letitbetrue | (june)

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ross

(june)

It's far too early for the baby to come. Far too early, but it's the middle of the night and Demelza is awake with a pain all the same.

It had begun several hours earlier, before they had even gone to bed, but she hadn't mentioned it to Ross then, seeing little reason to worry him. She had fallen asleep easily enough, as she usually does when Ross is beside her, but they'd woken her an hour ago, the pain coming in waves through her belly, and she had pressed her fingers down gently on the baby and willed him or her to move.

But the baby was still.

Demelza knows that's no reason to worry, that the baby won't always be moving, and yet there is panic beginning to claw at the back of her throat. Something is wrong. There's a terrible voice hissing low in the back of her mind, telling her she's going to suffer some horrible loss here tonight. Something is very wrong. Wake Ross.

Eventually she can no longer stand it and she sits on the edge of their bed and gently shakes Ross's shoulder.

"Ross," she whispers. "I've a pain."

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At first, Ross can only manage to let out a vexed groan as Demelza shakes him awake. It'd been a long day at work and with the season growing ever warmer, the heat of the sun had only served to further exhaust him. It isn't as if he's a stranger to labor but with the addition of reviewing their bank statements upon returning home and quietly fretting to himself over whether he ought to put in more hours at the stable, Ross had been glad to put Julia to sleep and fall into bed with his wife. He'd fallen asleep nearly the moment his head had reached the pillow and only now, as he rubs the sleep from his eyes, do Demelza's words reach him.

A pain.

He sits up immediately, alert now that he has good reason to be, and Ross can feel his heart already pounding in his chest as he reaches over to gently rest a hand on Demelza's stomach.

"What sort of pain?" he asks, voice gravelly from the lingering fatigue. "Should I fetch a taxi for the hospital? Or call the doctor?" It's far too early for the baby to come, but Demelza wouldn't have woken him had she not felt it necessary and the fear that's growing within him is not unfamiliar.

For all that she rather likes attention when it comes at the right time, Demelza cares little for dramatics, and the thought of having to go to the hospital for a mere pain strikes her as terribly dramatic, more than she wants to deal with. If they go to the hospital, she's certain the doctors will tell her there's nothing to be done for the pain, she'll feel silly for having bothered them at all and Demelza doesn't like feeling silly. For the most part, she feels no shame about who she is, but there are times when she's terribly aware of how uneducated she is compared to others in Darrow, and she truly dislikes being reminded of that difference, especially when she has not yet had the chance to do anything about it.

She'll never be a doctor, she knows that, but she doesn't want them to make her feel silly either.

But she can't ignore this pain either. It's growing more and more intense with every passing moment and she drops her hand to the curve of her belly, trying not to wince as she looks at Ross.

"Tis too early for the baby," she says, her voice shaking faintly. "Tis far too early, but, Ross..." She trails off as another pain seizes her and she cringes, reaching for his hand. "There's pain and it feels... not unlike when it was time for Julia to come." Not entirely the same, not exactly the same, but close enough that she's unable to fight the fear that rises in her throat at the very thought of it.

Helplessness is not a feeling Ross is particularly fond of but when it comes to this, caring for his wife in a way that's quite beyond him, it's frustration that starts to eat at him more. He lets her takes his hand, giving Demelza's a light squeeze, his silent way of letting her know that she can hold onto him as tightly as she needs to through the pain, but he uses his other to slide under her so he can gently nudge her up against the headboard. He doesn't know if that will help, if adjusting the pillows under her so they can better keep her upright could possibly do anything at all for her, but Ross has to busy himself with trying anything he can to make her more comfortable.

"Too early," he agrees, knitting his brow as he works through the worry in his mind. They'd been recommended certain books to browse by their doctor, and Ross had bought a couple, looked through them with Demelza as they'd done their best to navigate through the unfamiliar terms, though the doctor had explained a number of them.

Resting the back of his palm against Demelza's forehead, Ross feels no fever, and Demelza doesn't seem to be suffering any sort of chill. It's not illness then, and he refuses to believe that there's any danger at all of losing their second child so he pushes that possibility aside, buries it so he doesn't have to acknowledge he'd had the thought at all.

"The doctor said you may feel a bit of cramping," Ross reminds her gently, brushing a red curl behind his wife's ear. "I could warm one of Julia's bottles and bring it to you, or I could start you a bath. If nothing helps, I'm taking you to the hospital, and there will be no further argument about it."

