Laurel, drenched in sweat.
“Just one,” she affirmed, smiling back and looking more ready to have a nap than he’d ever seen her.
In retrospect, it should’ve been a sign something was up, but plenty of werewolves delivered when they’d shifted down – Laurel had some cousins and a sister who had, and it was easier if the child was on all fours, sometimes they came into the world that way, just one of those things for how they worked. But Reuben didn’t have time to think about what might or might not be wrong with their fourth child when Laurel threw her head back in pain and gritted her teeth, squeezed her eyes tight and started to pant. “What’s wrong?” He rubbed her shoulder. “Laurel, what’s wrong?”
She looked down long enough to say to Doctor Oh, “I’m really sorry about this,” pulled her legs up, turned on her side, and shifted down, still whimpering, still with her eyes shut tight. Reuben immediately leaned in to pull off the gown, she was swimming in it, and glanced up to see two of the nurses hugging the walls.
“Do you mind!” he yelled. “My wife’s giving birth here, she needs your help!”
“Sir, I’m not a vet –” one of them started.
“She’s not a dog, she’s a werewolf, so get your ass over here or you won’t be working here on Monday.” He didn’t know how he’d get that done but the threat did the trick and everyone converged back where they should be, helping Laurel give birth to their fourth child. Not that she needed much of it; she just let things take care of themselves, and their fourth child came out faster than any of the other three, plenty ready like the doctor said. Laurel leaned down to lick the baby awake, nuzzling it, and all Reuben could think of was how tiny and wet their last child was, how quiet the cries were, that here was their baby.
“Mrs. Wilson,” Oh leaned in. Laurel kept nuzzling and licking all over. “Mrs. Wilson,” she repeated louder, “We need to measure, um, take the weight and length and, paw, pawprints I guess.”
At least none of the jerk-offs had the gall to call their child a puppy in earshot. Laurel shifted up, grinned, “It’s a girl.” She reached down, and handed their daughter off to Oh. While she got weighed and measured, Laurel passed the placenta – and someone just had to remark on how huge it was, but right now Reuben couldn’t bring himself to care about someone caring about that. Laurel was fine, their children were fine, their kids were great, things were perfect. He pulled her hand in close and smelled her skin, ripe and warm and full with sweat, and couldn’t stop grinning.
Nearly forty-five minutes later, Laurel was showered and dozing, their children were fed and cleaned and fast asleep, and his parents were cooing over everything from fingernails and noses to tails. Meanwhile, Reuben was out in the hallway, his first few minutes of peace and quiet since before breakfast and his last for as long as he could imagine. James handed him a cup of decaf coffee; he took it in silence as James sat down next to him.
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
“And thank you for getting me off the hook.”
Reuben laughed. “No problem.” He sniffed the coffee and decided against drinking any, but kept his hands wrapped around it, glad for something warm to hold. “It’s good you came. I know you have your work, and your friend…”
“Don’t. It’s fine, I’m glad I could make it. Even if I missed the big event.”
“You should’ve seen –” it wasn’t funny then and it wasn’t funny now but Rueben found himself laughing over it, “There were these two nurses who must have skipped some classes because the minute, I mean the minute Laurel shifted, they were seriously this close to shitting their pants, I mean really, how do you get through med school and not learn about us?”
“I know! Last week House had this case with a selkie and it turned out to be toxoplasmosis but he called me in, just because.”
“People.”
“Yes.”
Reuben chuckled and took a sip of the coffee, now cool enough to gulp down without having to taste it. “I’m really glad you’re here.” He stared down into the cup, moved his hand to make the liquid swirl around. “I just – I mean it’d be nice if…you know.”
“Yeah.”
He shrugged at the room, more to say who wasn’t there without voicing the name. “I think he’d have liked to be here for all this.”
“Are you kidding? He’d have used that forever. ‘I was there when you came out of your mother.’”
“Just like that.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.”
Whenever he came up like this, not so much anymore but still every so often, they didn’t say his name or talk about him directly. It was like he was some sort of hungry ghost, waiting for the chance to be called and to spring out of an alley or from under a rock, wherever he was hiding, to reappear all of a sudden and steal something away from them. Something more than what he’d already taken, leaving behind nothing but blue-scented memories and fear of a name.
James clapped his hands together, the sound echoing and breaking the spell. “So can I meet them?”
“Well sure, why not? Right this way.” Reuben dropped the half-full cup into the trash can by their chairs on their way out, and the closer they got the more he smiled until they were standing over the bed and the only expression he could make was a huge, sappy grin. It’d taken some talk, but they’d managed to get a private room, and Laurel was lying asleep in a bed of her own. “Say hi to Uncle James, everyone.”
“And who is everyone?” James whispered back.
