+ Guilt Runs Deep

[vitaelamorte]

Who: Everyone!
Where: The Mansion
When: Feb 23-25
Rating: Please warn in top level subject lines for potential triggers/NSFW
Summary: Various residents are trapped in their own guilt, watching their guiltiest memory play on a loop.
The Story:

Welcome to the gathering post for the event. Please see the plotting post for more information + the bulletin board link. Have fun!

Comments

Claire Fraser | OTA | tw: infant death

[beautifullies]

[ This isn’t what she ever thought would come back to haunt her, but always, always in her heart, she’s carried a specific guilt. Claire knows in her logical mind that she isn’t dying. That she is in Wonderland, but beyond that, there’s nothing but pain and emptiness as she sits up and begins to panic, boiling with fever. ]

Where is my baby? I want my baby, bring me my baby!

[ She yells it over and over again, pale, clammy, a mix of French and English until an elderly Reverend Mother brings over a tiny wrapped bundle. Now, Claire looks over this tiny, born too soon child of hers and feels pain burst and bloom in her chest. It was her fault; her fault her body failed her. She’d chased after Jamie and put her past (future) husband in front of their growing family. It was her fault, all of it, and now all that she can do is cradle what was never to be to her chest. Anyone who walks in at the beginning of the memory will not be able to calm Claire or speak to her, truly, until her child is placed in her arms.

Mid-memory, Claire sings to her daughter but will stop to speak with anyone who walks in. She might try to get you to hold her child. But in the end, she has to give her baby back and she cries, pressing kisses to her face. The memory loops as Claire breaks down into tears, pain and grief and guilt making her body shake with sobs. ]

[1743]

[ He doesn't tell Claire, but he dreams of Faith often. Through his own foolish actions, Jamie had been robbed of the chance to ever even see her face. That was the punishment he'd earned for his sins, though. He'd left his wife alone when she needed him most, and they'd lost their child because of it. All he's had through these long years was the faint outline of a face to call upon in the safety of dreams, where he can see her and not really lose her, where she exists somewhere peacefully, where she can be as happy as his mind commands her to be.

His dreams echo with the softness of her laughter, and when he wakes some mornings, his skin is still warm from her breath because he'd imagined her falling asleep against his shoulder as he carried her from the dewy meadows home to Lallybroch. In his dreams, his child, gone so long now, calls the sun to the sky and turns on the stars at night for him before she leaves again, safe as just a memory in his heart. That's the one comfort he has, that he can keep her safe inside him, always.

But Wonderland proves to be cruel indeed again, and he's forced to watch what he'd missed before: the death of his child, and the near-death of his wife. He hadn't known Claire was this close to dying, and it turns his stomach to knots to see her face gone so pale, the specter of death over her. It's real enough and terrifying enough that he finds himself begging them (people who can't hear or see him) to save his wife. It's when she breaks down into sobs that Jamie collapses to the ground himself, tears in his eyes, knowing his wife suffered through this alone.

In a broken whisper, he utters her name. ]

Claire...

[beautifullies]

[ It's his voice that pulls her out of her sobs for a moment. He's never been here before, he wasn't there, and he's all she wanted in the grief and tragedy of the loss. It wasn't just her baby that died. Faith was his, too, but the fault was hers alone. She reaches for him and then realizes that in this, now, he can finally see their baby.

And so the memory loops as she cries out for her baby, shifting to stand, her shift bloody and stiff at the bottom, the bed soaked with her blood. But Mother Hildegarde gets her settled again and soon, Faith is in her arms and Claire looks at her husband. ]

Jamie, look at her.

[ Her voice is light, soft. There's an out of place smile on her lips, eyes glassy with fever. ]

Look at how perfect she is.

[1743]

[ Devastatingly, this is the chance he never had. He can see his child. He can hold her. He should want to, even knowing she's not alive. He should want to, because he's wanted to know her face all these long years, but he's frozen for a moment. If he looks at her, if he sees her pale face, her closed eyes, then he won't get to keep that perfect memory of her from his dreams: the one where she's running to him as fast as her little legs can carry her, red curls blown wild by the wind. If he feels her cold skin, if he begs her eyes to open and they won't, he'll truly lose her forever.

A glance at Claire, too, at the sight of her paler features, has him so worried. ]

I canna, Claire.

[beautifullies]

[ With his protest, the memory continues on, and she speaks softly, eyes focused on their child.

She's beautiful. Ten fingers. Ten toes. Our perfect girl.

[ Every instinct is there, a slow rocking back and forth, breasts that fill heavy with milk for a child that has never taken a breath. Claire's finger strokes that tiny soft cheek, the skin nearly translucent, and she begins to sing quietly. Her voice is rough, hoarse and broken, edged with tears, and when she finishes, she looks at Jamie again. ]

You have to. You have to hold our daughter. Please, Jamie. Please, hold her while you can.

[1743]

[ As he finds the strength to stand again, Jamie watches his wife while his heart shatters into pieces so small and so jagged, he's not certain it can ever be mended. It's a pain so much different than when Claire first told him; to see his wife dying, to see her cradling, rocking, and singing to their child, opens up a scarred wound anew.