"Yes," Demelza says, seizing on what Ross has just said and deciding that must be it. Of course it's just a bit of cramping, natural as the doctor had told them, and it doesn't matter that she'd not experienced it with Julia, because each child is different and what she felt with one she may not feel with the other. This baby, for instance, is much less active than Julia had been, moving around still and yet far less prone to kicking her hard while she sleeps, for which she's grateful.

And yet tonight, if the baby could just kick a little, she knows it would do wonders toward curing her of this anxiety. If perhaps he or she could simply remind Demelza that there is a life down there, she would feel so much better about the pain she's experiencing.

"Perhaps a bath," she says, raising her gaze to look at him. She'd not enjoyed them at home, but it's far different here, with a basin big enough to lie in and water than rarely seems to grow cold. Basking in the warm water isn't something she often allows herself, usually far too busy for such things, but she does like it a fair bit and thinks perhaps such an experience would help calm her now. Enough maybe that the pain will go away, enough that she'll be able to go back to sleep. She doesn't want to go to the hospital at all, but she knows Ross is right and she'll only argue a little if it comes to that.

Ross nods, pressing a firm kiss to Demelza's temple and briefly letting a hand come to rest on her belly, something twisting deep in his chest before he lets her go. It's nothing to be concerned about, he tells himself as he slips out from under the covers of the bed, Demelza and the baby will both be just fine. But then, he'd told himself the same thing when she and Julia had fallen ill.

Never mind that. They're both still here, he'd wager their family is happier than its ever been, and he gives his wife a small, reassuring smile. "Rest here a moment, my love, I'll run you your bath and help you to it when it's ready."

The sound of the water filling the basin is sufficient to drown out the sound of the heavier breaths that leave him as he settles at the edge of the tub. Ross holds his hand out to test the heat of the water but feels nothing, only his fear, and he wishes desperately that he could call on Dwight in this moment. His friend may not have known all that the doctors of Darrow do but even so, Ross has always trusted him more than almost anyone else in his life. Dwight had been the one to mend him, after all, the one who'd been there to weather Ross's moods as he'd recovered. Dwight would know how to comfort Ross and Demelza both.

Briefly, he considers calling Andrea, asking her whether she'd experienced anything similar during her pregnancy with William. He's selfish enough to risk waking her whole family, especially when the well-being of his own is the matter of discussion, but he manages to convince himself to wait just a bit longer. Let Demelza sink into the warmth of the bath and see if it might do wonders in helping soothe them both.

Sitting on the bed, Demelza drops her head and breathes slowly, trying to focus on ignoring the pain, letting it ebb out of her. She can hear the bath water running and it makes her feel a little bit better, knowing Ross it here at least to take care of her. Going to the hospital is the last thing she wants right now, she doesn't want the attention, she doesn't want the doctors poking and prodding her, she doesn't want them to look at her as if there's something wrong, as if she's to blame for this pain she's suffering. She doesn't want to worry Ross, she doesn't want to be worried herself, and she doesn't want to worry any of the people she cares about. The baby is most likely fine, she's read many books on the subjects and has had Ross explain some of the bigger words, she knows such pains are not unusual, but they're unusual to her. Julia had never once been like this.

"Ross," she calls after a moment, pushing herself to her feet. The pain seems to have faded for the moment, but she trusts it will be back soon. It's long enough now that she thinks she'll be able to get into the water without her help, and she walks to the bathroom carefully, resting her hand against the wall. Julia is settled and quiet and she's grateful for that at least, not knowing what they'll do with her if they do have to go to the hospital. There are people they can call, she's sure of that, but she doesn't want to have to do that. Not now, not in the middle of the night.

She knows he'd said he would help her to the bath and that he'll probably give her that look he so often does when she clearly disobeys him, but she's long since grown used to it. "Tis faded just a little," she tells him, offering a small smile and then turning so that he might undo the buttons down the back of her gown. Even after all this time in Darrow, she still favours sleep garments that are loose fitting and perhaps old-fashioned by Darrow's standards, though there are some nights than Ross doesn't allow her enough time to find her night clothes. Tonight, though, she is dressed and her hands are just a bit too shaky to undo them herself.

She turns even before Ross can press his lips into the thin line they're in now, though he makes certain she hears it when he lets out a huff of indignation when he stands from the edge of the tub to help her. It doesn't surprise him, really, that Demelza would directly go against what he'd asked her to do. That's always been her way, trying to not to be a burden when she isn't a burden in the first place. She can be as stubborn as he can, appropriate for a Poldark, even if she's far brighter a soul than any blood-made Poldark ever could be.

