Struck Dumb
The apartment was silent but for the tick of a solitary clock. Each strike of the second hand thundered. Each space between, as soundless as the vacuum of space. Two figures squared off against one another. The man stood by the window, his spine as rigid as a pole, his back to the sun. The woman, who had paused her pacing to examine a fingernail, began once again. Her heels clicked as rhythmically as the time.

Perhaps it was Darian's imagination, but the wall-mounted clock seemed to move at a crawl. He checked his watch, in case the batteries had gone bad. No such luck. He made an abrupt departure to the wet bar and poured himself a drink. He thought about offering her one, but didn't.

After the last heated argument, the Dealmaker didn't know what to say to her. He found himself at a loss. Each time he opened his mouth, an unwise sentence leaped onto his tongue. Sooner or later, he'd provoke Bethany into a knock-down, drag-out, physical fight, if he didn't reign in his temper. He rubbed his mouth to keep it shut.

She pivoted and a tiny fleck of dirt ground against the floor. His body tensed. It felt like a two-hundred pound person was standing on each of his shoulders. Darian pinched the bridge of his nose. He tried to swallow the complaint, but it boiled up anyway. "Bethany? The only thing worse than the sound of that clock... is the pacing. Could you stand still for two minutes?"

It took less than a second for Bethany's shoulders to straighten and for her spine to stiffen, a dark glare being leveled on Darian over her shoulder. "What else am I supposed to do? Stand still like some sort of unmovable statue?" It would seem that no matter what they said to one another, it would inevitably insult or injure the other party in some form.

She exhaled a less than composed breath and flicked the tips of her nails together to make a sharp sound. Bethany's eyes flicked in the direction of the bathroom and then turned to the clock, lips pressing together into an unhappy line. God, how long did this sort of thing take?

Nerves had her turning on her heels again, fingers lifting to twist in the long silver strands of her expensive necklace.

"The statue idea isn't a bad one." He gave her a sour look. Lifting his alcohol (why had he bothered to pour it? The bottle worked just as well), he washed away the bitter taste of fear. Behind him, the sun came in warm through the floor-to-ceiling panes. He turned around and looked at the busy street. Hundreds of men traversed the intersection below on a daily basis, on their way to the office, school, or working lunches. How many of them had been struck dumb by the beauty of a blonde woman with a perfect ass? How many of them would go home tonight, expecting a lazy evening, and get blind-sided with an argument like this?

If he knew which ones, he'd go downstairs and shove them in front of the next city bus. It would be mercy.

"It's like you assume this is only about you," he said, slinging his glass. Bourbon splashed the floor.

She rolled her eyes at his comeback and tightened her fingers around the necklace again, tugging on it restlessly as she tried to curb the ever growing sensation of dread. "Like getting drunk will solve anything," she pointed out as he helped himself to a drink.

Bethany stopped in her tracks the moment those last words left his lips and her eyebrow immediately lifted. "Excuse me? How can you even say that? You have no idea what I'm thinking or feeling for that matter." Once again her gaze went to the clock and she flexed her fingers restlessly, immediately sinking them into her hair. She couldn't stay still, she had to keep moving. "Do you seriously think I wanted this?"

On the first point, he scoffed, "Bethany, you run a bar. You drink vodka for breakfast. Don't lecture me on the ills of the drink." Had the lecturing begun already? Perhaps it was genetic. For all he knew, his girlfriend was formulating an entire arsenal of sermons to be delivered on demand, from now until eternity. His good fortune was remarkable.

On the second topic, Darian's eyes bulged. He couldn't believe her. "What else am I supposed to think?" His hand gestured wildly in her direction. The normally cool-as-a-cucumber demon was hot around the collar, and the temperature steadily rose. "Why else wouldn't you have taken care of this? This was never supposed to be an issue."

"God, you're impossible." Bethany smoothed a thumb over her upper arm, worry evident in the way she held and moved herself.

As he gestured in her direction, her eyebrows lifted again. "Me?!" Bethany responded sharply, her tone more shrill than ever. She'd never heard her voice in that particular pitch before, but damn if this wasn't the time to get a little on the high side. "It takes two, Darian. I'm not the one solely responsible for this. Don't you dare offload this onto my shoulders alone."