“Jeremy, June, Susan, and Abigail.” Collectively they were named after one great-uncle, two great-aunts, and a grandmother, half of the names coming from Laurel’s family and the other half from his. He reached down and stroked a finger down Susan’s cheek. “Don’t worry. They’ve all got embarrassingly Jewish middle names.”
“Let me guess: Laurel’s mother.”
“Bingo.”
“Hi, everyone. It’s good to meet you.” He smiled down at them, then asked Reuben, “Can I hold…?”
“Sure, as long as you don’t wake anyone up.”
He nodded, reached down, and with the care Reuben expected from his brother and knew him to give, gently picking up June to bring her close to his chest “Hi, June,” he whispered, even quieter than before. She slept on as he rocked her in his hands, pressed his nose against her chest to take a deep breath of her smell, and returned her to the bed to do the same to her brother and sisters. He didn’t have much more to say, and neither did Reuben, and that was all right; they both knew that this would probably be the last bit of quiet Reuben would probably get for the next ten years, and anything they could say wouldn’t fit what they wanted to get out. So neither of them said anything, and stood and watched.
It didn’t take long for their parents to join them, and not long after that for everyone to wake up and demand food right away. Laurel sighed, shifted down, and let her husband help arrange everyone for their second round of feedings. So of course their grandfather had to pull out the camera to document everything, and since going digital he’d only gotten worse about it. She just closed her eyes and flicked her ears and let him take pictures. When everyone was done and burped, and she’d shifted back up, somehow he got her to agree to a posed shot of her and all four children in her arms, smiling the smile that she’d just given birth to the four most wonderful children alive.
James was almost right: the hospital staff didn’t want to let Laurel go just yet, and since Laurel argued well enough to make him give in even if it’d just get her to calm down, Reuben spent the night in the house. Everyone else was either at the hospital or a hotel, and he couldn’t get to sleep for the longest time, staring up at the ceiling and trying to force himself to not think about trying to fall asleep. His parents had nodded without smiling when the doctors had said they didn’t want Laurel to leave so soon, and James went along with it, everyone else saying it was easier – never mind what was normal for one person wasn’t the same for another, or that the rooms were ready to go and the house remodeling was finally done and, God, he shouldn’t be away from his family like this.
He ended up giving up around one, headed into the kitchen, and more than a bit desperate to do something, ended up washing and drying the leftover breakfast dishes by hand, the toast plate still out on the counter. The knife had been left out and he had to scrub at the tile to get the bits of dried jam off, and when he was done with that he stopped to take a look around the kitchen and was struck with the weird urge to turn on all the lights in the house just to have something else to do.
Not having anything to do right now wasn’t something he knew how to deal with. Even if it was just a few hours of nothing, he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it or how to approach the issue. There wasn’t anything for him to work with, on, or against, and he was pretty well out of options. And knowing that getting some sleep was the one thing to do didn’t help much when he was having such a hard time doing just that.
He ended up pulling Laurel’s week-old pajamas out of the hamper, shifting down, and curling up next to them bunched up on her pillow, their scent almost as strong as if she was here. When he woke up, he didn’t feel rested, but more than ready to deal with the work that meant welcoming his family home.
-
At first there wasn’t time to worry about anything. They’d done plenty of shopping and gotten more than their fair share of baby and toddler hand-me-overs from both their families – werewolves almost never needed hand-me-downs, something Aiden found amusing for some reason – and people coming in and out to fawn, coo, make small talk, and sometimes just take up space. Friends from the neighborhood came in and out to congratulate them or politely excuse themselves if Reuben explained Laurel was busy feeding the kids or if someone needed to be changed again. Both sets of grandparents traded embarrassing stories and pitched in, and James chatted with Laurel’s sisters and brothers in turn while their own kids and families waited for them to come back to their homes.
The newborn chaos settled just enough for Jeremy’s bris to go smoothly, with all the children somehow behaving themselves for the entire thing. Even Susan wasn’t demanding to be the center of attention. And that seemed to be enough, because everyone said good-bye and flew or drove home the following afternoon, eight days plenty for the guests. Reuben couldn’t blame them: he knew if he had a chance, he’d leave diapers behind too.
Two nights later, on the new moon, everyone woke up howling and that should have been a clue but neither of them was awake enough to put that together.
“It’s okay. I got this one.”
“You sure?”
“We already agreed I’d feed them tonight. Go back to sleep.” Reuben almost wanted her to put up a bit of a fight, and smiled when she turned over and pulled the covers back in close. He stood up, took a moment to roll his shoulders out – he always tried to sleep through new moons if he could help it – and padded over to the kitchen to get the bottles warmed up on the stove.
