Slayers, From Now On Ch. 11

"You must have chaos within you to give birth to a dancing star."
~Friedrich Nietzsche

Chapter 11. It's Time.

In the relatively short time that Xellos and Filia had been in Avoch waiting for nature to take its course, Xellos had learned the finer points of stall mucking, latrine digging, and getting yelled at by an elderly woman with bad breath. He got the most practice in with the latter. It's always important to continuously improve one's skill set.

Still, Mother Hazel was at least in the mood to give him a bit of time off for the morning. Perhaps it was because she was busy entertaining several of the other ladies from the coven or perhaps she'd run out of tiring and humiliating chores to assign. In either case Xellos was glad of the breathing room.

He and Filia were sitting by an open window enjoying the sunshine—she in a lounging chair and he on the floor because, as he'd been told, 'chairs are for people.' In the connecting dining room Mother Hazel, Mrs. Duffy, and Delores Ipston (a witch Xellos very unfortunately recognized from his first meeting in Avoch) were all having tea served to them by young Marzipan. Perhaps, Xellos mused, the witches always had a chore slave.

Being across the room from the party was about as much privacy as Xellos and Filia had gotten since they'd arrived. Oh, they could've gone up to their room, but there wasn't much space there ever since they'd moved the comforter and pillows onto the floor in a makeshift bed. Mother Hazel had raised her eyebrows at that one, but said nothing. And that was the other thing. Mother Hazel waltzed into their room whenever she felt like it without even having the common decency to knock. As far as she was concerned, it was her house and she could go wherever she liked.

"It's pretty here," Filia commented, looking out the window. She breathed in deeply. "And the air is so fresh and clear. You don't get air like this in the city."

"I believe that's goat manure that you're smelling," Xellos commented diplomatically. He knew of what he spoke.

Filia narrowed an eye at him only slightly. "Still, it's nice here," she said. She cast around for a word to describe it. "Picturesque."

She shifted slightly in her chair to find a more comfortable position. "Were you planning on us staying here for a little while after the birthing? So I can recover?"

"We could," Xellos said in a tone that wasn't the least bit affirmative. "I'm sure we won't go immediately. But wouldn't you be more comfortable at home?"

"Well, of course," Filia admitted. Sleeping in her own bed was something to look forward to. "But it's nice to have help," she said, nodding to the elderly witches.

"You'd have Mister Gravos and Mister Jillas to help you at home," Xellos pointed out, eager to cut the time he'd have to spend in the company of Avoch's witchiest as much as possible. "In any case," he added, in a hushed tone. "You know how to take care of a baby. And if you stay here then they won't let you do it your way."

Filia grimaced. "I hadn't thought of that," she admitted. Witches didn't know how to be bossed.

"I would imagine that staying here with a baby would be akin to having a dozen mothers-in-law who never, ever leave," Xellos mused.

"I've heard that one is more than enough," Filia said. "Then again," she added in a deceptively light tone, "I wouldn't know about that."

Xellos stared up at her. Worry was accelerating onto his features. "Are you… saying you'd like to?" he asked disbelievingly.

Filia sighed. "No. I'm sure it would be a complete disaster," she said heavily. "Still," she said, tapping her fingers on the arms of the chair, "we're… family."

"Funny how that works out," said Xellos, who didn't find it funny at all. He wasn't sure what would happen if Lord Beastmaster and Filia met. He wasn't comfortable with that lack of certainty.

"I don't suppose the Beastmaster knows how to be a good grandmother?" she asked with little hope of a positive answer.

Xellos shrugged. "Define 'good' grandmother."

"Oh, you know," Filia said. "Knitting sweaters for her grandkids, pinching cheeks, telling stories and whatnot…"

"Is that what your grandmother did?" Xellos asked with little reason to expect that Lord Beastmaster was any better at knitting than he.

Filia looked momentarily caught off guard and then turned to look back out the window. "No," she said. "My grandmother gave me a doll though."

"A doll?" Xellos repeated.

"Yes," Filia said reflectively. "I named her Eleanor Jasmine Cleo III."

"The third?" Xellos said, his tone now moving toward insufferable amusement.

Filia gave him a nasty look. "You can laugh all you want, but I loved that doll."

Xellos peered up at her with a not-at-all suppressed smiled. "So… whatever happened to dear Eleanor Jasmine Cleo III?"

Filia frowned. "I got really sick as a child and well… I'd never let go of the doll, so…"

"So Miss Eleanor suffered for your sickness?" Xellos surmised.

"They never could clean it out totally," Filia admitted, somewhat embarrassed. "My parents threw it out, but they told me it was lost."

"How traumatizing," Xellos observed insincerely.

"Well it is when you're just a child!" Filia returned. She looked to the window and continued, her tone getting softer. "I had a lot of great times with that doll," she said. "I'd get it out and go over to grandmother's and she'd set up a little tea party for the three of us. …When you're just a little girl that kind of thing makes you feel… I don't know… important, I guess. She even got out these fine tea cups that she'd traded from all the way in Sairaag. They were painted in beautiful colors and as thin as paper. She usually kept them locked up in a glass cupboard, but she'd take them out for me."