She clasped her hips in either hand and steepled her fingers against the bones whilst she could still find them. "And had I known you cared this much, I might not have bothered informing you and just done what needed to be done. I'm sure you would have loved that."

"Are you serious?" Darian had the mad urge to drop his glass and stomp on it. He restrained himself, barely, by setting it down. He cleared his throat and lowered his voice. Then he tried again. "Did you see me putting anything on or kinking it like a garden hose? I didn't know this was physically possible!" The argument wasn't rational -- inwardly, he knew they were equally to blame -- but better his emotions manifest as angry disbelief than the alternative... Weeping on the floor.

Sometimes it calmed his nerves to fix his clothing. Darian unbuttoned the cuffs of his white shirt and rolled them up. "What about you? You knew your body was capable, didn't you?"

"Screw you," Bethany threw over her shoulder, fully aware of how childish that was, but she just didn't care. She was scared.

Bethany inhaled what passed for a very shaky breath and went back to folding her arms across her chest, ignoring the way her fingertips itched for something sharp. God, it had been forever and a day since she'd last done that. "And at least you won't be getting fat!" And then it struck her and Bethany slumped back against the nearby wall, allowing her weight to slip down onto those precarious heels. "Oh, God, I'm going to get fat."

She looked up sharply at his accusations and narrowed her eyes. "I took the necessary precautions. I haven't missed one pill since we've been together and if I thought there was any chance of this happening, then I took another pill, so yes, Darian, I was fully aware of my body's capability. Excuse me for being human and flawed."

He put his hands on his hips and stared at her. The clock continued to tick.

"You won't be fat," he said. Before he caught himself, Darian looked at her midsection. His eyes ticked back up immediately so she wouldn't catch him and think he was imagining extra pounds. He wasn't. Sympathy began to cut through his thick-headed mood. Clearly, she hadn't wanted this to happen, if it even had happened. Bethany was neither the mothering nor the man-trapping type. He let himself view things from her perspective and realized how mortified she had to be.

"It's fine." Darian crossed the living room and crouched in front of her. He cupped her jaw and attempted to soothe both their worries. "You aren't going to be fat and you aren't going to be... with child. It's obviously stress making you late. Or bad karma. In that case, it's obviously my fault as well as yours."

Bethany looked up when he touched her, and the previous look of anger seemed to melt away. She reached up and squeezed his wrist, turning her face into his palm as she let his warmth and familiar smell soothe her. Bethany ran her hand up his arm and closed her hand around the back of his neck, working her thumb over his skin.

"God, I hope you're right." This was the last thing she wanted. She wasn't a mother and she had no idea how to be one; it wasn't like she had a good role model in the form of her own mother. "It's probably nothing. I can't be-" She shook her head and eventually her hand wound around his already askew tie.

"Don't even say it." It was a firm outburst and he put a finger over her lips. Darian shook his head as if that settled it. While Bethany hung onto his tie like a lifeline (or perhaps she was contemplating choking the life out of him), the demon turned his forearm and looked at his watch. The remaining time had passed, and although he should've been relieved to be released from moratorium, he found himself thinking, 'now what?'

Very slowly, as if his neck hurt, he looked down the hallway. A white rectangle of light came from the bathroom. On the sink sat a white stick with a tiny indicator window. When had plastic held so much power over him? Darian stood up and pulled on her hands to bring her up, too. For a while, he was speechless. The muscles in his jaw flexed and strained over teeth and bone. "Let's get this over with."

Bethany gave one short nod of her head and closed her hands around Darian's, allowing her weight to be pulled upwards again. "Yes, the sooner we know, the better we can feel about this whole thing." She was desperately holding onto the hope that it was all just a horrible mistake and that they could take one look at the white stick and know that everything would be okay.

She took one more steadying breath and closed that distance between them and the bathroom, hesitating for a moment before she picked up the stick. There was a moment when she couldn't open her eyes, but eventually she forced herself. In the next second, it felt as if fate or karma had pulled the rug out from underneath her. Had it not been for Darian's close presence, Bethany would have hit the ground rather abruptly.