For everyone’s ease, they’d set the crib down at a low level, too low for anyone to climb out of but not too high to make it difficult to reach in on all fours, and the first week Laurel pulled out the futon and slept with everyone nuzzled up against her so she could just nudge them into feeding when they got hungry, her husband bringing her food like a queen on high and cleaning up everything so she had to move as little as possible. Now, everyone was sleeping together without their mother but with plenty of company, something Reuben knew to help when one of them didn’t wake everyone else up with a demand for a fresh diaper or by declaring they wanted to be held or any of a million things. He knew by now which cries were what and which belonged to whom, that Abigail and June were hungrier than Susan and Jeremy, and that nothing was worse than his children crying and he’d do whatever he could to make whatever made the crying start stop and go away.
“Hey, everyone, hey, hey,” he opened the door, the light from the hallway more than enough. “It’s okay, I’m here, your mom’s not feeding you tonight so it’s me, I know you know bottles are fine, hey –” He stopped when he looked down into the crib.
His kids kept crying as he stared, not able to believe it, even though he knew it, hadn’t wanted to know it, had wished against it – his children. Beautiful children, all four of them. Three babies, one puppy.
“Oh, June,” he whispered. “June, June.” Everyone kept crying and howling, hungrier than ever, and he couldn’t stop staring and wishing he didn’t want to cry. He wiped his hands over his face, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes, and went back to the kitchen to check on the bottles. Everything were warm enough by then, so after soothing them enough to let them know their father was right here and they were about to eat, he pulled over the rocking chair and one at a time fed and soothed and gently guided everyone back to sleep. He fed June last, her paws scratching at the air while she ate half-asleep.
It wasn’t just something mentioned in a few careful paragraphs in one of their baby books, not for Reuben. But it was for Laurel, so for her sake, he hadn’t said anything. He’d tried not to worry. It hadn’t been easy, not when the evidence was stacked against him, but it felt like if he didn’t say his worry out loud, or followed up the slightest allusion with a hearty ‘God forbid’ like the most stereotypical grandmother, nothing would come of it and everything would be fine. He’d know if they shifted down or up from the smell, but – it was easier for Laurel to feed everyone with more than two nipples, and they were still so young they needed to be fed ten times a day at the very least, and she’d never said if June had ever shifted up. And when they’d seen Abby and Jeremy shift for the first time, it’d been a reason to yell for everyone to come and see, as important as their first steps.
June whined and shook her head, pulling away from the fake teat, so he set the bottle down and rocked her a bit to get her to fall back asleep. God, she was so small. Next to her siblings she didn’t look like she belonged with them, she was so small. She was tired and full, and cuddled next to her father’s chest she nuzzled closer to him and went to sleep in his hands, and he rocked back and forth and kept stroking her fur until he stood up and set her back in the crib next to everyone else to sleep until they were hungry again.
He wanted to shift down and curl up around them, but went back to the bedroom to wake up Laurel. “Honey,” he shook her gently, “Laurel, honey, I’m sorry, you need to see this, please, it’s important, come on wake up Laurel.”
“Mmmmhgh, what is it?”
“It’s June.”
She blinked the rest of the way awake. “What’s wrong? Is she hurt?”
“No.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “No, she’s not hurt.”
“What is it?”
“You need to come and see.”
Part two.
Author: Hannah Orlove
Fandom: House, MD
Pairing: OMC/OFC
Rating: PG-13
Notes: Companion piece to Blood Letting. Written for
werewolfbigbang. Thanks to mer_duff for cheerleading, perspi for hand-holding and consultations, and pwcorgigirl and phinnia for beta-reading. Title comes from the song Falls To Climb by R.E.M.The gel squeaked out of the tube, and when the wand started to glide over Laurel’s still-flat stomach Reuben almost expected it to squeak too. It didn’t make much noise, just Laurel sighing and the machines blipping and Rick the tech murmuring, “Here we go, it’ll come into focus in a moment.” Reuben didn’t say anything, just held onto Laurel’s hand. “And here we are. One –”
“One?” Laurel pushed herself up to see the screen. “Just one?”
Reuben could tell Rick hadn’t expected that fear of a singlet – never a good sign – or the sight of so many heartbeats on the monitor. “No, Mrs. Wilson, four.”
“Four?” Reuben asked, grinning. “Four!” he repeated to Laurel, kissing her hand, holding her fingers tight in his.
“Yes, here they are, one, two, three, four.” He rotated the screen, moved the wand, and pointed to their four children one after another while Laurel and Reuben kept on grinning. After a moment, he shook out his shoulders, “Now, with multiple births, there’s a greater risk –”
Reuben held up a hand, “One moment.” He’d gotten good at this in the past seven weeks, and smoothly reached into his pocket, pulled out a business card case, flipped it open and handed one over to Rick. “That should explain everything.” For some reason, no matter how many times he watched someone read one of the cards, he never got tired of watching their face. Maybe it was for that moment of dawning comprehension, like the one going with Rick right now.
