Her Saviour and Regret

Bree Archer had spent nine months in the manor. She had had four conversations with three different house elves, read 72 books, self taught the violin, learned how to play speed chess, chatted to a hell hound and taken a liking to pickles. Pickles.

The gates were closed, the curtains were drawn and the doors locked. No one could know. It would put them both in danger, wouldn't it? No one could ever know.

She had put everything on hold. Her business- her life. Everything for one person, who she hadn't even met yet.

Pregnancy was harder than she had expected. She wasn't entirely surprised why most women insisted on not doing it on their own. Bree had never considered herself as a part of the "most women" group.

But, right at that moment, she was desperate.

"AAAAAAAAH!" She screeched, panting on the hospital bed as a crowd of Healers surrounded her, shouting various orders to one another.

"I-I" she stuttered, green eyes wide with panic, and clutching onto the forearm of the closest- and effectively most unfortunate- Healer.

"FUUUCK!" The woman yelled, writhing in her sweat. Was the baby trying to kill her?!

"Miss, we need you to-"

"SHUT UP!"

"Miss, we need to know who the-"

"I'M GOING TO KILL HIM!" she shouted, voice becoming more and more gravelly. She collapsed backwards into the mountain of pillows behind her, breathing as if she had just run a marathon.

"That bitch from the Ministry." Bree whimpered in pain. "I'm going t-to kill Brock- I'm-" her voice died, and the Healer bustled away.

"AAAAAAAAAHH!"

They had summoned him directly from his office, claiming that 'the mother of his child' needed him. His mind had jumped to one woman, and one woman only, so when he apparated to the hospital and was directed to a hospital room with someone who was obviously not blond, he paused in the doorway. He frowned at the nearest nurse, who tugged him to the bedside and sat him there.

For the first time, he looked at the woman in the bed. "Bree?" He asked, blinking at her, a grin tugging at his lips. "I knew you'd survive! But why-" He frowned at her stomach, then was up and away from her, near the door. "Wait- if that's- then- I-" He was back at her side. "I shot you." He said, his face a mask of horror. "Did I hit the baby? I'm so sorry I didn't know that you were- that I had-" Then he was pacing, murmuring apologies and fretting until he was back at her side again. For the first time since he had gotten there, he was still.

"I would have- If I had known I would have let you out of your cell, you know. You would have come home with me. Screw the minister. Screw the laws. I would have taken care of you both and... and I still will, if you want." His brown eyes sparkled, and he gazed down at her. "You must- hate me." He ran his fingers through his hair, a startled laugh ripping from his mouth. "Yapapa." He said again, a grin tugging at his lips. "I'm- I'm here for you okay? Even if you want me to leave after I'm just- here."

He extended his hand, stopping it long before it looked like it would even attempt to touch her. "You can squeeze the hell out of it, if you want."

They would realise she was a criminal, soon. Maybe they would let her have the baby, and then leave. How long would it take for them to recognise her?

"G-get him ooouut." she moaned, panting on her pillows. "Get my baby out of me!" Bree's hands flew in the air in desperation. She'd considered giving the child up for adoption on more than one occasion- but how would the parents react when a demon came knocking on their door on his 10th birthday? Besides, he was hers. Hers.

Her teeth gritted together as the contractions restarted again, more painful that the last. She dug her nails into her palms, so much that blood oozed out of the flesh of her right hand. Archer could do this alone. She didn't need-

"Brock?!" It had meant to be a screech, but parted her lips as more of a squeal, as she lurched forwards at his entrance.

What was she meant to do? Attack him? Curse him? Beg him?

"Y-you," she stuttered, glassy green eyes wide with fear as they met the large swell of her stomach. The woman barely had any idea exactly what he was saying.

Bree groaned loudly as the baby moved.

She didn't need anyone.

Her hand reached out towards his with less than a moment's hesitation, clinging onto it as if it were the only thing keeping her alive.

"I hate you." she cried angrily, and pushed.

~Time Lapsing seems to be a trend in these Breerock threads, doesn't it?~

He could barely feel his fingers by the time the baby was born, but that was fine with him. He had hesitantly brushed her hair out of her eyes and murmured words of a calming nature to her, even as she cussed and raged and wished for it all to be over. He wanted it to be over too, it pained him to see her in so much pain, and it hurt still more to think that she had endured her pregnancy alone.

She wouldn't be alone any longer, if he had anything to do about it.

The mediwizards were fussing over the baby, rinsing him - the final exclamation of "It's a boy!" had sent his heart racing - off and making sure that all the right things were in order. It seemed like ages before the Head Mediwitch turned around with the small being in her arms, presenting him to Brock as if he were made of the purest of gold.

A sigh of awe left him as the mediwitch helped the baby into his arm, the cooing small creature blinking dark brown eyes up at him. Brock blinked back, his own eyes widening almost comicly as he realised that this child - this blessing - was made by him. Was created by him and the woman lying in bed next to him.