"Was I unclear about staying in bed until I came for you?" he asks sternly, working at her buttons until he's able to slip the gown off her body. Turning her around, Ross shakes his head at her, though there's the slightest flicker of amusement in his eyes, and he lets his eyes travel downward until his gaze comes to a rest on her belly. He rests a hand on the bump, willing the baby to kick, to move, to do anything to reassure them nothing is wrong, but there's nothing. It makes him feel ill, and Ross urges Demelza to the bath because if he can do nothing else, he can at least try to help ease her pain.

Gently, he lowers her into the water, careful not to let her slip on the way down. The water comes up to her mid back, covers her knees, and with a satisfied grunt, Ross turns off the faucet. "Should I fetch you anything else?" he asks. "I could make you some tea or-- or something to eat." It isn't his strongest suit, working in the kitchen, but for Demelza, he'd make his best attempt.

It's the idea of Ross cooking for her that makes Demelza laugh softly as she slips into the water and she tries to imagine him putting together a pie or any kind of pastry. There are things left in the ice box, things to eat that Ross could warm up for her, but she isn't particularly hungry, and so she shakes her head even though she's still smiling. He's trying, but the realization that he's trying so hard because something might be terribly wrong wipes the smile from her face and she leans forward, wrapping her arms around her knees as best she can within the warm water. The pain has faded for the moment, but the baby still isn't moving and Demelza has learned from the many books she's read that babies are most active at night, which is part of why mothers have such difficulty sleeping.

Their baby isn't moving, though, and it might not have concerned her otherwise, but paired with the pain she'd felt, it gnaws at her, worrying her deeply. She can't give voice to her concerns, though, she can't even begin to ask Ross what they might do if something is truly wrong, so instead she only looks up at him and tries to make him understand without words. It's unfair, something utterly impossible, but for all she likes to speak and has no problem saying what she's thinking -- especially to Ross -- there are still some areas where Demelza struggles to communicate properly.

"No, Ross, I ent hungry," she says, reaching for his hand. Her fingers are slippery from the water, but she takes his between hers, rubbing her thumb against the simple copper band he wears. They've been through so much together, but she fears what might happen if something were to happen to the baby. If perhaps he might blame her. The thought is likely unfounded, but Ross Poldark is a complicated man at times and Demelza knows her own fears surrounding their marriage sometimes colour her thoughts and make her imagine scenarios which would never be true. "I just wish... oh, I just wish that-"

She's cut off mid-sentence, a look of surprise crossing her face before she laughs in delight. "Ross, the baby is moving again!"

Some moments, it's a complete mystery to Ross what Demelza might be thinking. He remembers when she'd admitted she thought he might be displeased with her after they'd married, how much it'd taken him aback, although he'd understood why she would have felt that way after he'd pondered on it. He isn't the most forward with his feelings--or if he had been once, it'd been with Elizabeth, and Ross hadn't been interested in facing the same sort of pain he'd been through already with Demelza. The realization that he could be happy with her, genuinely happy, if only he could let go had been an enormous one, and Ross knows he may still be reticent at times but even so, Demelza has done a great to change him.

His heart has grown larger than he'd ever thought it could again. After losing Elizabeth to Francis, he hadn't imagined he could love someone as much as he had her and in a way, Ross supposes that had remained true. He doesn't love Demelza as much as Elizabeth, he loves her more, so much more than he could ever hope to express in words so he'd relied on his actions to do it for him. For Demelza, it isn't enough. She needs to hear him say he loves her, needs him to hold her and make it clear his affections are for her alone, that's simply who she is. Perhaps she can make due without it but the truth is, things are happier between them when Ross is more open. For that, he cannot blame her because she's rather spoiled him with her love; it's only fair he returns the favor.

But he can see the fear in her eyes, can feel it in the way she gently strokes her thumb over his band, and Ross is ready to tell her that no matter what happens, they'll get through it together when his wife's entire expression shifts into something much brighter. For a split second, he doesn't comprehend her words, blinking dumbly until he's suddenly laughing, and he immediately presses his hand back against her stomach. It takes half a moment but he feels it then, a kick, not especially strong but present all the same, and he covers his mouth with his other hand as he lets out a ragged sigh of a relief.

"I was--" He shakes his head, not wanting to finish his thought, not wanting to admit that he'd allowed himself to fear the worst. "The baby is moving again, the baby is fine. Another few months, and we'll be holding our second child in our arms, Demelza. Just another few months."

