Authors Note: Yes, I’m still on hiatus. No, Metamorphosis won’t be updated til May-ish.
That being said, I AM watching the new eps at my own pace (I watched this week’s ep last night, aka Friday) and couldn’t let this slide. I love love love this bit in the book and I do like how they handled this ep as a whole -- expanding both Alicia and Lucinda -- but I felt that they built up Lucinda for more and then left us hanging. Maybe we’ll get this scene at the beginning of the next ep, but I HIGHLY doubt it. I’m more than a little miffed that they went the whole ep without mentioning Faith and I’m here to fix it.
That being said, this bit deals heavily with miscarriage and the bereavement of a child and I know that is not for everyone. That’s why its below the cut.
Plot wise, its Show!Canon and fits at the end of episode 5x04.
Also, this is unbeta’d and pretty rough. Be kind as you enjoy.
Brownsville, 1771.
I crept down the stairs slowly, unsure of what -- or rather who -- I’d find after the departure of the men in hot pursuit of their noble steads. Low voices informed me there was a small gathering at the front of the house and I set my sights on the kitchen at the back and breakfast instead.
Sighing with relief as I found the room abandoned save one, I softly greeted her, not wanting to startle her or the babe at her breast, “Good morning. May I join you?”
Lucinda’s chin lifted and a warm smile stretched across her face in answer as she nodded to the empty stool opposite her. I pulled it closer to the hearth and took in the tableau before me. Mother and child were bathed in gold, the soft curves of full breast and tiny head alight with an almost ethereal halo.
“I spoke with my husband,” I began without preamble and I watched as a shadow passed over her face, hastening my words, “and we would be honored if you would take her as your own.”
Lucinda’s arms tightened around the babe in reflex and a small cry of relief left her lips.
“Oh, thank you, Mistress! She’ll be loved, I promise you! We haven’t much, but she’ll be clothed and fed…”
Her assurances faded away as my gaze fell to the little one in question. She’d jerked away from Lucinda’s breast at the outburst and a trickle of milk crept out one corner of her mouth, curving around her jaw and dribbling into the soft folds of her neck. Her little brow was furrowed, as if she was unsure of what this interruption to her breakfast was all about, and she waved her clenched fist in the air in protest. A tiny noise of frustration left her rosebud lips and it knifed across my heart.
I felt the weight of Bree’s downy head on my shoulder and for a moment the scent of milk in the air was my own. My hand twitched in my lap as I longed to hold my baby to my breast once more… and to nurse my baby who had been born into the arms of the angels.
I forced a smile as I realized Lucinda had come to the end of her speech and tried to meet her gaze. It fell the moment I saw that very same ache in her eyes. That hollow longing, the desperate need to find that which had been lost. It was still there, hidden deep beneath the joy of this unexpected blessing, and I knew I had to say something.
My mouth was quite suddenly dry and I swallowed hard. I’d rarely spoken of my firstborn, her name known to only a few, mostly because I found it nearly impossible to explain the indescribable grief of losing a baby who never had a chance to live.
But I did not need to explain such a thing to Lucinda.
“Your mother-in-law told me of your daughter,” I murmured softly.
Lucind nodded, acknowledging this without affront. Her gaze fell back down to the babe, who’d now found her way again and was back to nursing in earnest. My own gaze followed suit, turning to the flickering flames at the hearth, finding it easier to speak without maintaining eye contact.
“I lost a baby like you... she was born too early... too small to survive.”
My gut clenched as I saw my companion flinch, my words hitting a little too close to home.
“She was my first,” I continued slowly, finding my way as I went. “She looked just like my husband… had his red, curly hair… those ridiculous ears that stick out just so… but I never saw her eyes, she never opened them.”
I felt the chill of L’Hopital instead of the warmth of the hearth against my skin, an icy shiver running down my spine as I felt Louise’s hands taking my child away from me.
A shuddering sigh left Lucinda’s lips as she uttered, “Neither did Caroline.”
This turned my head back to look at her, bringing me back to the present.
“But she was perfect,” I reached out my hand, placing it gently on her knee.
The tiniest smile found its way across her lips as she agreed, “Yes, she was.”
“We were blessed with another daughter,” I continued, “and now you have too.”