“Yes, yes it does, that does in fact explain everything.” He flicked the card between his fingers.
“I assume you looked at my chart before you came in,” Laurel asked dryly.
“I’m sorry. If you want someone else who has more experience with your – ah, with your specific needs, then I’m sure there’s someone on staff who can help.”
“I appreciate that,” Reuben said, then switched gears and started smiling again. “So what else can you tell us about our kids?”
“Healthy, healthy heartbeats.” Rick was definitely glad to move back to the first subject of the appointment. “It’s too early to determine the gender, but if you want any photos…”
“Yes, please,” Laurel said, back to holding Reuben’s hand in one of hers, the other right above the line of jelly across her bare stomach.
-
When his parents gave their three children their formal going-off-to-college presents at their formal going-off-to-college dinner, it was the same thing for each of them. At least, it was close enough to count: a business card case from a silversmith in New York City, hand-engraved with hair-thin lines. They had different patterns, and said different things on the inside cover, but they were still the same sort of thing. None of them quite understood the gift until their mother explained she and their father knew they’d all use them. Each one was a promise about what they’d be doing someday, a way to show their parents’ hope and support for their future without going overboard. Reuben knew each case had to be worth at least his first years’ entire haul of textbooks, going by the craftsmanship. He still loved it, the little leaves and flowers curling gently around the edges of his name, and kept it in his room instead of taking it with him when he moved to campus. It felt too valuable to have with him when he was living in a new dorm room every year.
Three years later he learned his other brother felt the same way. It’d been in his desk, hidden in the top drawer underneath random crap – letters, movie tickets, rubber bands, candy wrappers, and when he found it Reuben thought the least he could’ve done was take it with him and pawn it to get some money. If he was going to run off at least he could go with some style and really erase everything that mattered, do something bigger than just disappear.
Reuben ended up taking his case with him when he moved out to California. Even though he’d gotten company-printed business cards he still didn’t use it, feeling like he needed to save it for something that deserved to be in there, and didn’t even take it out to look at much. He didn’t think about the case all that often until several years later, when he and Laurel moved back to the States to start a family and a conversation with James reminded him why he tried not to act like either of his brothers. Four days later he headed to the closest print shop and put in an order for enough business-card-sized answer sheets to have at least three refills. They were short, brief explanations to what he knew would be some of the most common questions they’d get asked in the next few months. He got used to carrying the case around and polishing it regularly, slipping it out of a pocket or the breast of a jacket or on one day at the pool in Laurel’s purse when the moment called for a bit of clarification, or when his parents asked him two weeks after his announcement how he planned on explaining things when they went to the hospital. Even James had asked to see one, giving his best faked smile as he read it through.
“I don’t see why you need them, that’s all.” They were alone together for the first time that night, loading up the dishwasher and letting everyone else stay off their feet.
“It’s relevant medical information.”
“Once you get your own doctor, then –”
“Then they go on vacation when we have an appointment, or there’s an emergency and we need to see someone right away, or I’d rather hand over a card instead of giving a whole spiel.” He leaned one hand against the counter, the other on his hip. “They’re good to have around.”
“So you’ll just give them to everyone who asks?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Are you sure –”
“No, actually, but I’d rather have them and risk the funny looks. Look, if you don’t want anyone to know, that’s you, but this is for Laurel here, all right?”
“All right.” James sighed. “Would you please hand me those cups?”
“By all means.”
-
The months passed by, the moon came and went, and every day Reuben wondered a hundred thousand times about what would happen in May. He rewrote the cards when she started to show; even if he didn’t need to hand them out as often since everyone in the hospital had gotten to know them by now, there were still the times he needed to clarify the situation a little bit.
Five months in he and Laurel went for a walk one Shabbos afternoon. The sidewalks still had snow piled up on both sides from Thursday’s round, and had melted just enough to freeze a little bit. He was breaking in his new boots; she was out on all fours since paws always had better traction that just about anything that could come out of a workshop or factory. Wind whipped up and Reuben wrapped his scarf closer around his nose; she laughed and buried her face in the snow, getting flakes all over her snout. He reached down to brush them off and she grabbed his hand in her mouth, not biting hard enough to break the skin but plenty firm, shaking it back and forth because she was that happy.
She finally let go when he started to tug, giving him one last lick across his palm. They didn’t get far, just another two blocks to a park bench, where she climbed up to lie down for a bit. He dutifully sat down next to her and started to rub her neck; she always loved that, no matter what shape she was in.