Bethany was speechless and staring open-mouthed in abject horror.

He had eased into the bathroom behind her, like a man going to the gallows. He saw the stick over Bethany's shoulder, and the small symbol of their shared doom. A plus. "Wait a minute." Darian grabbed the cardboard box and held the diagram up to the test stick, checking to make sure his eyes weren't fooling him. They weren't.

"Fuck me." He dropped the incriminating items in the basin and combed back his hair. Their reflections in the mirror would've been comical, if they weren't so damned tragic. Bethany looked like she'd been handed a death sentence. Darian looked like a deer in the headlights. No more seconds left until impact. After the sensation of being hammered in the forehead faded, he wrapped his hands around her waist, trying to steady himself and her, both. Then he realized what was under his palms and recoiled.

"Oh my god." Darian left the bathroom and went immediately for the bottle of bourbon. All he could see in front of him was a nightmare of diapers, sleepless nights, burp cloths, baby food and rubber nipples in a dishwasher. This was not possible. This was not possible. Changing his mind about the drink, he retraced his steps to the bathroom. "Are you sure that it's mine? I mean it, Beth. If you cheated, it's... consider it forgiven. You can tell me."

Bethany's head snapped up and she spun on her heels like some sort of crazy woman, eyes dark. It didn't take very long for the width of her palm to make full contact with Darian's cheek, leaving an impressive looking mark behind. "How dare you insinuate that I cheated!" She promptly trashed the plastic stick and all but shouldered her way past him, outraged, upset and generally out of sorts at the fact that she was with child and Darian was questioning paternity.

"I haven't been with anyone else since you!" She threw over her shoulder, clearly very angry and emotional. Screw it, she could be emotional , she was pregnant. Everything in her world had changed in an instant. She was going to be... fat, out of control with hormonal changes, completely at the mercy of the... thing growing in her womb and she couldn't do anything about it unless she gave abortion some serious thought and consideration. She probably would.

She was looking for her jacket. She had left it somewhere, she just couldn't remember where.

He held onto his sore face and followed her to the living room. It felt like he'd been struck by an iron mallet. Was she hitting for two, now, too? He was relieved he hadn't lost any teeth. "Alright. That was out of line. I apologize." Who had he hoped she slept with, Ralphael? God, he'd rather sign himself up for parenting lessons at the local community center than entertain that possibility. Actually, now that he thought about it, the idea of Bethany carrying someone else's child was ten times worse. If anybody should accidentally impregnate her, it better the hell be him.

He stood in the middle of the maelstrom she stirred, looking for her things. "Bethany, I didn't even know I could reproduce, or that our genes were compatible. Could you give me two minutes to absorb this, please." What were the chances? And also, what were the chances of sperm and egg successfully ganging up on their owners, when the woman religiously took her birth control pills? One percent? Darian found his mind on a tangent, thinking about probability and when it had happened. He stared at an impressionist painting on the wall. Now that he looked at it, the tower struck him as unbelievably phallic. "Where are you going?"

Bethany blew out a clearly frustrated breath and she turned on her heels again, throwing her hands out in an outward expression of an emotion she wasn't that comfortable with putting her finger on.

"I don't know! Just out." She pressed her lips together and willed her emotions to disappear, keeping the tears at bay. "I'm pregnant and you're questioning my loyalty to you? I just-" She turned her back to him and covered her mouth with her hand, attempting to gather herself.

She inhaled a breath and stayed where she was, giving Darian the two minutes he needed.

"I am not--" He sighed and stopped himself from denying it, because it wouldn't make sense. He asked, yes, but Darian hadn't actually believed she was unfaithful. His addled mind had looked for an out from an unbelievable prospect. Over three centuries separated him from his 'rebirth' as metaphysical maker of deals, even more from his true birth. Never had this circumstance been within the realm of comprehension. "I know you didn't."

Darian assessed the threat level of going near her. If she whirled around and hit hard enough, she might knock his head off. Even the resistant bones of demons had a limit. He came up behind the Slayer and debated where to touch. Suddenly, she seemed like a piece of glass. He folded his arms and an answer came to him. "It was that terrible cocktail party. Wasn't it? We got bored and went into the coat check. You punched that man who handed out the stubs. He was out cold the entire time." Nothing about rough, impromptu sex surrounded by Armani jackets screamed 'conception'.

