A/N: This picks up straight after the Prelude. So if you have forgotten what the prelude was about, take a second to skim through the prelude. Thank you for reading!
That night, after the information overload provided by Max's grandfather, I miscarried the baby.
The cramping was horrible and I would not let Max remove the pain. I wanted to feel my baby leave my body. It was as if the emotional pain of my grief had masked the physical pain of the contractions earlier, but as I stood there in the shower, the water pelting down on my head and my shaking shoulders, further down my body, the cramps became more noticeable. Starting as menstrual cramps, they soon escalated and become more painful than I had ever felt during any previous period.
He asked me repeatedly for my permission for him to relieve me of the pain, or to at least take the edge off. But even when my legs wouldn't hold me up any longer, and his strong arms around my waist supported my descent to the shower floor, I refused his help.
I had no idea how long it would last. Had no idea how long a process of miscarriage could take. But I was determined to go through it consciously feeling every painful twinge escalate into full-blown contractions.
He sat down next to me, pulled my straining body between his legs and wrapped his arms around the shell that was me. The water remained warm as it cascaded down our bodies while he gently rocked us side to side, the insides of his thighs pressing tenderly up against the outsides of mine, his chest supporting my bent and quaking back.
Through heavy water droplets, dripping from my eyelashes, I watched the blood mix with the shower water and swirl down the drain. With every cramp, there was a more distinct red color, the color dimming in between contractions while our baby went down the drain.
Large dark clots of coagulated blood would stop at the top of the metal strainer of the drain, collecting there as a morbid sign of massacre. My eyes would fix on that, wondering which part of the clots contained the fetus. I considered leaning forward, pressing on the clots with my finger to dissolve the clots and make the clumps small enough to go through the strainer of the drain, to not have to look at them anymore, but I never worked up the strength to do so.
His attention was also on the blood going down the drain, but for somewhat different reasons. His main focus of concern was me and my health. The baby, from his viewpoint, was already dead. He had already let go. To him, it was more important to take care of me. Thus, his interest in the blood was as means of recording how much blood I lost and when it seemed to lessen.
I knew that it took everything in him to refrain from giving me any kind of relief. His hands, brushing repeatedly over my goose bumped arms, were itching to send me a - possibly small - burst of healing energy. Seeing me in pain was ripping him apart. Especially since he knew that he had the power to remove the pain.
But even if he had been able to fix me physically, he could do very little to heal my emotional state right now.
When the bleeding subsided, he carefully disentangled his body from mine, and went to retrieve a towel. During the short period of time that he was gone, I said goodbye to the fetus and embarked on the road of trying to rationalize myself out of this painful situation. I needed to tell myself that it was for the best. That it was too early, too complicated, too dangerous, for Max and I to become parents. That the miscarriage was somehow meant to be. That this child was never meant to be ours. That we were never meant to watch it grow up and be her parents.
The process of rationalization made it hurt even more. Made me cry even harder. And when Max returned and turned the shower off, he failed to stop the tears with the towel. My tears kept wetting my flushed cheeks, my sobs silent and hollow.
Wrapped in the soft warm towel, he jostled me into his arms and carried me back into the bedroom. He left the towel around my lower body as he tucked me into bed, the sheets now clean and white again (probably due to his alien touch), the towel beneath my body aimed at collecting any blood were I to bleed more.
I willingly curled into his inviting arms when he came to lie down next to me and he hugged me tightly to his body, threading his fingers through my wet hair - drying it with his energy. The cramps kept me awake until the early morning hours. I looked at Max's face the entire time, watched him drift off to sleep only to briefly wake up to check how I was doing, to fall asleep again a minute later. It was a restless night and Max was really worried about me, making him repeatedly wake up even though exhaustion was beckoning.
An emptiness settled over my body once the cramps eased and eventually disappeared. I felt ridiculous in a way - the baby had been dead for several days already - but to finally go through the process of miscarrying left a large aching hole of loneliness in the center of my body, where my baby should have been. Like a slow insidious disease, it started to grow - slowly devouring me.
I didn't know what to do. How to make it better. I just wanted the feeling to end. Barely an hour later, I nudged Max, waking him up. He startled to consciousness with fear and concern blazing in his eyes.
"What's wrong?" he asked, voice thick with insufficient sleep. "Are you okay?"
Quickly, his hand moved to my lower abdomen and I felt the natural heat from his skin against the skin over my uterus.