People passed by, saying hello and waving from across the snowy lawn. “Isn’t this better than California?” Reuben asked suddenly. “People know their neighbors here.” She huffed; she’d known her neighbors just fine until she’d moved to the southern part. “Well, okay, but it’ll be easier for them,” and he moved his hand to her belly, “to know other kids. It’s not as kid-friendly out there. Down south out there, anyway.” That, she agreed with, and started to nudge his hand until he went back to her neck.
Laurel stayed on all fours all through the evening, so he sliced up some apples and chicken livers for her dinner, and only went on two legs to get into bed, giving him a look while she stood there naked and gorgeously pregnant. “No comments, please, I just want to get into bed without criticism.”
“I wasn’t going to offer any.”
“Good.” She sighed as she got under the covers. “Did you see the way that woman was looking at us in the park?”
“Which one?”
“Aiden, Aiden Burns, I think. The one who bought that house on Sennot. We brought the pie to her housewarming party.”
“Right, Aiden. What about her?”
“She was looking at us funny.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just that she was looking at us funny.” She shuffled down to move her head off the pillow. “We should invite her over for dinner sometime.”
“So we can give her the skinny on what’s what?” Laurel chuckled at that. “The four-one-one? The dilly-o? What are the kids saying these days?” She shifted then, to laugh low and deep in her throat; if he wasn’t in his favorite flannel pajamas and halfway through the chapter, he’d have joined her. Instead, he moved to read one-handed and scratched the base of her ears with his free hand instead, and he could hear her tail wagging against the mattress even under the wintertime covers.
Two weeks later, Aiden was at their house for her first Christmas outside of her hometown, which for Laurel and Reuben was a normal Tuesday. She was a pleasant girl, very warm and friendly and glad to be eating dinner and having a conversation with other adults that wasn’t just about classes for a change. She talked about the pressure on teachers and filling quotas, and Reuben talked about civic planning and social infrastructure, and Laurel went back to talking about teachers and the local private schools.
It wasn’t until their second dinner together the following week that Reuben explained it was Laurel lying on the couch on all fours, not the dog from the park, and to her credit Aiden took it in a reasonable amount of stride once the worst of the confusion wore off. She stayed quiet, standing there with her muff still on, then nodded and asked, “I forgot to ask last week, how long have you two been married?”
“Just under six years now.” Even with the cards he wasn’t used to people asking the right questions and smiled in spite of himself. Jerking a thumb to the kitchen, “Would you like something to drink? We have some tea, it’s just decaf if that’s a problem.”
“That’d be fine.”
“Great. Oh, you can just put that in the closet.” Aiden hung up her stuff while Reuben got the water going, checking on dinner in the oven. Laurel changed for the meal itself, happy for conversation and to play ambassador of their race again. As it turned out, Aiden also knew to ask before touching, and rolled with Reuben’s joke about Laurel’s biting.
Laurel rolled her eyes and pulled up her top, guided Aiden’s hand to the upper left. “Right there, I think it’s a boy.”
“Isn’t five months enough time for that?”
“Yes, but we asked if we could be surprised. We’ve already got names picked out, so we don’t need to know.”
“Really?”
“Really. The tradition is to name children after dead relatives and keep their names alive, so we just picked four for each so we can decide when we meet them.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, we haven’t met them yet,” Reuben said. “When we do, then we’ll know what their names are.”
“Oh. Oh, okay. I can get that.”
He couldn’t explain why, but somehow it was better that Aiden had more trouble with their views on when pregnancies became children than their shifting to all fours on full moons. Shucking off his pants, “I guess it shows where her priorities are.” He shifted down to all fours and jumped into bed, curling up at Laurel’s side. She snuggled up next to him, digging her fingers deep into his fur.
“Or where she wants to be accepting.” She moved up to his chin; he leaned into her hand. “It’s good that she’s trying, but –”
He shifted up, kissing her hand. “Sometimes if people didn’t try so hard?”
“Something like that.” He shifted back down, growled low and round, and she went back to scratching his chin.
-
When it came time to meet them, Reuben had done more than enough reading to knew that no two pregnancies were the same and he’d never do enough preparation to feel comfortable and that everything would be fine, but when he saw Laurel standing in the middle of the kitchen with her breakfast and a look of quiet surprise that didn’t seem to fit with the news, knowing all of that didn’t do a damn thing to help him calm down.
“I’ll go get the bag.” She put the toast down and started to head out of the kitchen.
“No, no, I’ll get it, come on, you – um, grab some extra clothes, we didn’t pack enough, did we, we did, right, finish your toast and I’ll go get it.”
“I’ll be right here.”
When he dashed back into the room, she was halfway done with the first piece. “How can you be so nonchalant and just eat toast?”
“Because I know I’ll be screaming soon and I’d like to finish my breakfast. They’re far enough apart you can have some. Here,” she held out the plate. “Blueberry jam.”