Lucinda’s free hand covered mine, squeezing it softly as a tear found its way down her cheek.
“I’m a healer… a midwife. There are many reasons for babies to come early… and none of them are your fault,” I insisted. “And it does not mean you and your husband can’t have more children.”
She nodded, her chin quivering slightly as she thanked me.
“What was her name?” she whispered. “Your daughter?”
“Faith.”
Her name sent a gentle, pulsating warmth deep within me, taking up residence in the secret place where she had dwelt. I pressed my palm against the smooth plane of my belly, now stretched and scarred from having carried two very different lives inside.
Lucinda’s face melted, “How beautiful.”
It was my turn to thank her and I felt tears of my own burn at the back of my eyes.
“Would you… we would…” she stammered, “My husband and I wanted to name her after you… but Faith is perfect. Would we have your blessing?”
A familiar shadow appeared in the entryway of the kitchen and I knew I wasn’t alone. I was sure that if I looked at him, I would lose what little hold I had left on my emotions and so I nodded mutely, yet Jamie spoke for the both of us.
The battle for the Dawn has ended. Winterfell is all but destroyed. Those who are still living emerge from the snow drifts. Sansa, Lady of Winterfell, is recovering from her injuries. Jon is commanding while she is abed. Daenerys is ready to move on. Sandor must leave.
So I have the collected works of Sir ACD in two volumes. Well when I was doing my rearranging my bookshelf, the last book I put on the shelf was the second volume of the books. Well that one has "His Last Bow" in it which is the novel equivalent to Reichenbach Fall. The fucking book kept falling off my bookshelf no matter how many times I put it back up there. So without thinking I shout "GODDAMMIT SHERLOCK. QUIT WITH THIS REICHENBACH-ING SHIT ALREADY."
Jesse hates it here. He hates the people that come in every day, he hates the cheap prices, he hates how everyone forgets to leave a tip, he hates how the television in the corner is always on talk shows, he hates the plastic booths and the hat he has to wear as part of his uniform. He hates the rest of his uniform, too, but mostly the hat.
It still pays his bills, and that's really all that he cares about, if he's being honest. Dreams don't pay for themselves, and he can't rent out a uterus in exchange for enough money to set himself up in New York for a few years. He has to start back at the beginning and pad his own bank account, because apparently his parents were fine with paying for everything he wanted while he was still in school, but not once he'd decided that a degree in theatre was pointless when he could just go straight into auditions without the fuss and the extra money.
That had been extremely short-lived.
Now he's back in Ohio, pretending to enjoy coaching his old team while picking up night shifts at a diner, trying to live as frugally as possible so he can have a nice big safety net when he goes to New York. Because he is going to New York.
But enough backstory.
Jesse starts clearing off one of the coveted tables by the window when the bell on the door rings. He pays it no mind; people seat themselves here. So he keeps picking up the plates and walks towards the back of the diner to drop them off to get cleaned, coming back to find some kid he doesn't know standing a bit awkwardly by the table he'd just vacated.
"That one's not wiped down yet," he says when the kid lays a tentative hand on the back of one of the chairs. The boy jumps, but offers him a smile, asking, "Can I sit here once it is?"
The place isn't exactly crowded, since they're only about an hour and a half away from closing, and there are plenty of other tables for the boy to choose from. But it is the only one by the window, and Jesse can understand the appeal, so he wipes it off without saying anything more and then grabs a menu and places it down at one of the seats.
"I need two," the boy says sheepishly, a pink tinge creeping into his cheeks. Jesse doesn't comment; if he's having first date jitters or something of the like, then that's none of his business. So he hands over another menu and then asks, "Can I get you anything to drink?"
"Coffee," the boy says. Jesse chuckles.
"Aren't you a little young to be drinking coffee?" he asks, even though he's not really one who should be talking when it comes to caffeine intake.
"I'm seventeen," the boy tells him, though he doesn't sound as annoyed as most boys his age would have. Jesse raises his eyebrows; he'd expected this kid to be younger.
"Then no, you're not." He leaves to go pour a cup, then brings it back to the table, also setting down a small pitcher of milk. The boy thanks him and Jesse gives him a nod, and then he goes around to the other tables, mostly collecting orders for desserts and pouring refills. It's always easy once they get close to closing time.