Filia tilted her head downward so that it nearly touched her chest. "One time… I accidentally knocked one of them off the table and it shattered. I… I burst into tears immediately. But my grandmother didn't yell. She just walked over to the cupboard and got me another one. She told me that I hadn't meant to do it, and she wasn't angry—that I shouldn't cry over it."

She leveled her gaze at Xellos. "It probably means nothing to you. But I think that was the first time I saw what forgiveness looks like."

Xellos was quiet for a moment. Then he reached up and scratched at his cheek somewhat uncomfortably. "If anyone broke Lord Beastmaster's brandy snifter," he said after awhile, "there would be… problems."

Filia let out a slight snort. Xellos wasn't sure if it was a sound based on indignation or laughter.

"Now what about… your parents," Xellos asked, testing the waters to see how far he could go. "What kind of grandparents would they have been?"

Filia looked surprised, though not necessarily angry that Xellos would've gone there. "Oh," she said with another sigh as she touched the curve of her stomach. "I suppose I'd like to say that they'd be the kind who'd take my children out for picnics in the park and always have a piece of candy and a smile on hand, but… if I'm honest with myself then I would say that there are things about my life that they could probably never get past," she finished heavily.

Xellos was well aware that he was unacceptable item #1; unacceptable item #2 was in Filia womb, biding its time, waiting for the perfect moment to escape its imprisonment.

"But still," Filia said, "I wish that they'd gotten a chance to prove me wrong—for Val… and for this little one."

'This little one.' Filia had been repeating that calm and loving little term ever since she'd picked it up from Mrs. Duffy and found it to be just right. She didn't like referring to her baby as an 'it' and refused to compromise on the matter of discovering its gender. 'I want to be surprised,' she'd said. Then she'd paused and added '…though not too surprised.'

It was just… interesting. When she referred it as 'this little one' it just seemed… different, though he wasn't sure how. He supposed it made things a little less vague… a little more personal than just 'it,' 'the baby,' or 'the child.' This little one—set apart from all the other little ones.

And it made him wonder something that seemed very obvious now that it came to him, but hadn't crossed his mind before. "Have you decided what to name it yet?" he asked, nodding to her belly.

"Well…" Filia trailed off slowly, seemingly reluctant to go further. "I was thinking about—"

Xellos sensed it before the witches did—before Filia did. He could feel the call of pain from her soon to arrive, like an echo in reverse. He was on his feet before Filia felt the slightest twinge.

"It's time," he said significantly to the witches as Filia winced.

The witches peered at him for just a moment and then turned back to their tea.

The witches ignoring him wasn't really anything new, but he wasn't about to tolerate it this time. "I said 'it's time,'" he said, slightly louder.

"We heard you, demon," Delores said sharply. "Just 'cause we're old doesn't mean we're also deaf."

"June, what's the time?" Mrs. Duffy asked lightly. "I can't see the clock from here."

Mother Hazel shrugged. "The clock hasn't worked in years."

"Then why keep it in the first place?" Delores asked.

"Decoration," Mother Hazel answered.

"Fine, then," Mrs. Duffy said. "We'll make do." She turned to her apprentice. "Marzipan, let Mrs. Adder know that we won't be able to go on the rounds—she'll cover for us."

"Yes, m'm," Marzipan answered, trotting toward the door.

"And come right back when you're done," Mrs. Duffy added. "This too, is part of your training."

"Now," Mrs. Duffy continued pleasantly, turning toward her fellow witches. "Delores, will you favor us with a song? I'm thinking something with a lot of verses and you're the best singer between the three of us."

Delores preened under the attention. "'Twas in the merry month May," she began in a steady, not unpleasant lilt.

"Excuse me," Xellos interrupted, his eyebrows crashing into each other. "This is hardly the time for a sing-a-long. In case you haven't noticed, Filia is—"

"Sit down, Mister Xellos," Mrs. Duffy ordered in a tone that suggested that she was only just willing to tolerate his silliness. "There's no need to be in such a rush. Now listen to the song. I'll wager we have a long wait ahead of us."

*****

They did have a lot wait ahead of them. It was nearly night and they'd hardly moved from their original places. Oh, Marzipan had come back from playing messenger to take her turn step-and-fetching every pillow in the house—none of which seemed to be enough, by the way, to quell Filia's discomfort. Mrs. Duffy had scooched her chair over to Filia's side, to provide vague moral support and to give commands to Marzipan.

Xellos sat at the floor by Filia's side, but conversation between them was minimal. With Mrs. Duffy there, conversations about grandmothers and names weren't likely to continue. And he was… watching her. She was taking her intervals of pain very stoically. The witches didn't seem to be much bothered at all—but, of course, they'd seen this many times before.

Xellos usually found that he was the calmest person in any given room. It disturbed him to find that he wasn't in this case. Not even close. So he'd tried to rectify it.

The moment he'd known it was starting he'd felt… tense—like he needed to be ready to act. But he counseled himself that this was pointless. He certainly had no part in this affair (despite being the origin of it). He'd entrusted these fearsome ladies to handle it and it was for them to act, not him.