“Blueberry – okay, I’ll stop, for one piece, then we go.”
“Deal.”
Four hours later and not nearly enough centimeters, he had to confess to her she’d been right about the toast; it was just enough to keep his stomach from twisting in on itself. “Should I get you something? If you think I can leave, I can get sandwiches or something…”
“No, it’s okay. It’s a, ahh,” Laurel went rigid in the contraction, “I’ll want something later, but not right now.”
“All right. Is this taking too long?” He asked the attendant. “I mean, for her.”
Doctor Oh shook her head. “No. And yes, I know, even for you it’s not taking too long. Yours won’t be as long as first labors are for most people – you two are really lucky, I gotta say – but it’ll be a little while longer. How are you holding?”
“Not as bad as I thought I’d be.” She gave a weak smile. “I’m ready for it to be over.”
“They are, too.” Oh pointed at Laurel’s belly. “Plenty ready to come out.”
“You hear that?” Reuben cupped his hands. “This is your father and your doctor speaking! Time to come out!” The two women just laughed. “I know they’re never going to listen to me, at least let me pretend for a while.”
“You should go get something, it’s gonna be a while.”
Five-and-a-half hours after that, he was standing in a different room in a gown with his face behind a mask, his first daughter and first son cleaned up and swaddled, so small and delicate, and Oh was right underneath Laurel delivering their second daughter, “Good, good, healthy girl,” and Reuben clipped the third of four umbilical cords. “One left.”
“Just one,” he joked to Laurel, drenched in sweat.
“Just one,” she affirmed, smiling back and looking more ready to have a nap than he’d ever seen her.
In retrospect, it should’ve been a sign something was up, but plenty of werewolves delivered when they’d shifted down – Laurel had some cousins and a sister who had, and it was easier if the child was on all fours, sometimes they came into the world that way, just one of those things for how they worked. But Reuben didn’t have time to think about what might or might not be wrong with their fourth child when Laurel threw her head back in pain and gritted her teeth, squeezed her eyes tight and started to pant. “What’s wrong?” He rubbed her shoulder. “Laurel, what’s wrong?”
She looked down long enough to say to Doctor Oh, “I’m really sorry about this,” pulled her legs up, turned on her side, and shifted down, still whimpering, still with her eyes shut tight. Reuben immediately leaned in to pull off the gown, she was swimming in it, and glanced up to see two of the nurses hugging the walls.
“Do you mind!” he yelled. “My wife’s giving birth here, she needs your help!”
“Sir, I’m not a vet –” one of them started.
“She’s not a dog, she’s a werewolf, so get your ass over here or you won’t be working here on Monday.” He didn’t know how he’d get that done but the threat did the trick and everyone converged back where they should be, helping Laurel give birth to their fourth child. Not that she needed much of it; she just let things take care of themselves, and their fourth child came out faster than any of the other three, plenty ready like the doctor said. Laurel leaned down to lick the baby awake, nuzzling it, and all Reuben could think of was how tiny and wet their last child was, how quiet the cries were, that here was their baby.
“Mrs. Wilson,” Oh leaned in. Laurel kept nuzzling and licking all over. “Mrs. Wilson,” she repeated louder, “We need to measure, um, take the weight and length and, paw, pawprints I guess.”
At least none of the jerk-offs had the gall to call their child a puppy in earshot. Laurel shifted up, grinned, “It’s a girl.” She reached down, and handed their daughter off to Oh. While she got weighed and measured, Laurel passed the placenta – and someone just had to remark on how huge it was, but right now Reuben couldn’t bring himself to care about someone caring about that. Laurel was fine, their children were fine, their kids were great, things were perfect. He pulled her hand in close and smelled her skin, ripe and warm and full with sweat, and couldn’t stop grinning.
Nearly forty-five minutes later, Laurel was showered and dozing, their children were fed and cleaned and fast asleep, and his parents were cooing over everything from fingernails and noses to tails. Meanwhile, Reuben was out in the hallway, his first few minutes of peace and quiet since before breakfast and his last for as long as he could imagine. James handed him a cup of decaf coffee; he took it in silence as James sat down next to him.
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
“And thank you for getting me off the hook.”
Reuben laughed. “No problem.” He sniffed the coffee and decided against drinking any, but kept his hands wrapped around it, glad for something warm to hold. “It’s good you came. I know you have your work, and your friend…”
“Don’t. It’s fine, I’m glad I could make it. Even if I missed the big event.”
“You should’ve seen –” it wasn’t funny then and it wasn’t funny now but Rueben found himself laughing over it, “There were these two nurses who must have skipped some classes because the minute, I mean the minute Laurel shifted, they were seriously this close to shitting their pants, I mean really, how do you get through med school and not learn about us?”