"I know," she says, because he doesn't need to say it, he doesn't need to tell her what he was thinking, for her fears and thoughts were the same. They have Julia, their strong willed little child who lies asleep in another room, and Demelza would have never wished for anything more, but to have such a chance given to them, something presented to them so soon after their arrival here, she has been ever so grateful for it as well. Although she and Ross had not spoken much of having another child, the thought had been there from time to time, and although they had not planned for it, they also hadn't avoided the one thing that would give them another. Demelza doesn't think she'll ever be able to avoid such an act, not with her husband, and so a small part of her had perhaps been expecting it, but not so soon.

They have so much. They're here and they're together, Julia is well and there is another baby on the way, another part of their family coming to join them, and she knows they should be so grateful for what they have. She is, of course, she's pleased every single day that they've been given this chance, but the fears had been real for too long this evening. Even with so much else to make them happy, she had been so worried that they might truly lose the second little love of their lives before even having a chance to meet him or her, and Demelza doesn't know if she could ever forgive herself if such a thing happened. It would not be her fault, she understands that, but logic doesn't often come into play with such things.

"Oh, Ross, I'm that glad," she says softly, relaxing back into the water again, covering his hand on her belly with her own. The baby is moving regularly now, she can feel the gentle shifts that indicate he or she is awake and active and the relief Demelza feels is palpable. Enough that it sends a wave of exhaustion through her, one she can't quite combat, and her eyes slip closed for a moment. When she opens them again, she's looking at Ross through her lashes, her lids still lowered just slightly.

"I were that worried," she admits, her voice still quiet. "I was thinking of all the bad things that might happen to a baby before it's born and I couldn't stop, Ross. I couldn't stop thinking of all the terrible things I've seen happen to other women."

"You're not other women," Ross tells her, if a bit gruffly. He knows they can't dismiss the possibilities of having to prepare for the worst entirely, is especially aware of that because he's been through the worst with one of their children once already, but he finds it far more preferable to deny anything could happen to their baby. It's always a matter of someone else until it happens within one's own family, he thinks. It's always someone else's child who's sick, someone else's child who'd sadly passed, someone else's child who'd suffered.

Before Julia had gotten sick, it'd been little Geoffrey Charles, and Ross has never been a religious man but he remembers thanking God his own daughter had been spared. Until she hadn't been.

The worst isn't supposed to happen to his family, especially not now that they're here, in a place that provides them with so many resources they'd been lacking at home. Times may be different, there still may be parts of this modern world they're still adjusting to, but by and large, Ross thinks they're better off being here than Cornwall. Simply for the sake of his wife and daughter's health, he's content to stay here forever, as long as he never has to go back to a life without his two greatest loves in it. Three, now.

"You'll be fine. So will our Jeremy, our Verity, our little boy or girl. You'll both be just fine." He softens at the sight of just how exhausted his wife seems, reaching out with his free hand to brush damp curls behind her ear. "Rest a bit here, I'm going to check on Julia and make you some tea, then we'll get you right back to bed. No argument."

There's something about the way Ross says it that makes Demelza feel oddly proud, though she knows it can't possibly be true. Women are women in general, there's little difference between them when it comes to the physical inner workings and there's nothing that she could do to make this pregnancy easier or better than another. And yet she feels pride all the same, because she is not like other women, she's the woman Ross chose to marry, the one he wants, and perhaps he doesn't often say such things, but she knows to treasure them when he does say them.

"Yes, Ross," she agrees, smiling tiredly at him. Perhaps she's not the wife he's envisioned for himself and she knows for certain she's not the one his family would have chosen, but this is where they are all the same. And in a world where he could have left her to fend for herself, he's chosen to continue to love her, to build a family with her, and she'll be grateful to that and to him for as long as she lives. She isn't afraid that he won't love this baby or that he'll feel cheated into it, not when she knows how much he loves Julia. Their family is going to grow and she suspects Ross Poldark's heart will grow with it.

"The tea is in the cupboard behind the bread," she tells him. "And the kettle is just under the sink." He spends so little time in the kitchen and it isn't that he's incapable, but that Demelza feels it her territory, much in the way the mines had been his. He does his best, as she's sure he'll do now, but a little part of her wants to get out of the water and help him, even though she's said she'll stay here and rest. So she does, her fingers clasped lightly around her belly.

"Ross?" she calls out after a moment. "Are you well enough?"