"You're perfect." He whispered, and was rewarded with the happiest sounding squeal and giggle in the whole world. Something changed then, the world shifted, and Brock was smiling too. Everything was alright now, wasn't it? Everything was-

"Bree." He breathed, turning and leaning over slightly to show her the baby boy. He kept the child securely against his chest until his mother offered to take him, freeing his other hand to wiggle a finger before the babe's face. With another excited sounding coo, the baby latched onto it with both hands and bringing it to his lips. Brock made a sound that sounded suspiciously like a laugh and grinned brighter. "We've... somehow... created something perfect." He glanced up at her for the briefest moment, eyes shining with an innocent happiness, before his attention was back on his son - his. Son. - and he was absorbed once more.

"Would you like to hold him?" He asked, his attention still on the babe.

She stared blankly at the pristine white of the ceiling above her as the mediwitches worked, head resting on a fresh set of pillows. That had been the single most horrific experience of her life. The pain was beyond anything that she had ever encountered before- which was big news, for someone who worked in the weaponry business. A weapon that could make anyone go into labour would be a brilliant product. Bree was sure that ex-wives would go crazy for them. She smirked weakly at the thought.

Mission accomplished, Archer. she congratulated herself silently. No one knew- spare Brock, and a few members of the staff who she would deal with later- that she had had a child. He wasn't in danger. Of course, he would need to learn how to defend himself. He would be intelligent. Strong. Handsome, of course. He was going to be outstanding. And he was hers. Unable to stop herself now, the woman lifted her neck upwards, trying to catch sight of her baby. She couldn't see him all too well- the father's body seemed to be covering most of him. That, and he was such a small creature.

Her eyes glanced briefly at Brock's face, that was so awe struck. Hee was a good man, admittedly. Even for someone who had shot her. But he had come, and he had stayed. Which was more that she could say for most. Bree appraised silently how he held the boy, as if it were natural. She was almost certain that he would be a good parent. Could she ever be? It would be better for the baby if he stayed with Brock. In a normal family, and he could make friends and play games-

Then Djinn would come for him. Hot bars clenched around her heart, and her throat closed up in response to the thought. Her little baby was doomed to a life of evil. Because of her. Because she was selfish.

Her eyes snapped upwards from her clammy hands to the man's face as soon as her name was spoken, an ashamed vulnerability glowing in her green eyes.

And then she looked at her child, and her heart burst from its bars. He was so perfect. She'd never seen anything more perfect in her life.

"He's..." she choked out, then cleared her throat with a feeble laugh. "He's all right." The words were nonchalant, but her tone burned with such a love that was impossible to miss.

"I, uh," Bree mumbled, biting her the lower lip of her smile as he clutched to his father's finger. "I don't know."

Brock's eyes went from his son - his. son. - to Bree, a small smile working its way across his face. "Here... just..." He gently guided her arms around the small bundle, the small child squirming slightly to get more comfortable as he smiled. "See? Look how easy it is. Like holding a baby doll." With exceeding gentleness, he ran his hand over the small child's head, marveling in the smoothness of its skull, the vulnerability in his eyes genuine.

"You don't have to be alone any longer, Bree." He murmured, his eyes flickering to the woman and staying there. He had to admit he liked the image of it, of them both. Together. Mother and Child. It took a moment to remember that he was a part of the picture too. Mother, Father, and Child. A warmth spread through his core, coaxing a smile onto his face. "I can- I can protect you. Give them false leads. Tell them that you dropped off the face of the earth. It wouldn't be difficult." His eyes returned to the child, and he grinned. "You could- could have a whole new life, a safer life, the two of you, and me, and we could- could-" He stopped talking, as if choked up, but a deep breath and small swallow got that under control.

"You would be safe." He said finally. "You wouldn't have to run anymore. You only would have to worry about-" He smiled. "Our son. Your son and mine." His smiled widened, and his eyes sparkled once more. "Have you decided on a name yet?"

Archer arms bent stiffly in what appeared to be an attempt to create a cradle shape for the baby before it was given to her, and she frowned down at her empty arms for the briefest of moments. The position didn't look right. How did they do it in the book? Her arms twisted around the bundle of cloth awkwardly, even as Brock guided her. That felt a little better.

The bundle squirmed, and she suddenly realised what she was holding against her chest. Dark, bright orbs peered up at her, and her breath caught in her throat. Bree's smile widened into an astonished grin, her dark hair tumbling over her face as she leaned over the child. How had she managed to make something so flawless?

"I never had a doll." she murmured, with a wry little laugh. She was going to be awful, wasn't she? A terrible, confused, irresponsible mother. But she couldn't ever, ever let her son go.

Having heard the man's words, Archer nodded her head, still absorbed with the baby. Of course she wasn't alone now. She had her son. And everything would be perfect-

But a family?

She would inevitably ruin it. She didn't know how families even worked. She was too damaged for a family. She would make everything difficult and dangerous and- But he had said it himself, hadn't he? Brock could protect them. He could protect her son better than she ever could. Her child could love his father and his mother. And God knew that both of them would love him, too.

Archer could deal with the demon later. At least, that was what she had assured herself.

"Okay." she agreed quietly- an innocent vulnerability that sounded out of place in her voice.

The mother looked up at Brock, green eyes wide.

"Andrei."

"Andrei Archer." Brock said softly, smoothing back the hair on his son's head. The child cooed, tearing his gaze from his mother to his father, and then back again. He looked quite contented, for a newly borne, and though it was probably just the thought of every father at his child's birth, Brock was quite sure that little Andrei already knew much more than he should.

"It's a nice strong name." He murmured. "I like it."