"I'm fine," I said, hastily, needing to move on, needing distraction. The panic inside of me was growing. "I need to talk to your grandfather."
Max frowned. "My grandfather?"
I nodded resolutely. "Now."
Max's frown grew deeper as he parroted, "Now?"
I watched his eyes flicker to a point above my shoulder, in the direction of the clock on the nightstand. It was still early. Nowhere close to normal civil conversation hours.
"He knows more about us." My chest felt strained, making it difficult to talk. "He said that he would talk to us privately."
"Yeah," Max said slowly. He was watching me closely now, the tendrils of sleep having completely abandoned his facial features, his gaze alert and focused.
He could feel the panic inside of me - was probably bulldozed by it - but instead of reacting with equal panic and fear, he slowed down and became extremely cautious.
"Should I go and get him?" he asked, eyes scanning my face closely, already knowing my answer.
The panic was restricting my throat and I tried to swallow the onslaught of that powerful emotion while nodding.
He looked at me quietly for two seconds, before he said, "Then you need to calm down."
The panic fluttered in my chest, threatening to take over.
He inched closer, his nose almost close enough to brush mine. "You need to breathe."
It was a panic attack. It was pressing down on my chest and stopping me from pulling in air. It was spreading out into my hands like sharp needles. It was making my heart fibrillate with extra beats of fear.
My body twisted with discomfort, and I tried not to let him see how poorly I was. I would be fine once he went and got his grandfather.
But I wasn't stupid. I could see in his eyes that there was no way he was leaving me like this. Not even to quickly fetch his grandfather.
I never consciously noticed grabbing his hand, but I had, and he read it as a signal to permit him to help me.
Without a second of delay, he pressed his free hand against my upper chest, and while the heat spread into my contracting intercostal muscles, I instantly felt the pressure ease off. Deeply, I pulled air into my starving lungs and brought my body back on track.
My breathing was shallow and winded as he leaned his forehead against mine. "We have to work on those panic attacks of yours," he whispered and his worry grated painfully into my heart.
I didn't want to worry him. Didn't want to cause him pain.
"I'm gonna get Grandpa, okay?" he whispered and leaned in for a soft kiss.
A tear rolled down my cheek at the tender contact, and I managed a small smile, my voice coming out all distorted with emotions, "Thank you."
He was so sweet. So caring. I never knew that this was the real Max behind the annoying and narcissistic jock persona he had hid behind at school. I never would have guessed.
Reading my thoughts, a small smile twitched in the corners of his mouth and he leaned in for another kiss before promising, "I'll be right back."
My eyes tracked his departure out of the room, but I was out of bed as soon as he closed the door behind him. I stood naked, next to the bed, and looked down at the small stain of blood in the center of the towel where I had laid.
The last remnants of my miscarriage.
Swallowing back the acid from my stomach making a somersault, I bundled the towel up and pushed it into hiding beneath the bed. Pulling the top sheet from the bed and wrapping it around my body, I quickly padded towards the closest bathroom. There the sheet dropped at my feet while I wetted toilet paper under the tap to use the dissolving paper strips to wipe away the worst of the blood from the insides of my thighs. The water from the soaked pieces of toilet paper was cold as it ran down the inner sides of my legs, resulting in me using wads of dry paper to dry my legs off just seconds after.
When done, I hurried back to the bedroom, found some underwear, a pair of sweatpants and a top, and got dressed.
I was tucking my hair behind my ears, out of breath, when George and Max walked through the door.
Max gave me a look that I wouldn't have been able to decipher had I not had an insight into his mind. He didn't like that I had been running around, stressing, so soon after the miscarriage. He would have preferred me to just put some clothes on and he would have helped me with the blood later.
I narrowed my eyes at him in response, appreciating his concern, but not applauding his berating.
Max almost rolled his eyes at me, a motion so appropriate for his age that my heart immediately warmed and I found myself holding back a smile in the midst of the seriousness of the situation. My emotions were taking a ride on a rollercoaster.
"Good morning, Liz," George said, interrupting the silent communication between Max and I.
I looked at the elderly man that I had forced out of bed at this ungodly hour and the smile I had hold back merely a second ago helped to make the softer smile on my face right now more genuine.
"Good morning," I said, sheepishly. "I'm so sorry for waking you up like-"
His left hand literally waved my apologies away. "That's absolutely no problem. I was already awake."