They had healed each other, or so he thought. But maybe nothing had really healed at all. His soul is laid bare, and he's not sure he's even breathing now.

He doesn't want to hold their child. He can't. And he's mad at himself for not being strong enough, because his wife needs him. In the end, it's his wife that draws him closer, his lips pressing to her forehead as he smooths her sweaty hair back from her brow. He's so damn worried about her, and his lips linger against her forehead. ]

Christ, Claire, ye're burnin' up wi' fever.

end

[bibliocorn]

[Sunburst has managed to avoid a room of his own- something he ironically feels he should probably feel a little guilty about. HIs friends are suffering and he's...well, he's not. He's made the best of it by going to find his friends, his loved ones, to help them as best he can.

This one...this is a little beyond him. He's never experienced a loss like this. He thinks of Flurry, how utterly heartbroken he'd be if anything happened to her. He's not her father, but she still means the world to him. He's not convinced he'd be able to keep it together- in Claire's place. He lets her have her moment, not intruding until she's alone in her grief. Then, he heads over to sit beside her. Carefully, he puts a forehoof on her back, resting his chin on her shoulder. Pony hugs don't translate the best towards humans, but damnit if he's not going to try. ]

I'm so sorry, Claire.

[beautifullies]

[ Claire, in her right frame of mind, not-fevered, would never have put this sort of memory on anyone's shoulders. A part of her, a rational part, knows it isn't real. But more of hr does not, her guilt still raging, as vicious and gutting as the loop.

She acknowledges Sunburst by letting out another sob. ]

It was...mine. My fault.

[bibliocorn]

[Sunburst has seen enough of Wonderland's cruelties to understand how hard it is to escape a trap, once you've been put in into it. Wonderland can make you believe anything is real - and usually does so in ways that will cause the most fallout later.

He stays close, trying to offer whatever sparse comfort he can. ]

I deeply and sincerely doubt that's true. These kinds of things are beyond our power.

[beautifullies]

[ It's difficult not to believe it. That she's been punished for her crimes. ]

You have no idea how selfish I was.

[ Her voice breaks; she's painted a nice picture of herself in Wonderland. She's being irrational right now, but the powers that be have done an incredible (horrible) job of honing in on the one pieces of guilt she thinks about ever now and then. It's magnified now, bigger than it has been in twenty-two years. ]

[bibliocorn]

[He hates seeing her like this. He hates seeing Wonderland break her down so low. Make her an echo of the Claire that he knows and cares a great deal for. He knows that she wouldn't put up with him doing this to himself, so he should offer her the same kindness. ]

Again, I'd like to heartily disagree. This is Wonderland. It's ... from what I can tell, it's pulling at everyone's most guilty memories. It's forcing you to feel like this. But this-

[He glances the way the nurse had gone. Had taken the baby.]

...This doesn't seem like something that was in your control, Claire.

mid-memory

[thereporter]

[ How Julia has managed to avoid this one is anyone's guess. Maybe it's because she long ago came to terms with the mistakes she's made or, perhaps, more importantly, she doesn't feel she deserves to be punished for them. Maybe it's her belief that the Dome is her penance. Maybe it's because she isn't entirely capable of guilt, at least, not for the things she has done so far.

Either way, she escapes this. Those she loves, however, do not. ]

Claire...

[ Julia aches for her. For the life she lost, and sorrow she carries. For the future she knows nothing about, a future where she finds happiness with her husband and child that lives. And, somewhere deep inside, Julia aches for herself, for the future and family she wants, the one that may never come to fruition. ]

This isn't real.

[ It's clear it was, once. But this is a life that lay behind Claire and the worst of the grief passed, even if it still persists. But it is not now. ]

[beautifullies]

[ Claire doesn't seem to hear that part. She knows it, somewhere, but the child in her arms is real, the weight of her, even this slight. ]

But she's beautiful, isn't she?

[ Claire whispers it, as if she could wake the child. ]

She looks like Jamie.

[thereporter]

[ Julia doesn't want to look, but she does anyway. She's seen death already.

This is different, though. This isn't just death. This is torture. ]

She does.

[ Moving forward, she hesitates before sitting down on the bed. Her first instinct is to leave and let Claire to her grief, but she can't bring herself to do it. When she finally speaks again, her voice matches Claire's hushed tone. ]

What happened?

[beautifullies]

[ When Claire is rational; when fever isn't burning through her and Wonderland isn't manipulating her logical mind, she can answer the correct way: a placenta abruption, her baby starved for oxygen, bleeding that turned to a bacterial infection when a piece of placenta stayed behind and festered.

But now, her eyes are clouded over and yet she's bright with the fever, heat radiating off of her. ]

A punishment. For putting a future I abandoned ahead of my husband and child.

[thereporter]

I don't believe that.

[ Julia can tell she's sick, but there's nothing that can be done for it. Once the event is over, Claire will go back to the way she was... At least, physically. Julia doubts the effect this will have on her psychologically with fade with any ease. ]

Things like this happen, especially without modern medicine.