Bethany was very aware of Darian's close proximity and simply turned her head, nodding it a few moments later. "I would imagine so. We did get rather carried away." She eventually turned and sought out Darian's touch by merely leaning against his chest and curling a hand around his side, twisting her fingers in the material of his shirt.

"The dates match," she added a moment later. "At first I just thought it was stress and then I started throwing up every morning."

"That would be a red flag." Darian made himself relax and hold onto her lower back. His mouth pressed to Bethany's forehead. The presence of that third, as-yet insentient being felt oppressive in the room. Demon and Slayer and fetus made three. It was a wonder the universe hadn't imploded from the ramifications. What would such a creature be like? How were they supposed to handle the situation? Bethany had mentioned 'taking care' of it. If the life blooming in her abdomen was anything like its mother and father, it would find a way to rebel at the prospect.

Darian loosened her fingers from his clothes. "Let go for a moment."

He knelt. He raised the hem of her shirt and unbuttoned her trousers, and then he flattened his palms on Bethany's pale, smooth stomach, which gave no hints away. Darian couldn't stop staring. He was intrigued. If left to its own devices, this child would nudge its way into their lives and their relationship. It would change things. Not everything -- doubtful that either Beth or Darian would have a personality transplant -- but some. It was inevitable.

What kind of pro-creators would they be? They were allergic to tradition and mainstream behavior. They could be called bad people. They were deceitful, violent, manipulative, vengeful, merciless and arrogant. But they were also capable of love, loyalty, possessiveness and protectiveness.

"I won't desert you." His thumbs met in the center of her abdomen. "It's not in my character to back down, even when I know I'm out-matched. I also love you, and I know you would murder me in my sleep." Darian sat back on his heel. He took Bethany's hands and placed them on her belly, covering them with his. "Do you know the expression 'the sum is greater than its parts'?"

Bethany tracked Darian's movements and pulled a breath into her chest as he knelt and touched her stomach, a stomach that would soon enough no longer be flat, but round and... misshapen. What on earth would it do to her tattoo? God, it would change everything, provided she didn't go ahead with her plan of taking care of it. It was a possibility, this much she knew.

"You're right about the 'me killing you in your sleep' thing," she remarked with a wry smile, trying to keep her tone light given the very serious turn of events. She brushed her thumbs across his skin and nodded her head. "I have heard of it yes." Bethany tilted her head and watched him through a strand of blonde hair. "Does that mean we're doing this as a team?"

"It means that the--" His mouth clamped down on the word 'baby'. Darian didn't know what to call it. Baby was sentimental, creature was abstract, thing was rude even for him. "Child, the child growing in you is not only strong enough to beat the odds and exist, but bring both of us to our knees." A peculiar lunacy was taking shape in him. It might've been the challenge that appealed to Darian, or his fascination with enigmas, or his long interest in hybrids, but he didn't like the idea of terminating it. It left a sour taste in his mouth.

"Keep it," he said. Later, his mind would reel, but it struck him as right to say so. "We're a team." His thumbs rubbed across her belly.

Bethany eyed Darian closely, wondering if he had in fact gone mad, but apparently not, he was quite serious about this.

Keep the baby? Bethany fought past an immediate upheaval of emotion, one that threatened to suffocate her and the baby in one if she allowed it. Perhaps madness was catching because it was within seconds of feeling her stomach churn with the prospect of being a mother that Bethany opened her mouth, "Only with the understanding that you are fully aware that my body will change and I am quite likely to be... hormonal."

She took a deep breath and nodded her head. "Okay, we can do this."

From the floor, Darian gave her a dubious look. "What have I got to fear from your hormones? I like it when you're homicidal." He got up and combed his fingers into the hair at Bethany's nape. His legs bumped against hers. "When you're pissed off because you're too large to fight anyone else, I'll consider allowing you to hit me," he said. He was stone-faced, so it was difficult to say whether or not he was joking.

He kissed her before Bethany had a chance to curse at him.