I frowned. "You-?"
He smiled at me and smoothly wiggled out of the start of my request for clarification. "I understand you have some questions for me."
I cleared my throat and straightened in my crosslegged position on the bed. "Yes."
Max had retrieved his desk chair and was positioning it next to the bed in the same moment that George Evans nodded his head in agreement.
"Take a seat, Grandpa," Max invited and I watched George look at his grandson and offer him a grateful half-smile. A half-smile that was very similar to the one that sometimes revealed itself on Max's face.
I found it fascinating how I could see more similarities between George and Max than between Max and his father, Philip. Not in physical appearance (after all, both George and Philip were wearing a human suit that they had created themselves, so genes had probably very little to do with their appearance), but in mannerism and personality.
"Thank you, Max," George said and sat down.
Max sat down next to me, reaching for one of my hands resting on my lap and lacing our fingers together. His side pressed warmly against mine and I squeezed his hand in search of support.
"Ask me anything," George invited, without a trace of apprehension or judgement. It actually sounded as if he might answer just about anything I might throw at him.
"Okay." I shifted slightly, straightening again and brushed at my hair with my free hand. "Okay." Max's fingers squeezed mine. "During the meeting earlier, you kinda hinted that you wanted to talk to us privately about something. And it kinda felt like you knew something about us and..." I stuttered, lost my line of thought, lost my words.
"Yes," George answered calmly and encouraging, eyes warm and sympathetic. "I know that you were with child and I know that you recently lost it."
I thought I was over it by now. I honestly, foolishly, thought so. That the night of bleeding had closed that chapter for me. That it had given me an abrupt and final closure. But to hear someone - other than Max - speak of something so private and tragic was like a knife twisting in my abdomen.
George looked sad when I traced the expression in his eyes. "I know that your baby was dead when I met you and I can see now that in the time since we last spoke, you have physically lost the fetus."
With a dry mouth, I croaked, "You can see it on me."
"I have read auras for a long time, Liz," George said kindly.
I swallowed dryly. "Does Philip know too?"
"I haven't spoken with him about it," George answered, "But he probably knows that something is not quite right."
For some reason, this embarrassed me. That Max's father knew of our secret. The realization that Philip knew about it was more uncomfortable than Max's grandfather knowing about it.
"But there's something else bothering you," George continued sensitively. "The loss of your child has affected you deeply, but," he frowned, "there's something else that is troubling you more."
I didn't know what he meant. I mirrored his frown to indicate my own incomprehension of what he might be searching for. I was upset about the miscarriage. It had turned my whole world upside down. What else could there be? The death of my mother? The death of Diane? My current chaotic life situation?
I mentally shook my head in negative at the suggestions. No. No, neither of those things were at the front of my mind.
While I was searching my mind for answers, I felt George's eyes on me as he waited in silence for an answer. I was so aware of his presence that I didn't even startle when he reached out and covered the joined hands of Max and I with his own large one.
"My guess is," he started softly, as if speaking to a frightened animal, "that you worry about what this miscarriage might mean for Max and your future."
My frown grew deeper, almost giving me a headache. No. No. I was very certain that the wound from this miscarriage would heal and that it wouldn't affect the relationship between-
I stopped as it struck me what George Evans meant.
The blood left my face, the chill spread throughout my body. The words were difficult to get out, as if they were sown to the back of my throat, but I needed to voice them. "When I was being held captured by Command, Steven Carter showed me what he had done to my mom."
George let me speak, his facial expression open and comforting, the heat from his hand on top of our joined hands reassuring.
"He showed me how he had successfully gotten her pregnant over and over again, but how she would later miscarry. Every time."
As I spoke, I felt Max grow increasingly tense next to me, gradually realizing that I was getting closer to voicing his unspoken fears.
"Max got me pregnant," I continued, "and then I lost the baby. Just like with Sergeant Carter and mom. He was an alien and she was a human. Just like Max and I."
George opened his mouth to answer, but I interrupted him by saying, "But then Philip and Diane had two children and that wasn't a problem even though they were of different races. And it made me think that maybe the problem wasn't cross-racial breeding, but that aliens are not able to breed with geas."
George didn't reply at first, making cold sweat break out on my forehead. I wanted to hear what he had to say, but at the same time I was afraid to hear the truth. Because I had a feeling that George Evans was indeed in possession of some very truthful answers to my questions.