He avoids the boy's table for as long as possible, because the kid's date or friend or whoever he's waiting for hasn't shown up yet. Jesse's never been stood up before, not really, but he can only imagine how it must feel. The kid keeps checking his phone and tapping his fingers on the table. But after he's made his rounds to all of his other tables, he can't keep ignoring him. So he walks back over and tries to sound polite when he asks, "Are you ready to order?"
"I'm waiting for..." the boy looks over at the empty seat across from him. Jesse looks over at the clock on the wall.
"We close in a little over an hour," he tells the boy.
"Oh." It's clear he hadn't known that when he came in. "Um... I'd still like to wait, if that's okay."
"Yeah," Jesse nods. "But do you want something to start with or-"
"I want to wait," the boy nods.
"Okay," Jesse mirrors him, nodding as well, then walks away. He makes his rounds to the other tables again, which takes a considerably shorter amount of time since half of them have finished. He goes back to the boy's table after they've brewed a fresh pot of coffee, asking if he'd like a refill, but apart from that it's like the table isn't even occupied. It isn't until they only have forty-five minutes until closing that he goes back over.
"I'd suggest getting something to eat and giving your date a serious bitchface with your mouth full when he comes in," is how Jesse announces that he's back. The boy jumps, then laughs nervously.
"He's probably just... late," he shrugs a shoulder. "But, okay. To the getting something to eat part." He asks for a grilled cheese, which takes about two seconds to make, and Jesse can tell he's doing it so he doesn't end up still eating when the diner closes. It takes even less time than usual since everyone else in the diner have finished and are paying for their food and getting ready to leave, and it doesn't take long for the boy to be the only person left in the whole place. When Jesse puts his food in front of him, he starts to practically inhale it.
"Whoa, slow down," Jesse tells him. "You've got a half hour, not half a minute."
The boy looks up apologetically, chewing quickly and swallowing thickly.
"I just..." His eyes flick to the window. "I don't want to take too long."
"You're fine," Jesse assures him, then leaves to go wipe down the other tables. He doesn't pay the boy any attention until he hears a soft clattering noise, and looks over, unable to see what had happened from this angle. But nothing appears to be broken or out of place, and the boy isn't looking around for help, so he keeps going about his own business. It's only when he goes over with the pot of coffee to offer another refill when he notices that the boy's stopped eating, his elbows resting on the table and his head in his hands.
"You okay?" Jesse asks. The boy jumps for the third time, quickly reaching out to grab his phone from where it was resting on the table, turning it over so the screen was out of sight.
"Yeah," he lies.
"No you're not," Jesse tells him, pouring him another cup of coffee without asking. Then he calls over his shoulder towards the kitchen, "Another grilled cheese!" getting a faint, "Okay," in return. Then he slides into the seat that had been meant for the boy's date.
"So what's your name?" he asks, because he doesn't even know that.
"Blaine," the boy answers, looking confused. "What are you doing?"
"I have no idea," Jesse answers, because he really doesn't. Normally he doesn't give a shit about anyone who comes in here and gets stood up, but this kid - Blaine - seems like the type who really doesn't deserve to have that happen to him. It's funny when the loudmouths end up on their own, but when the people who actually seem somewhat normal and actually have manners are the ones left hanging? That's when Jesse actually starts caring. "But you're upset and the upset ones are never good tippers, so spill your soul."
That gets a smile out of Blaine, at the least. He's looking over at Jesse with an eyebrow raised, as if he's not quite sure if he thinks this is a good idea. His eyes fall onto Jesse's chest, which makes Jesse raise an eyebrow in turn. When he looks down, checking to see if he's spilled something on himself, he remembers that he's wearing a name tag.
"I knew you looked familiar for a reason," Blaine is saying, which makes Jesse's other eyebrow shoot up as well.
"Oh?" he stands up, crossing to the counter and grabbing a mug from the shelf, then sits back down, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "Do tell."
"You were in Vocal Adrenaline," Blaine tells him. "I remember you. I was a freshman. You were... you were amazing." There's a note of awe in his voice that Jesse hasn't heard from anyone in too long. It sinks into him just like the warmth of the coffee he's drinking, and for a moment he lets himself remember two years ago, when he had been on the top of everything.