“I know! Last week House had this case with a selkie and it turned out to be toxoplasmosis but he called me in, just because.”
“People.”
“Yes.”
Reuben chuckled and took a sip of the coffee, now cool enough to gulp down without having to taste it. “I’m really glad you’re here.” He stared down into the cup, moved his hand to make the liquid swirl around. “I just – I mean it’d be nice if…you know.”
“Yeah.”
He shrugged at the room, more to say who wasn’t there without voicing the name. “I think he’d have liked to be here for all this.”
“Are you kidding? He’d have used that forever. ‘I was there when you came out of your mother.’”
“Just like that.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah.”
Whenever he came up like this, not so much anymore but still every so often, they didn’t say his name or talk about him directly. It was like he was some sort of hungry ghost, waiting for the chance to be called and to spring out of an alley or from under a rock, wherever he was hiding, to reappear all of a sudden and steal something away from them. Something more than what he’d already taken, leaving behind nothing but blue-scented memories and fear of a name.
James clapped his hands together, the sound echoing and breaking the spell. “So can I meet them?”
“Well sure, why not? Right this way.” Reuben dropped the half-full cup into the trash can by their chairs on their way out, and the closer they got the more he smiled until they were standing over the bed and the only expression he could make was a huge, sappy grin. It’d taken some talk, but they’d managed to get a private room, and Laurel was lying asleep in a bed of her own. “Say hi to Uncle James, everyone.”
“And who is everyone?” James whispered back.
“Jeremy, June, Susan, and Abigail.” Collectively they were named after one great-uncle, two great-aunts, and a grandmother, half of the names coming from Laurel’s family and the other half from his. He reached down and stroked a finger down Susan’s cheek. “Don’t worry. They’ve all got embarrassingly Jewish middle names.”
“Let me guess: Laurel’s mother.”
“Bingo.”
“Hi, everyone. It’s good to meet you.” He smiled down at them, then asked Reuben, “Can I hold…?”
“Sure, as long as you don’t wake anyone up.”
He nodded, reached down, and with the care Reuben expected from his brother and knew him to give, gently picking up June to bring her close to his chest “Hi, June,” he whispered, even quieter than before. She slept on as he rocked her in his hands, pressed his nose against her chest to take a deep breath of her smell, and returned her to the bed to do the same to her brother and sisters. He didn’t have much more to say, and neither did Reuben, and that was all right; they both knew that this would probably be the last bit of quiet Reuben would probably get for the next ten years, and anything they could say wouldn’t fit what they wanted to get out. So neither of them said anything, and stood and watched.
It didn’t take long for their parents to join them, and not long after that for everyone to wake up and demand food right away. Laurel sighed, shifted down, and let her husband help arrange everyone for their second round of feedings. So of course their grandfather had to pull out the camera to document everything, and since going digital he’d only gotten worse about it. She just closed her eyes and flicked her ears and let him take pictures. When everyone was done and burped, and she’d shifted back up, somehow he got her to agree to a posed shot of her and all four children in her arms, smiling the smile that she’d just given birth to the four most wonderful children alive.
James was almost right: the hospital staff didn’t want to let Laurel go just yet, and since Laurel argued well enough to make him give in even if it’d just get her to calm down, Reuben spent the night in the house. Everyone else was either at the hospital or a hotel, and he couldn’t get to sleep for the longest time, staring up at the ceiling and trying to force himself to not think about trying to fall asleep. His parents had nodded without smiling when the doctors had said they didn’t want Laurel to leave so soon, and James went along with it, everyone else saying it was easier – never mind what was normal for one person wasn’t the same for another, or that the rooms were ready to go and the house remodeling was finally done and, God, he shouldn’t be away from his family like this.
He ended up giving up around one, headed into the kitchen, and more than a bit desperate to do something, ended up washing and drying the leftover breakfast dishes by hand, the toast plate still out on the counter. The knife had been left out and he had to scrub at the tile to get the bits of dried jam off, and when he was done with that he stopped to take a look around the kitchen and was struck with the weird urge to turn on all the lights in the house just to have something else to do.
Not having anything to do right now wasn’t something he knew how to deal with. Even if it was just a few hours of nothing, he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it or how to approach the issue. There wasn’t anything for him to work with, on, or against, and he was pretty well out of options. And knowing that getting some sleep was the one thing to do didn’t help much when he was having such a hard time doing just that.
He ended up pulling Laurel’s week-old pajamas out of the hamper, shifting down, and curling up next to them bunched up on her pillow, their scent almost as strong as if she was here. When he woke up, he didn’t feel rested, but more than ready to deal with the work that meant welcoming his family home.