"Steven Carter and Nancy Parker was never meant to happen," George said then. "The relationship, as I'm sure Steven Carter didn't mind showing you, was abusive and loveless. They had a connection, formed not by necessity but based on Steven's narcissistic opinions of him feeling that he had the right to dominate Nancy. That connection was purely an energetic bond, an electrical cord if you wish, to transfer energy. It was not a bond to transfer emotions or thoughts or to gain a better understanding of the other person. It was especially not a bond of love."
He paused, searching our faces, before continuing, "It was a purely selfish connection, with the sole purpose of gaining power."
It made me feel a bit better to hear him say that. To hear an alien defend my mom against another alien. To confirm that what Steven Carter had done to my mom was not okay.
"You must have noticed, being in such a powerful connection yourselves, that sometimes it feels as if the connection has an identity of its own."
No kidding, I thought grimly and looked over at Max, sharing a mixed expression with him.
"That is partly true. The connection has an interest in keeping the Antarian race alive and keeping the energy alive. It will strive to guide the connected persons into making the best decisions to keep their connectors safe and make sure that they survive for as long as possible. It will protect you, instinctively, if you were to be threatened-"
I thought of when I had killed Steven and Sean, when Max had been fatally injured. Later, Max had claimed then that it had been the connection protecting us and that I had not directly been the cause of their death. It had made sense somehow, but it had remained a theory, a guess at best. To hear George confirm it was a relief. It actually had been the connection that had killed Sean and his father that day.
"-and direct your energy into abilities that are self-preserving," George concluded.
"So how does that explain what happened to my mom?" I asked, even though I had a feeling what his answer would be.
"I can not be certain as to the reason of their inability to procreate," George said. "But my guess would be that it was a combination of the connection not seeing any reason for their genes to combine, because there was not the right foundation - the right reason - for procreation, and the obvious fact that it would be difficult for Nancy to sustain a pregnancy while Steven kept pulling energy from her."
"And that would be different for me and Max?" I asked tentatively.
George's face brightened, his eyes warming, "Of course. Every connection is different. And yours is spectacularly different. Something that has never been seen before. Not even by the Elders. In regards to your connection, anything seems possible."
"But the baby died anyway..." I whispered.
George looked at me in sympathy. "Like Max has probably already told you, the baby died when you died. The connection was able to bring you two back from the dead, but there was no more original energy left to do the same for your unborn child." He paused and I looked down at our three hands bound together. The weathered dark skin of Max's grandfather, the tanned young skin of Max and my own pale porcelain skin.
"Your connection is amazing, and even though it performed a miracle in bringing you back from the dead, connections are not generally considered miracle workers. Connections are only as good as the energy they are provided with."
Hm. That made sense.
This conversation was making me calmer. It was helping me accept the death of the baby. It was making it easier for me to accept that there was not much I could have done to prevent the baby from dying.
But, "Why did the connection hide the baby from us?" I asked. "Had we known about it we would have been able to protect it and maybe not go into battle like we did."
George grimaced. "That's exactly why. The interest of the connection is, again, to make the Antarian race survive. And the interest of your connection is to keep the purity alive and remove the darkness of the Antarian race. In other words, the connection prioritized you conquering Command, even if it increased the risk of your offspring not making it. In addition, there's always the risk that someone might break into a connection and see your 'secrets'. And if an enemy found out that you were carrying a child... It might have disastrous consequences."
"Why even bother making us pregnant then?" Max asked, voice cold and bitter.
He was thinking back to the time when he had realized that the connection was increasing our lust for each other and blinding us enough with desire to make us forget to be careful during sex. He was thinking of how betrayed he had felt and how he had hated the connection for removing his control over his own life and decisions.
"If the connection was intending to lead us into battle, it would be ridiculous to have Liz put energy into a pregnancy when she could have been saving that energy for battle," Max continued, sounding colder and harder with every word.
George shrugged lightly, but without seeming nonchalant or uninterested he answered, "Don't give the connection too much credit. It has a purpose and it has a goal, but it's not an analytic thinking entity. It won't weigh pros and cons. It won't calculate risk or probability. It only operates along the lines of ensuring the Antarian future. Especially ensuring the future of the parims. And as I told you earlier, the parims have suffered severe infertility, which gives your connection a more desperate need to ensure offspring."