It takes but a moment to step into Julia's room to peer into her crib, making sure his daughter is sleeping soundly, and he merely caresses one of her little hands with his thumb for fear of waking her by doing anything more. Every so often, if he happens to wake earlier than usual and has the time to spare before he has to prepare for a day at the stables, Ross will come in here and sit beside her, watching her breathe until she stirs. He knows that one day, she'll grow old enough that he won't be able to do such a thing anymore. She'll be angry when he's too overbearing, frustrated when he's overprotective; but he'll always think of this, of how small she'd been once and still is now, how perfectly she fits in his arms, and how beautiful she is every time she takes a breath.

The same will be true, too, of their second child when he or she is welcomed into the world. He can only laugh to himself when he hears Demelza call for him, checking on him, as if brewing a kettle is far too much trouble for him. While it's true he doesn't do much in the way of cooking, Ross does know how to boil water, and he doesn't bother to answer Demelza because he thinks his silence will likely speak for itself.

When he carries the finished cup of tea back into the bathroom, he lets out a heavy sigh, one that's clearly teasing. "Well enough, indeed," he tells her. "You'd think I'd volunteered to bake you a pie. That, I may have had trouble with but fortunately, I've managed to heat water without incident."

She scowls at him when he teases her, though it's without any real heat, for it's far from the first time Ross Poldark has teased her and she's sure it's far from the last. Besides, with everything she's felt tonight, she's only grateful to him for being here, for taking care of her as he has and for, as he's said, heating the water without incident. Demelza knows there are times when she can be a handful, prone to say too much at the worst of times and far too reserved when it's important she say something about what she's feeling. Many people likely wouldn't be able to deal with her, but Ross does. He may sometimes end up feeling frustrated with her, but he's not yet cast her aside and she should think at this point it isn't at all likely.

"The kitchen is my place, not yours," she says, taking the tea from him and sipping it thoughtfully, quiet for a moment. "I know a fair few people in Darrow would be upset with me for saying that. D'you know I've read a lot about feminism at the library and it do make a good deal of sense to me, that men and women should be equal, for it's not women who are always the ones making the mistakes of those with lesser intellect." No, that's something she thinks is simply a human trait. Everyone is rather dumb now and then, some more often than others, and it isn't that women are more prone to it at all, though she's sure a few men of their time would argue such things.

"It's only that I like bein' in the kitchen," she says. "And I think they would argue that I like it because I were never given any other options and oh, maybe they're right, Ross, but I do still like it either way. And shouldn't I be allowed to do what I like?"

"Mm, indeed it is," Ross answers, though he can't hide his amusement as Demelza puts voice to her thoughts. As far as he's concerned, she's free to spend as much time in the kitchen as she'd like and if she doesn't want him poking around in it, all the better. He doesn't anticipate ever becoming proficient enough to cook his family an entire meal, and Ross doesn't feel any shame for that. Surely, he could learn, and he isn't necessarily opposed to it; but as far as they've come in understanding the more modern customs of this place, Ross and Demelza do still sometimes fall back on what others may consider outdated traditions.

Letting his wife do the cooking is one of them, and he doubts Demelza has complaints about that. In his own defense, he does occasionally bring home takeaway when Demelza is feeling unwell or overly worked. There's no need to learn how to prepare a dish when he can resort to that instead.

"As long as you're not getting into trouble, you're always free to do what you'd like," Ross tells her, leaning over to press a kiss to her hair, though he does fix her with mock sternness when he pulls back. "That includes trying to start fights with men who are cruel to your dog, mind, among many other things that I'm sure you won't need me to list." He arches a brow, a smirk playing a the corner of his mouth. "The fights are my job. And I'm allowed to do what I like, as well, am I not?"

"Oh, no," she says with a little laugh, surprised by how much better she feels now that the baby is moving again. And he's grown quite active -- she's become convinced, lately, that she's carrying a boy -- in the past few moments, doing twist and kicking her in the bladder with the sort of strength she thinks shouldn't be possessed by babies in the womb. It hurts just a little, especially when he does his dance against her bladder, but she's too grateful for his movement to care very deeply about the pain. It's a different sort of pain than the one she'd felt earlier and for that she's grateful.

"No, Ross, when the baby comes and I'm brave enough again, I can't promise I won't get into any fights. Tis only that some men deserve a thrashing and sometimes it's only I that can give it to 'em. What if I-" She has to cut herself off, stifling a yawn against her first, and it only strikes her than that it's the middle of the night and Ross has to work early.

"I'll save half of 'em for you," she says, then sets her tea aside and holds out her hand. "Help me up, I should dry myself off and let you return to bed. It's late and you've work in the morning." She'll be awake awhile yet, but she knows Ross needs to sleep or he'll be quite grumpy with his students in the morning and she'd not like to be carrying that on her shoulders as having been the cause.

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(june)

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