#stillborn

Omega!Makarov knew you couldn’t wait for pups. He couldn’t, either; after he settled with you, and found himself imagining himself pregnant. Hand idly rubbing his stomach more often than not.

And, by chance, he gets his wish. He becomes pregnant. In no time at all, he starts to prepare for the pup. A nursery is built; only the best craftsman are taken on to build the crib, to paint the nursery bright colors. There are toys, there are books. He reads the parenting books front to back and fusses over every minuscule detail that the nursery contains.

When he’s not in his office, you find him in the nursery, sitting in the rocking chair with a hand on his belly.

Everything was going great. Better than great. Makarov was healthy, the baby was healthy.

Until the baby stopped kicking around week twenty-five. Neither of you want to face the inevitable; neither of you want to realize that your baby will never be brought home.

But you have to. You and Makarov get to a private hospital, and there his labor is induced. The one mercy this cold night offers is a somewhat simple birth. The baby boy comes out.

Yet the room is painfully quiet. Everyone’s holding their breath, praying that this tiny baby would breathe. Scream. Everyone knew it was impossible.

The tiny body simply had no voice.

You and Makarov are kept in a private wing. The nurses clean your baby, dress him in a onesie, and provide the two of you a basket of small keepsakes- prints of your baby’s feet, a blanket with the baby’s last name embroidered, and a small hat.

When you and Makarov get home, he locks the nursery door. You don’t ask him about it; not when you plan out a way to bury a child you never got to know.

Months pass. Makarov does not unlock the nursery. Leaves everything untouched, exactly as it was before he lost the pup.

There were very few times that he allowed himself the time to sit and think, “What if?”

It was just pouring salt into poorly bandaged wounds, and he was not the glutton for pain those around him seemed to think he was.

He’d allowed himself to think ‘what if’ exactly five times in his life.

The first had been immediately after his greatest mistake. What if he hadn’t opened his big mouth? What if he hadn’t been so blindly angry? What if his parents hadn’t pushed him so far?

The second time was after his first friend was made. What if he’d had them all those years ago? How different would his life be? What if he hadn’t been so reliant on-

The third time was after he’d had been able to move into the home he’d designed and built. What would they think, to see him moving forward with his life, without them? What if he’d made the wrong choice? Had he truly ever had a choice?

The fourth had been after the betrayal. What if he had chosen me? What if I had chosen him? What if this was just a big misunderstanding and what would he do if it was?

The fifth time was the birth of his daughter.

The achingly silent birth of his daughter.

“Bill,” Ford sobbed out as the triangle picked up the too-still form of their child. “Please, please, she can’t- bring her back! Please!” Bill could only turn to his partner, tears already sliding down the mortar of his bricks. He floated to Ford’s side, the bundle in his arms held tight to his front as he knelt down on the bed beside his human.

“I can’t, Sixer,” Bill hiccuped as he allowed Ford to pull the stillborn from his arms. “I- I don’t know how.”