Heaven and Yourself Had Part

March 6th

"Sire and child and happy mother who all in one, one pleasing note do sing."

"I told you, it's a girl!"

"An' I told you it's a boy! Looks just like him!"

Puck threw up his hands, disturbing his currently precarious sense of balance. "What does that have t'do with anything, idiot?"

"A daughter would have my sister's eyes. They always do!" Tybalt slurred. "That one's a boy."

This argument had raged since Georgiana appeared with the baby a little while earlier. Juliette had sent her firstborn to bond with its father while she and her surroundings were cleaned up after a long but successful labor. The second question out of each mouth had been about the baby's sex, but all had been disappointed. Juliette had reserved the right to tell Fitzwilliam herself what lay beneath their baby's swaddling. Fitzwilliam was only too happy to oblige his wife's playfulness. Tybalt and Puck preferred to argue, fueled by the alcohol they had consumed while failing to convince their brother-in-law to numb the agony of waiting with drink.

"Listen- you listen. You listen! I've got one of each, so I know. It's a girl. And if Fitz wasn't a killjoy, we'd settle this now!"

"The next person who raises his voice forfeits his rights as uncle." Fitzwilliam didn't raise his voice or even look their way. If his brothers-in-law wished to bicker to the death, they were welcome to it. All he wanted was for them to do it quietly. The baby deserved a sweeter welcome than drunken chaos.

The baby.

When his sister last appeared, Fitzwilliam had only expected another update. Georgiana had come in regularly throughout the labor to inform the three men of Juliette's progress and well-being. Instead, her last visit brought the product of the labor, cleaned and swaddled in white cloth. She couldn't say if it was a son or a daughter, but she said the only word Fitzwilliam had prayed for: healthy. Juliette, as her teasing proved, was healthy, and so was the child. It had ten fingers and ten toes under the swaddling, Georgiana had promised. Anyone could see the baby was a healthy color and a good size. And when his firstborn's eyes opened, Fitzwilliam's secret fear was put to rest: there was a soul behind those eyes.

Queen Mab and the Summerdreams had explained that the strong connection between a human body and its soul, the very thing that made the separation dangerous, greatly accelerated the healing. Fitzwilliam would not suffer years of effects as Fae did, who had to strictly regulate their emotional and spiritual exposures while their soul settled into their body. Yet, Fitzwilliam worried. He worried that a quick healing was not quick enough, and he worried that 'healed' was not the same as 'whole'. He had a scar on his body from the dagger, so why not on his soul? Could he pass the cost of the extraordinary purchase of his own life on to his children? He had sought out Father Laurent, who Queen Mab had so wisely asked to witness everything, for a more human perspective:

If we believe God to be the Creator, then God also created the Fae. If we believe God to be almighty, then all power and ability flows from His. Your life was saved by friendship and mercy - qualities we rightly consider godly. I believe God created the means for you to live, to marry your lady wife and bring forth children. They will come forth from their father in His image, just as you did.

The very last was undeniably so. He could see it the first moment he laid eyes on the baby. Now, he knew that the rest was also true. When he looked into those tiny brown eyes, Fitzwilliam didn't see anything corrupted or broken. By the care of Heaven and Juliette, the child was perfect.

Georgiana re-entered a short time later. She paused in the entryway to recover from a melted heart. Although his back was turned to her, she could see her brother was trying to comfort his fussing baby. She had never doubted her brother's ability to love his children, but seeing it in the flesh was entirely different. If he looked after his child as well as he had looked after her all her life, the baby would be the most fortunate in the world. She started toward him once her heart stabilized, but she was accosted.

"Georgie!"

"Shut up! She hates that!" Tybalt snapped at Puck over his shoulder. He reached for Georgiana's waist but could only manage to grab her hands. "It's a boy? Say it's a boy."

She tried to be gentle. It was clear Tybalt and Puck had drank until their wits had drowned. She didn't think that was a bad thing. It was better that Tybalt not remember the last few hours rather than have worried for his beloved sister with a sharp mind. "I can't tell anyone until Juliette does. You know that." She squeezed one hand but pulled the other away.

"That's... that's all right. All right." Tybalt smiled, but it only underlined his condition. "You don't.. don't tell them. Just tell me. I won't tell." As he spoke, his voice had dipped into a whisper. "Just tell me. I know it's a boy, just tell me. If you love-"

"She's not telling you!" Puck yelled in delight. He laughed when Tybalt dropped Georgiana's hand to come his way.

Taking her opportunity, Georgiana hurried to her brother's side and said that Juliette was ready to see him.

"Did you two ever settle on a name?"

Juliette laughed quietly. "Never. I tried to end the debate last week with a game of cards, and to the winner would go final selection of the baby's name."

