Since the first day Fion had seen him, she had known that he was the one. He had eyes the colour of precious stones, blue and blinding and hair that was just a bit longer than a man should wear it. Tall, too, she liked that. Generous with smiles and always friendly. His name was John. He was seventeen and she was three years younger.

They called him John the baker, to distinguish him from all the other Johns. He smelled like fresh bread even at the end of the day and he always had flour in his hair. The flour made it seem as though he was going prematurely grey. He was the most handsome man in the world. Fion wanted him, in the morning and in the evening and when she said her prayers at night. If there were Gods, oh if there were, please would they let him notice her. She tried to catch a glimpse of him every time she walked into the bakery but you could only go in so many times a day without looking ridiculous.

She worked at a pub now. Living with her uncle had made her miss the sound of them, how they reminded her of the tavern her parents had run. It was so difficult to sleep in a silent house, even sharing a room with her cousin, it was too quiet. She needed to hear people moving around, to know that Vita still churned while Fion was asleep and unable to see it, otherwise she found it hard to sleep. Fion was sometimes afraid that if she closed her eyes too long, she'd open them and find everyone had left her.

She didn't want to open her eyes and find John gone. So she tried not to blink as she prayed and she hoped, oh please gods, let him notice her...

--------------


“Hello Fion.”

It was John, leaning on the fence in front of Fion's uncle's house. Fion had been practising her cross stitch and near dropped it. The needle was slid into the fabric almost without thinking, then tossed carelessly into her sewing box. She tried to suck her stomach in a bit, as she walked over to him, her legs moving a little faster than she wanted them to.

“Hello John.” She said, leaning on the fence paling and trying to look nonchalant. She crossed her arms under her chest, like she'd been told to by her friends at work, to draw attention. Her gut felt like it was dancing. “How are you?”

“Good, good. Keeping the Stacks in pastries and all that.” He replied, teeth flashing. She loved his teeth, they were so straight. She laughed a bit, she couldn't seem to stop it. Did boys like it when you laughed?

“And you?” He shuffled over a little, so that they were closer, he glanced down the street. Fion followed his eye-line.

“Good as well.” Her voice was light, like it was at work, where she practised trying to be charming. “Old lady up the road's looking at you.”

“She's looking at me talking to you.” He retorted, and there was that smile, she wanted to run her fingers over it. “Probably doesn't want you talking to strange men.”

“It's none of hers. I do what I like.” Fion said, turning her head away and flicking her hair. She didn't care what that old bint thought. The old woman was probably just jealous.

“Do you now?” John asked, not yet following her over more, though she was sure she could get him to. It had taken so long and Fion had hated waiting but at last, she had begun to grow into a woman's shape. The rest of her was now racing to catch up with it.

John's eyes looked dark and warm, even though they were a cool blue. Fion was smiling too, her flirty smile, more turned up on the left than at the right. Daring him, bluffing because she was actually too nervous to move. He was close.

And then he was not.

“Hello, Mr Rankin.” John said, sunny and crackling slightly, as if he were a much younger man just getting his voice.

“Hello, John.” Fion's uncle said, his voice hard, like a stone thrown at their feet and barring the way. Fion was scarlet now and embarrassed and ashamed that she was embarrassed because she hadn't done anything wrong.

“It was lovely to talk to you Miss Rankin, I'll be on my way, hey?”

Now John was leaving.

“Goodbye, Mr Rankin.”

“Goodbye, John.”

Her uncle had his arms crossed too, to a completely different effect. His body was defensive but his eyes were worried. He never let neighbourhood boys near Fion. Never let her have any fun.

“I hate you.” Fion spat, wanting to wound him. She stormed through the front door, grabbing her basket as she went and not saying another word. It was always like that and it was always unfair.

“Oi, Fi, your face'll freeze that way.” Her cousin said, trying to bait her into conversation. Fion was too grumpy to talk to her. She stormed up to the room they shared and slammed the door shut.

------------------

It was horror, pure. That was all that could be said for it.

“Get your hands off my niece.” Uncle Sean spoke with a voice like thunder and a hand like a vice on the boy's shoulder. It wasn't John, months had passed and one longing had been replaced by another. She didn't know him well but she'd liked how he'd held his alcohol and the way he'd leaned against the bar.

She was too scared to remember his name.

“Look, mate...” The retort had died on the boy's lips because while he was big for his age, he was nothing compared to a grown man. Sean dwarfed him. The boy's voice descended into a pitiful squeak.

“Uncle...”

“She came onto me!” He croaked.

His hand was still warm on Fion's breast, a red mark was forming on her neck. She pushed him away. Sean flew into the space between, keeping the boy away from her. He reminded her of a statue, guarding a gate, only she was the gate and both of them moved so quickly. He cuffed the younger man to send him on his way.

“Not another word, get away, before I take it out of your hide.”

The boy was scrambling off, looking behind for fear that Sean was following him.

“Mung vreska!” Fion shouted after him, tears now coating her cheeks, shamed again.

Sean's hand was on her shoulder, turning her around roughly, making her walk. She'd been in the alley behind the pub she worked at, near the back entrance. The boy had asked if there was anywhere they could go and she'd assumed he'd meant outside. His hands had moved like spiders, everywhere and she hadn't wanted to say no.

“Lemme go, Uncle.” Fion hissed, wrenching her shoulder to try and get it out of his grasp. He was having none of it.

“You didn't come home. I was worried.” He replied.

“I was having fun, I'm not a child, I can stay out with my friends.”

“Yes, some friend he was, I've never met him. Had you even seen him before tonight? Going on with travelling trash and swearing like a wick, Fion? I raised you better.”