Suddenly feeling self-conscious, Jesse takes off his hat and scratches his scalp, then tosses the hat down on the windowsill. He probably has horrendous hat hair, but he's not an anonymous waiter anymore. Blaine knows who he is - or, rather, who he was - so he has to at least attempt to keep up appearances.
"Good to know I made that much of an impression," Jesse says honestly, but then he quickly changes the subject back onto Blaine. "So, spill your soul. I still want a nice tip."
Blaine hesitates. He looks down at his phone, turning it over and staring at its blank screen, then he shoves it away. It makes the same clattering noise Jesse had heard earlier.
"He cancelled on you," Jesse fills in the blanks. "Happens to everyone." He shrugs a shoulder and takes another sip of coffee. "Dump him and move on."
"He's not my boyfriend," Blaine admits suddenly, sounding upset. "At least, not anymore. He dumped me."
"What'd you do?" Jesse asks, which he can immediately tell is the wrong question, so he amends it to say instead: "Or, what did he do?"
"He was texting someone else. Flirting with someone else. He said I wasn't good enough to him, something about not complimenting him enough or something."
"Someone's an attention whore," Jesse comments, but that doesn't get Blaine to smile.
"So I told him that we weren't together anymore," Blaine's looking down at his plate now, pushing his half-eaten sandwich with his unused fork. "He asked me why I was breaking up with him, and I told him that he had dumped me as soon as he texted someone else." Blaine looks up, his eyes searching Jesse's face for an answer he clearly wants to find there before he's even asked: "Why couldn't he have just told me how he was feeling? Did he really have to go to someone else when all he had to do was tell me, and I would have made more of an effort?"
The cook comes out from behind the counter, bringing a plate with a second grilled cheese sandwich. He offers it to Jesse, who takes it wordlessly and places it in front of himself.
"Yes," Jesse nods. "Apparently he did have to cheat on you to feel important. So why the hell were you meeting him here?"
Blaine's cheeks flush. Jesse starts eating the second sandwich, more to have something to do and to fill the silence than anything else.
"I thought we could talk. Properly. Now that it's been... now that things have had time to settle."
"Never do that," Jesse shakes his head, his words thick through a mouthful of bread and cheese. He swallows before elaborating. "The more you think about it, the more likely you are to make the wrong decision. He hurt you. Don't go back to him."
"How do you know?" Blaine asks, his tone accusatory.
"Because I did that." Jesse tries to sound nonchalant. "I went back to someone who hurt me because I hurt her, too, and I needed to apologize." He takes another bite of his sandwich.
"What happened?" Blaine asks.
"She ditched me for someone else," Jesse shrugs a shoulder, leaving out the part about how he'd also been led on. He didn't like to talk about that part.
"Oh," Blaine's fingers twitch. "So I should just... leave it."
"From the looks of things, he already has," Jesse says honestly. "You'll be doing yourself a disservice if you try to pick up the pieces without his help."
Blaine falls silent again, so Jesse continues eating. Blaine mirrors him, and the pair of them sit in silence, eating their matching sandwiches and taking sips from their matching coffee mugs. It's nice, because Jesse doesn't feel compelled to say something, and from the way Blaine seems to have relaxed back into his seat, he doesn't either. Maybe it's just because they don't know each other and therefore don't know how to hold a conversation with the other, but for whatever reason, the silence is actually nice instead of awkward.
Then they're just looking at each other, and it's still not awkward. Blaine smiles, and Jesse smiles, and then Blaine reaches for his phone and starts tapping away at it, which is when the clock chimes the hour, marking closing time. Jesse ignores it.
"What do you think?" Blaine asks, showing him the phone's screen. He's typed out a short message: 'Don't worry about missing dinner. We're over and I don't want to change that, so there's nothing left to talk about.'
"Well, I would have said something more along the lines of, 'Fuck you for standing me up, but it's your loss because I don't want you anyway,' but I guess that works, too," Jesse says. He waits a few seconds before smiling, and then Blaine laughs, having clearly thought he was serious. And, okay, maybe he wasn't entirely joking, but that wasn't the point.
"Thanks for talking to me," Blaine smiles over at him. "I think I needed someone to talk to. Someone removed from the situation, I mean."