"And Fitzwilliam wouldn't play," Hermia finished knowingly.

"Oh, he played, but he chose another prize. He played for a ban on all future use of gambling to determine our children's names." When asked why she didn't cheat, Juliette laughed again. "I did, and he and his high principles still won! If I didn't love him, Hermia, I swear I would hate him at times."

"Why do you love him?" Hermia shrugged. "There isn't anything wrong with him, but it's strange. I always expected you would marry someone merry and romantic, like you."

Juliette fixed her sister with a half-hearted glare and a raised brow. "And I never expected you would fancy someone merry and romantic. Heaven knows our brother made an equally astounding choice himself - although, I wouldn't call it a choice, I suppose. I think we three are drawn to our opposites, and that is very good luck." A smile crept back onto her face. "Besides, I am not a fool of thirteen anymore. Puck may be in your thrall, but how many men will be romantic with just anyone? Better that my husband is my own awful romantic than every lady's expert."

"Juliette?"

"Fitzwilliam."

Familiar with that beguiled, exclusionary stare, Hermia left her sister's side without a word. "Shall we go find the men?" she asked Georgiana, who stood behind her brother.

She nodded. "They're having a bit of a quarrel over the baby."

Hermia sighed. "Let me guess - they drank their share and half of Fitzwilliam's each?" She hardly had to see the nod to know she was right. "We had better go threaten them into obedience. Your mother's sister is still here, isn't she...?"

"You didn't peek, did you?" Juliette asked when the door shut behind her sisters.

Smiling, Fitzwilliam shook his head. "No. How could I? Nothing could have been so relieving as to hear you and the baby were well enough for you to taunt me."

"Taunting? No, certainly not. Better to call it... well, taunting it is, I suppose." She laughed to cover up any little discomforted noises while she swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

"Dearest, I am glad you are so well, but should you be lying down?" he asked anxiously. "There's no cause for troubling yourself while you recover."

"Soon enough." She stretched out her arms and her toes. "It's rather lovely to move on my own, not because the midwife or your son demanded it." Watching Fitzwilliam seize up, Juliette beamed. "Oh, you didn't think I would make a scene about it if I was wrong, did you? You are holding our son."

Son. The word rolled over him like an ocean wave hitting an immovable rock. A daughter would have been a joy, a delight, and half of his and Juliette's dynastic work done. His only regret would have been not hearing her called 'Miss Darcy' once her aunt abandoned the title. But a son... a son was relief. A son was a clear, simple heir - not just to him, but also to his father. His father had laid down his life for him on a quest to save his family legacy. Now, at the end of Fitzwilliam's days, he could present his life's work to a son who would carry it forward. He had never slept so soundly as he would this night. "Our son."

If God had struck her down after her next breath, Juliette would have died a joyful woman. She knew there would be daughters later - there were always daughters - and she liked the idea of her younger children having an older brother, their own Tybalt or Fitzwilliam. More important to her was giving Fitzwilliam that little bit of relief. Watching her husband's shoulders dropping an inch, watching the corners of his mouth pushing a bit further than they had before, she committed it all to memory. Juliette would remember this sight for the rest of her life.

A moment later, Fitzwilliam snapped out of his reverie. "I'm sorry, dearest. You must want to hold him. I've had him all this time."

"I've had him all to myself these nine months, but I wouldn't mind it, no." 

"He is perfect for those months with you."

"What else would he be? There is just enough merit between us to make one perfect whole from our parts. Our families and God, I suppose, will want their credit, but I say he is ours. Now," she said on an exhale, "would you mind bringing that cradle to the bedside? I agreed to Hermia's suggestion of allowing everyone their look at him now so they will go home tomorrow morning and leave us in peace. If he is in his cradle, I won't have to say who can and cannot hold Will."

He briefly flinched at the name. "Dearest, don't think you think he should have his own name?"

"No, I don't. I think he should have his father's name, the father who rebuilt his family all so he could give it to his son, and his son, and all the sons after that. And if that isn't enough for you, do it for me. I have been calling our first son 'Will' in my head since you told me that was what your father called you."

"I seem to remember sharing that information rather early in our acquaintance," he murmured, curling his arm around her, "well before the days of you never wanting to see me again." He smiled while she laughed, and he felt at home. "Will it is. Although, if you don't mind, I would prefer he have my father's name for a second name."

"You don't want to save your father's name for another son?"

"No, I think not. After all, Will could be our only son."

"Bite your tongue! We agreed on two sons and two daughters at the least."

"We did, but perhaps we shouldn't take such blessings for granted," he said gently. "Fitzwilliam George Darcy - what do you say, Juliette?"

"I say go get that cradle before you have to throw yourself between Aunt Goneril and our Will."

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