[ Perhaps it was sheer luck that the baby Julia helped deliver under the Dome survived. Perhaps it was the Dome that protected baby Alice. Either way, it hadn't done much for Norrie's mother, who died under the stress. One life lost for another to be created. It wasn't fair, but life generally isn't. ]

This wasn't your fault.

[poppycock]

( it's her voice that draws him. he's on his way to check on the very few people he cares about: not with the intention to intrude in their most private and terrible moments, but to check on them. he needs to know who this event has tortured, even if what little he can do is watch.

trying is better than sitting in his room.

claire certainly counts on that list. she's not who he's searching for at the moment, but he knows her voice, if not her room number. and what she's crying out, hysterical, ripped from her throat: it's why he does hesitate but a moment, eyes rounded into saucers, lips parted in concern.

then he steels himself and opens the door.

the child, small and deathly blue, is being placed in her arms. klaus swallows thickly.

he thinks of his own daughter, how small she was, how easily this could have — he doesn't think of that. he cannot stomach it.

he thinks of leaving, for a moment: what he could possibly do? what could he say? but he can't leave her here. not alone. not like this. he steps forward, into the soft glow of moonlight beside the white sheets. ) What was her name?

[beautifullies]

[ Claire looks up, eyes glassy with the heat of her fever as a spark of recognition tells her that this is Klaus before she looks back down at the infant in her arms. ]

Faith. I didn't name her. I couldn't, I was too close to death to decide. But I wouldn't have named her something so gut-wrenching.

[ Mother Hildegarde seemed to see it a different way, a name of blessing. Of trust in God. Claire has no such feeling. Still, her fingers trail across the top of her head, over light wisps of hair. ]

She's so beautiful.

[poppycock]

( is it gut-wrenching? that is what he considers, his heart open and large in his chest as he looks down at this frozen moment, this dying woman with her dead child, and sees how much this little girl was wanted and loved. there's faith in love.

perhaps another would be horrified, angry, upset by what is before him, but klaus has seen this sort of tragedy and loss countless times before. he understands it. only that it has happened to claire chokes him.

instead he is calm, steady, that strength of the shared love and grief of a parent blocking the words from his throat and filling his eyes with unshed tears as he turns his gaze to the babe, to claire's tender caress over her head. ) She is, ( he says quietly. ) I named my daughter Hope, ( he confesses, and slowly sits on the edge of the bed, ) because that's what she is to me.

[beautifullies]

[ His words make Claire look up at him as tendrils of hair fall in her face at the movement. ]

'Hope.' That's a beautiful name. It must have been wonderful to hold her in your arms that first time and see a life so full of hope and promise.

[ Jamie had whispered his hopes for their child across her belly before they slept each night. ]

Jamie is so religious. He prayed so hard over us when I was pregnant. And for what?

[ Nothing. His prayers were useless, but she can't tell him that. She can't destroy him. ]

[poppycock]

( her eyes, gentle and clouded with fever, are like two full, amber orbs in the silvery shadows. the grief in them strikes true; he doesn't feel he should confirm her suppositions, however true they are. they are painfully, excruciatingly true; she knows this.

tears hanging in his eyes, his gaze slowly falls again to the babe. even slower, he reaches out, his palm nearly touching the soft, cold slope of the child's forehead. instead, he mimes the shape with his cupped hand. ) In my experience, death is never merciful. If there is a God, he is rarely so either.

mid-memory // comin in real late but I said I would

[mandrakes]

[He's seen scenes like this before, and needs no explanation to understand what's happening. The loss of a child is a very particular kind of grief, and very particular to the mother of that child. He feels like an intruder here, but the door he came in by is gone, and gives him little choice other than stepping forwards and sitting carefully on the edge of the bed while Claire cries.]

My dear girl... [Regis says softly, gently touching her arm.

No need to ask why this happened. How this happened. They never really know. There are tales, stories, superstitions that he could list, but none of them have basis in fact. Sometimes... this is just how it ends.]

What will you call her?

it's okay i always need a reason to cry

[beautifullies]

[ She told him once, briefly, about the loss of her child. Never in great detail, though.

When she sees him, his familiar enough to her, important enough to her that her chin trembles. ]

I didn't get to name her.

[ Tears fill her eyes, glassy with a fever she once had. ]

They thought I was going to die. Mother Hildegard called her Faith.

[ A name Claire never would have chosen in a thousand years. ]

weh

[mandrakes]

Faith.

[It doesn't sound like a name that Claire would choose, but one that a religious person may turn to for lack of anything else. Regis shifts a little closer, enough to be able to put his arm gently around the woman's shoulder, and he looks down at the tiny, still face of the babe in her arms.]

What would you have chosen?

[He keeps his voice low, soft, very warm. There is and will never be a frame of reference in his life for a loss like this one.]

[beautifullies]

[ Claire's quiet for a long moment and she leans back into him, this person she regards as safe. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knows this is in the past, but it all feels very real, down to the heat radiating off of her. ]

After my mother, I think. Or Jamie's. Ellen or Julia.

[ She whispers the words as if they're sacred. ]

But now, she'll always be Faith Fraser.