“You're not my clocking Dad, ferfuck'sake!” Fion shouted and she had not realised how loud her voice was in a quiet street, in the middle of the night.

Her uncle's hand was raised in the air, quivering at shoulder height. Fion breathed in, sudden, scared, eyes wide. He had never struck her before. Never even considered it. His hand closed into a fist and lowered to his side, his lips were drawn together hard, his frown spoke of desperation. His eyes were shining but it was Fion who cried.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry Fi,” Sean said, arms warm around her, warm and safe once she stopped trying to push him away. Fion was sorry too. She had wanted to hurt him and she was good at hurting people when she was angry. She was always so angry. She didn't stop crying.

“I want my Dad.” She sobbed, “I want to go home.”

“We will, baby.” Uncle Sean said, answering the second wish because he could do nothing for the first. He was at the end of his rope, though she ignored it so often. She was a difficult child. Normal and sweet and sunny one moment, shouting and destructive the next.

-----------------

“I can't be pregnant!” Fion said, loud enough to scare the chickens outside.

“Well, you are.” The witch replied, content to watch the spectacle.

Fion paced. She was like a horse in a small yard, unready to be broken in but aware of the saddle on the fence. Not prepared at all for what she was about to experience, though it would come anyway. It was the way of things. She was sixteen and still growing into her mind more than her body. One had run off without much thought of the other.

“No, no, no,” She fretted, shaking her head. “It was only once, you can't... not from just once.”

Her eyes were laden, tearful. Big, beautiful blues the colour of a dark ocean. A body of water.

“Chip, you trust me or you don't. Ask any other midwife in this camp, they'll say the same. Plenty of healers with the Crows, these days.” The witch had seen young human mothers before, oh yes. She wondered what was wrong with their race, that their women were so afraid of having children alone. She imagined that their community was a weak one. Rigid too, from what she could tell. So many useless rules to obey. She was glad she was a wick.

“Do you know where the father is?” She asked, trying to be tactful about it.

Clearly not tactful enough, Fion was glaring at her. Humans didn't have fields but the witch could feel Fion's anger reaching out like one. Fion's teeth flashed and her head moved as though searching for the words she needed.

“He went away, his,” Fion grumbled something, hateful, the witch didn't hear, “took him away. I don't know where he is.”

Fion's head tilted towards the ground, though her eyes were watching the witch warily. She was looking for resentment or disapproval or a sharp word. She softened when she realised she was safe from all of those.

“My...” Fion faltered on the word, then pointed at her stomach. “It's a wick. What do I...”

What was she going to do about it? Fion knew nothing of wicks. They came into the bar she worked at but that wasn't the same as knowing them. That was just serving them, flirting with them. Learning a few words in tek. She did not know their lives or their families, she did not know how their magic worked, she barely understood how Lochlan's magic worked. Wicks were weaker, that was all she knew.

“Don't want the shame of it, do you? You can leave it with the Crows, we'll care for it.” The witch replied, unimpressed.

Fion's response surprised her in its vehemence.

“Fuck you! It's ours and we'll,” Fion caught the slip and corrected it. “I can take care of it myself, I don't need your stupid...”

The waters broke and poured down her face. She was just another rude child, playing at adulthood without ever thinking. Lashing out like a snake whenever things did not go her way. She was still racing towards an imaginary finish line that brought enlightenment, unaware that such a place did not exist. The witch had enough trouble with her own delinquent youths but still, she had some pity in her and some advice. She stood.

“Babies are all the same. It'll look the same as all the other kids. When it starts to get a field you can go ask someone about it.” She placed a hand on Fion's face, shushed like she was soothing an animal. “Feed it, clean it, clothe it and love it the same as anyone. It'll be fine. No one knows what the clock they're doing the first time round anyway.”

Fion nodded, still looking afraid. She was like a yearling getting ready to bolt. She licked her lips, sniffled loudly.

“Will I be good enough? Even if I don't know about fields and being,” she paused, thinking, “like you.”

The witch didn't know. You could try all you liked and still fail. The truth was that only time would tell and that was Alioe's affair, not hers. Again, she decided to be kind.

“Yes, you will.” She said, firm. Fion nodded, looking at a point off into the future, looking at nothing at all.


-------------

“You are the most perfect boy in the world. Yes you are! Yes you are!” Piran smiled and laughed and clapped in the air.

They were sitting on the floor, Fion on her stomach and Piran on his back. Her legs flicked back and forth at the knee as she watched him. He definitely had his father's eyes, though she was sure he had her ears and cheeks. They both had dimples when they were happy enough. Fion leant over and gave him a zerbert on his belly. Piran giggled and waved his arms some more.

So much like his father and she still missed the man every day. She brushed Piran's soft hair over to the side and he curled into her hand. Fion was still guilty of so many things, like not writing to her uncle enough and always forgetting to trim her nails, but she could never be accused of not trying damn hard to be good to her boy. For him she would be a good woman. She would go straight home after work (except for those days where she was almost mad from stress and needed to escape to the B&B for an hour), she would dress nice, she would watch her temper and her language.

She would work every long hour until she could come home to him. She would try and fail. She would love him more than she had ever loved anything.

“I love you, Piran.” Fion said, warm and blissful. Piran coughed and a small amount of sick-up splashed from his mouth onto his collar. His face twisted up and he began to cry, big gulping sobs.

“Shoulda seen that coming.” Fion said, rolling her eyes and twisting onto her knees. “Come on, handsome, let's get you cleaned up.”

And so she did, still unsure of what on earth she was doing, still smiling, still happy and still in love with the boy.




((http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ho8uHDb7hVI <-BurntSienna chose a theme song.))