"How does it know that, though?" I asked, frustrated. "If it's not a thinking entity, how does it know that parims are a dying breed and that there is darkness that should be fought?"
"Humans have a concept of collective consciousness. What this term means is different for different religions and psychological fields, but some believe that we are all connected. Our minds, our souls. I don't know if this is to be true for the homo sapiens, but it seems to be true for Antarian connections. Our bonds are able to feel the setting, the environment, the time, the energies. It can read what is needed and grows stronger when more action is needed. For instance, when darkness is growing and spreading."
"Is that why we have come to be?" I asked, not sure if I wanted to know the answer. Because once again the answer would tell me if I was created or of my existence is a matter of chance.
"Might be," George answered truthfully. "The Antarians were desperate for goodness. The universal balance was off. It might very well have lead to you two being who you are, at the exact time that you are. For you two to be born in the same town, in the same year, attend the same school... There are just too many factors for it to be coincidental."
We were all silent for awhile, pondering this. But soon I heard where Max's mind was going, returning to my reason for having this meeting. Going back to the issue of Max and I 'procreating'.
"We won't have any troubles becoming pregnant then?" he asked and I had difficulties deciphering his tone of voice.
George cleared his throat. "Exactly. This is what I needed to talk to you about."
I grew stiff. His initial answer had lightened my heart, giving me hope that Max and I would have a family together in the future, but the rest of his statement gave me reason to doubt the good news of that answer.
"I fear that regular human contraception won't work for you."
I know I should be embarrassed that I was suddenly part of a conversation where my boyfriend's grandfather was speaking to me about contraception, but I wasn't. Instead I was very aware of how my heartbeat was peaking with adrenaline.
Max's swallow was audible before he said, "So... no condoms, pills, diaphragm-"
"You are meant to have children," George interrupted. "And your bodies do not care that it's not socially acceptable to have children at this age. Your bodies were ready when you entered puberty."
I paled. But...but... I looked at Max, met his wide-open eyes, saw the lack of blood in his cheeks.
We can't have sex anymore, I told him, shocked. Unless we want to have like a zillion babies.
This was like couples before the invention of contraception, when they would have ten to fifteen children.
My stomach twisted. I wanted children, but not that many.
Without looking at his grandfather, Max addressed him in a whisper, "You can't be serious. That can't be true."
"Knowing you, Max, I'm certain you used some type of protection when you were with Liz the first time," George said and I saw some of the blood return to Max's cheeks.
"Yes," my uncomfortable boyfriend whispered.
"And that was the time Liz fell pregnant. It only took one time."
I knew this. Max knew this. Max had even been the one to tell me that.
I looked away from Max and looked at George. "So," my voice unstable, "What do you suggest we do?" It should have been embarrassing to ask, but I was way past that point, "Be celibate?"
"Our connection seems strengthened by sex," Max mumbled. "We need a lot of strength to rid the aliens from evil. Without being able to make love..."
"All of that is true," George agreed. "Either you don't engage in sex with the risk of the strength of your connection weakening. That is if you can even succeed in resisting the demands of the connection to bring you together."
I doubted that. I had felt the strength of the sexual desire when the connection set its 'mind' to make us have sex. Resisting that urge would be nearly impossible.
We would have to live apart from each other...
The connection had also worked to refuel us when injured, a benefit that would be foolish to waste.
But there was an, "Or...?" voiced by Max.
"Or you come up with a physical block made of energy to stop sperm from reaching the egg," George said evenly, as if he was discussing the weather rather than his grandson's sex life.
"Which is something you can teach me...?" Max asked with tentative hope.
George shook his head and my stomach tightened even further.
"No," he answered. "No. You see, we have never had any need to hinder the parims from procreating. Successful procreation has been our goal the whole time." He looked apologetic, his expression damning us to figuring this out all on our own. "I'll help you with the theoretical as much as I can, Max, but this will mostly be on you."
I looked at Max again and felt like crying. Because this was not about sex. It was never about only sex with Max. It was about closeness and merging together. It was about making love. It was about emotional healing. It was about sharing everything. Your soul. Your being. All of you.
Not caring that George was looking, I disentangled our hands and turned to put my arms around Max's neck, climbing onto his lap and hugging him close. It felt like a part of us had died. Something beautiful.
I just wanted the bad things to end now.
A/N: Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think (comments and/or votes) / Jo