But still, he watched Filia. In the beginning it had seemed such a little thing—a flicker of pain across her eyes and shuddering through her body. It was accelerating, he knew that much. He knew Mrs. Duffy was watching her too. Every time a contraction hit, she'd nod to Delores, who'd stop her song and begin another. …The songs… were getting shorter.

The Third verse of 'As I Went A'Walking' was punctuated by a muffled groan from Filia. Mrs. Duffy closed her book. "Yes… I think that will about do," she'd said. She gave Filia a gentle look: "Would you like to lay down upstairs, dear?" she asked.

Filia nodded. The pressure of the pain hadn't quite left her.

Mrs. Duffy turned to Mother Hazel who was playing solitaire at the kitchen table. "What do you think, June? Should we take her up now?"

"Better," Mother Hazel said, laying a card down. "I'd never get the stains out of that chair."

Mother Hazel and Delores slid out of their chairs and made their way toward Filia, who was helped up by Mrs. Duffy. Marzipan hastily scooped up the pillows she'd appropriated from various places around the house. Xellos stood up too, but wasn't sure of his place in this entourage and hoped he didn't have one.

He was thrown a bone by the most unlikely of allies—though Delores probably didn't think she was doing him any favors. "No men in the delivery room," she said pointedly in his direction. "Or men-shaped things, for that matter."

Xellos wasn't about to argue. While opinions might differ on the presence of men in the delivery room, he was certain at least that monsters didn't belong there. Not only did he have no use there, but—curious or not—he had a certain apprehension that he didn't want to be present at an event like this. And then there was the fact that he was well aware there would be… a great amount of pain involved… from Filia. No matter what predilections he may have been accused of having, he had absolutely no desire to sample that pain.

Xellos had been about to say 'fine by me' when Filia said: "No!" She stopped, held up by Mrs. Duffy, her face already shiny with sweat. "No," she said again. "I… want him to be there."

Delores opened her mouth to argue, but Mrs. Duffy beat her to the punch. "What the mother says goes," she said firmly.

And with that, Xellos's life preserver was withdrawn. He frowned. "I'm not going to hold your hand you know," he said peevishly, annoyed that his easy-escape had been denied him.

"Oh, so now he's stingy with physical contact," Mother Hazel returned bitingly. "A little late, don't you think?"

Xellos had no comeback to that, so instead filed glumly behind the three old witches and the young apprentice as they helped his wife up the stairs.

*****

Xellos did end up holding her hand. It was all he was qualified to do. And even if he hadn't been able to feel the emotions flowing out of her, he'd have been able to track every pang of suffering by the pressure she kept on that hand. It was near constant now.

Miracle of birth? What was that? As far as Xellos could see it mostly involved a lot of pain, heavy breathing, and sweat with other bodily fluids surely on the way. Filia barely spoke now. She barely responded to anyone except to follow a command to hold steady or push from the witches who were puttering around the other end of the bed with their sleeves pushed up to their shoulders and their hands and arms rubbed so clean that they were red. She was concentrating too hard to speak most of the time.

When Mrs. Duffy said she could see the head, Xellos had nearly let go of Filia's hand. It was all happening and it was happening now.

And he told himself, as the moment they'd been waiting for approached, that he'd done everything in his power to handle this situation; that perhaps that planning really could pay off. All was going well so far—at least from what he could tell through the witches' constant reassurances. This situation that had seemed so impossibly dangerous… maybe they really could come out of this unscathed.

And it wasn't just Filia's health. That was the big worry, obviously. That was why they were in Avoch, having the delivery done by the best of the best. That had been his first priority and a fight that he wasn't willing to lose but…

…Back then he'd never assumed that they could make it through this ordeal undamaged. Something as major as this child's birth… maybe she'd live… maybe the child would live… but what he and she were together would be changed forever. He liked the way they were.

But now that the moment was near, he allowed himself some optimism when he peered over the horizon. They could stay the same if they tried. The child would be born, the two of them would go home and all their carefully crafted patterns would reassert themselves. He'd taunt her, she'd taunt him, and they'd dance the same dance they'd started the day they met. It was a good dance. As far as he was concerned, there was none better.

Of course, there would be the child to contend with… and there would be problems down the line. But in the end, they weren't any different from the problems that they'd face with Val, were they? There was no reason to deviate from the pattern—to change the dance now.

"Xel…" Filia tried amid grunts and the gentle commands from the witches.

We'll go back to the way we've always been, Xellos decided. I can keep this. I can keep this. It's under control.

"Xellos…" Filia tried again, squeezing his hand with all her might.

I can keep us together—just as we should be, he thought again. The thought was a calm core against the franticness outside him. Just as long as neither of us says or does anything stupid.

"Xellos!" Filia cried, her pain hitting a crescendo. Her face was scrunched up in agony, her head was pressed against her shoulder and her teeth gritted together in the effort of her pushing. But she managed to say, in the midst of all that: "I love you!"

Xellos gaped at her as the sound of newborn wailing filled the air.