"Well, don't go name-dropping if anyone asks where you got the sage wisdom from," Jesse jokingly warns him. "I do have a reputation to maintain. None of my students would ever take me seriously if they found out about this conversation."
"Students?" Blaine frowns slightly.
"I coach Vocal Adrenaline now," Jesse says in an offhand voice.
"Oh." It's not the tone Jesse wants to hear coming from the boy he's just inadvertently shared some personal (albeit brief and devoid of details) information with. "So you're a teacher."
"I'm twenty," Jesse clarifies, "and I don't have a teaching license or a college degree. It's just a title. I'm not really a teacher."
Blaine's cheeks tinge pink again when he tells his empty plate, "Good, because I was going to ask if you wanted to... go do something."
"Looking for a rebound?" Jesse teases.
"No," Blaine says quickly, but the tinge in his cheeks deepens in color. "I just..."
"Yes," Jesse cuts in. "Yes, I would like to go do something," he quotes the used phrase, "with you." He stands up from the table, calling back towards the kitchen, "Come clear off this last table, okay? I'll stay later tomorrow to make it up to you." Without waiting for an answer and scurrying Blaine away before he can even reach for his wallet, Jesse leaves the diner, not bothering to take his uniform hat with him.
"I didn't pay," Blaine tells him as they begin walking down the sidewalk.
"It doesn't matter," Jesse assures him, but Blaine's no longer listening. He's staring out across the parking lot, and Jesse follows his gaze to see someone very familiar and entirely unwelcome. And now that he has a face and a name to put to Blaine's asshole of an ex-boyfriend, he can't really say he's all that surprised.
"Play along," Jesse mutters in Blaine's ear, reaching down to take his hand, entwining their fingers just as Kurt catches sight of them.
"Blaine!" he calls. "I'm so sorry. I didn't think I was going to make it, so I-" He stops short, seemingly just realized who exactly is standing beside Blaine. "What are you doing?" he asks Jesse.
"I'm holding hands with Blaine," Jesse explains.
"Why?" Kurt asks, frowning.
"Because we're not together anymore," Blaine jumps in abruptly, "so I can hold hands with anyone I like."
"Seriously?" Kurt actually laughs. "You and Jesse? If you were really that desperate you should have at least gone with Sebastian. He actually likes boys."
"And I don't?" Jesse raises an eyebrow. "Last I checked, I was the one who made that decision, not you."
"What, you're gay?" Kurt crosses his arms.
"Nope," Jesse shakes his head. "I'm attracted to people with talent and determination and who are nice to look at, which explains why you never realized my non-straightness until right now." Beside him, Blaine actually sniggers. Kurt's face flushes an angry red.
"Well, you can still do better than Jesse St. Sucks," he insists. "Blaine, I thought you wanted to talk."
"Nope," Blaine shakes his head. "You really hurt me, Kurt." His grip on Jesse's hand tightens, and his tone darkens. He's not playing around anymore. "I really loved you. I would have done anything for you, did everything I could for you, and... and it wasn't enough. You could have just told me, but... but instead you hurt me. You cheated, Kurt, even though you were so worried about me doing just that." He leans closer to Jesse, his grip tightening even more. "I should have known better than to trust you when you never trusted me."
Jesse looks from Kurt, whose face is still flushed and is gnawing on his bottom lip, to Blaine, who leans even closer into him, their sides pressed together. Blaine needed to say all that, but he also needs to not go back on any of it; Jesse can tell. So he says loudly, "Well, nice running into you, Sheldrake, but Fran and Chuck need to be off now," and pulls Blaine along when he starts walking. He half expects Kurt to follow them, but he doesn't. They walk in silence, neither of them seeming to know where they're going and neither of them letting go of each other's hands, for a few minutes.
Then Blaine asks, "Did you seriously just give the three of us nicknames from Promises, Promises?"
"Problem?" Jesse grins over at him, pleased to see a smile on his face again.
"No way," Blaine shakes his head. "You made me Kristin Chenoweth. You're my new best friend."
"Good," Jesse decides, letting go of Blaine's hand only to sling an arm around his shoulders. "This really would have been a complete waste of time otherwise. Come on, Fran, let's go play gin."
Blaine's arm goes around his waist, giving him a squeeze when he says softly, "Shut up and deal."