-
At first there wasn’t time to worry about anything. They’d done plenty of shopping and gotten more than their fair share of baby and toddler hand-me-overs from both their families – werewolves almost never needed hand-me-downs, something Aiden found amusing for some reason – and people coming in and out to fawn, coo, make small talk, and sometimes just take up space. Friends from the neighborhood came in and out to congratulate them or politely excuse themselves if Reuben explained Laurel was busy feeding the kids or if someone needed to be changed again. Both sets of grandparents traded embarrassing stories and pitched in, and James chatted with Laurel’s sisters and brothers in turn while their own kids and families waited for them to come back to their homes.
The newborn chaos settled just enough for Jeremy’s bris to go smoothly, with all the children somehow behaving themselves for the entire thing. Even Susan wasn’t demanding to be the center of attention. And that seemed to be enough, because everyone said good-bye and flew or drove home the following afternoon, eight days plenty for the guests. Reuben couldn’t blame them: he knew if he had a chance, he’d leave diapers behind too.
Two nights later, on the new moon, everyone woke up howling and that should have been a clue but neither of them was awake enough to put that together.
“It’s okay. I got this one.”
“You sure?”
“We already agreed I’d feed them tonight. Go back to sleep.” Reuben almost wanted her to put up a bit of a fight, and smiled when she turned over and pulled the covers back in close. He stood up, took a moment to roll his shoulders out – he always tried to sleep through new moons if he could help it – and padded over to the kitchen to get the bottles warmed up on the stove.
For everyone’s ease, they’d set the crib down at a low level, too low for anyone to climb out of but not too high to make it difficult to reach in on all fours, and the first week Laurel pulled out the futon and slept with everyone nuzzled up against her so she could just nudge them into feeding when they got hungry, her husband bringing her food like a queen on high and cleaning up everything so she had to move as little as possible. Now, everyone was sleeping together without their mother but with plenty of company, something Reuben knew to help when one of them didn’t wake everyone else up with a demand for a fresh diaper or by declaring they wanted to be held or any of a million things. He knew by now which cries were what and which belonged to whom, that Abigail and June were hungrier than Susan and Jeremy, and that nothing was worse than his children crying and he’d do whatever he could to make whatever made the crying start stop and go away.
“Hey, everyone, hey, hey,” he opened the door, the light from the hallway more than enough. “It’s okay, I’m here, your mom’s not feeding you tonight so it’s me, I know you know bottles are fine, hey –” He stopped when he looked down into the crib.
His kids kept crying as he stared, not able to believe it, even though he knew it, hadn’t wanted to know it, had wished against it – his children. Beautiful children, all four of them. Three babies, one puppy.
“Oh, June,” he whispered. “June, June.” Everyone kept crying and howling, hungrier than ever, and he couldn’t stop staring and wishing he didn’t want to cry. He wiped his hands over his face, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes, and went back to the kitchen to check on the bottles. Everything were warm enough by then, so after soothing them enough to let them know their father was right here and they were about to eat, he pulled over the rocking chair and one at a time fed and soothed and gently guided everyone back to sleep. He fed June last, her paws scratching at the air while she ate half-asleep.
It wasn’t just something mentioned in a few careful paragraphs in one of their baby books, not for Reuben. But it was for Laurel, so for her sake, he hadn’t said anything. He’d tried not to worry. It hadn’t been easy, not when the evidence was stacked against him, but it felt like if he didn’t say his worry out loud, or followed up the slightest allusion with a hearty ‘God forbid’ like the most stereotypical grandmother, nothing would come of it and everything would be fine. He’d know if they shifted down or up from the smell, but – it was easier for Laurel to feed everyone with more than two nipples, and they were still so young they needed to be fed ten times a day at the very least, and she’d never said if June had ever shifted up. And when they’d seen Abby and Jeremy shift for the first time, it’d been a reason to yell for everyone to come and see, as important as their first steps.
June whined and shook her head, pulling away from the fake teat, so he set the bottle down and rocked her a bit to get her to fall back asleep. God, she was so small. Next to her siblings she didn’t look like she belonged with them, she was so small. She was tired and full, and cuddled next to her father’s chest she nuzzled closer to him and went to sleep in his hands, and he rocked back and forth and kept stroking her fur until he stood up and set her back in the crib next to everyone else to sleep until they were hungry again.
He wanted to shift down and curl up around them, but went back to the bedroom to wake up Laurel. “Honey,” he shook her gently, “Laurel, honey, I’m sorry, you need to see this, please, it’s important, come on wake up Laurel.”
“Mmmmhgh, what is it?”
“It’s June.”
She blinked the rest of the way awake. “What’s wrong? Is she hurt?”
“No.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “No, she’s not hurt.”
“What is it?”
“You need to come and see.”
Part two.
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