Chapter 128: Taran

I'm sitting calmly on the bed, holding the baby to my chest when Diogo bursts in. The relief that crosses Gillert's face is almost laughable. I suppose it's rather poetic that my old police nemesis is the one to find me, to call Diogo. Gillert was the one to arrest me during the food riots, he was the one to process me when Diogo arrested the Desert Wren. Now, he is the one to help reunite me with my husband.
"Taran!" Diogo kneels on the floor next to the bed. He reaches for me but pulls back when he sees the bundle in my arms.
As angry as I am with my husband, as betrayed and hurt, I will still always cherish the look on his face as I reveal our son to him for the first time. Gently I move the blanket away from his face so Diogo can see him. The tiny red face screws up in annoyance as the cool air touches his cheek. He turns his face back toward my breast.
"A boy," I murmur.
"A boy," Diogo repeats my words, his own voice holding the awe I'd felt when I first saw our child too.
"Do you want to hold him?"
Diogo doesn't move, the stunned look on his face telling me he's processing slower than normal. I shift my body slowly, painfully aware of my need for medical attention. I'm bleeding, I'm torn and I'm weak. But this moment is more important.
I slowly move the bundle away from my chest, though it pains me to do so. Every cell in my body wants to snatch the baby back when he turns his face toward me, seeking the warm comfort of his mama. "Hold your arms out," I instruct Diogo. When he doesn't move, I say his name louder and nudge him with my foot.
Slowly he reaches out, sliding his arms along mine and taking hold of his son. As he takes the baby my heart skips a beat. I want him to love the baby, I want the baby to recognize him. But I'm also angrier than I've ever been at Diogo. I want to scream at him, cry and demand an explanation.
Why did you kill my ex-husband? Why did you murder Xavier? Why didn't you tell me?
A hollow ache fills my chest as I hold in the questions. There'll be time for that later. All the time in the world for accusations and apologies. Now is for us. To reunite, to meet our son, to bond as a family.
Diogo holds the baby against his chest, cuddling him close, his eyes glued to the tiny wrinkled face. His big hand slides up, his long fingers engulfing the tiny head as he cups it. My throat aches as I hold the tears in. Tears of terror, loss and anger, yes, but also tears of happiness and relief. We're okay; me and the baby.
"We need to name him," I whisper, and Diogo nods without looking up.
We'd talked before about what to name our baby but we didn't get far in the conversation. We'd been too busy saving Sanctuary, rebuilding our home and dealing with the nuclear power plant situation. Now that we know the sex of our baby, now that we're finally meeting him, it's time to give him a name.
"What was your father's name?" I ask curiously. Maybe Diogo had a connection with his family that he wants to carry on.
"Hernando," he replies shortly. "And my grandfather was Francisco, all of us named after famous Spanish conquistadors."
I swallow, imagining the expectation of generations of men living up to their names. I don't want my son's future decided for him. What if he doesn't want to be a conqueror, or a Warlord, or anything else too big to imagine? Before I can voice my doubts, Diogo puts an end to any possible debate on the subject of naming our child along the lines of his family tradition.
"No, we won't be naming him after any Spanish conquistadors. Not with the Desert Wren as his mother." Diogo looks up at me, his eyes warm with love and appreciation. Again my heart skips in confusion, anger and love warring for supremacy. My husband killed my ex-husband and lied about it. He lied to me when he said he never would. But he also loves me more than his own life. More than the lives of others.
"No conquistadors then," I agree shakily.
He continues to touch his son, to run his finger over the tiny brow, cheeks, lips and chin. His finger lingers over the ever so slight crease in the baby's chin, the exact same as Diogo has.
"You had a brother?" Diogo asks.
The tears I've been holding in start to flow as I realize what Diogo is saying. I blink rapidly but they continue to fall, wetting my cheeks. "Yes," I choke out. "He was a child when he died of the flu. He was amazing, so brave and adventurous, but also kind. Always helping around the house. Cheerful to the end." A moment of silence passes as I sniff back my tears. We both stare down at the baby. "His name was Blaze."
"Earth, fire and air."
"Yes." I smile as he connects our names: Taran, Blaze and Skye. "My father was quite poetic. He wanted his children's names to mean something. Our planet is still here, still going strong, despite the damage humans have done to it. Our names are a reminder that the planet will survive, even if we don't. Elements are forever."
Diogo nods. I wonder if the names are too poetic, too unsubstantial for the name of a Warlord's son. But then he surprises me by saying, "Your father sounds like an intelligent man."
"Yes, he was. The child of farmers, he was simple in the way he lived, but complex in his thoughts."
"Blaze is a good name," Diogo says decisively. "Strong, representative of a new generation. One that will be stronger than previous generations."
Blaze.
We look down at our son as he settles against Diogo, his eyes shut tight, his mouth set in a little rosebud, a tiny puckered frown between his minuscule brows. His black hair is short and fuzzy, dry now and standing on end where the blanket has moved back away from his head. He's stolen my heart and I'm pretty sure he's stealing Diogo's with each new breath he takes.
This child is our loving burden, the thing we must now protect with everything in us. He is our tears, fears and future happiness. I feel something shift within me. A different purpose has fired deep inside. I created this being, he belongs to me and I will do everything in my power to raise a man worthy of my brother's name.
After several moments in silence, Diogo finally looks at me. "Stryker is dead."
He's not asking. He must've found out from Gillert.
"Yes," I respond.
"How?"
Pain blossoms with the memory of the knife buried deep in Stryker's chest. A man I hadn't known well, despite our close proximity to each other for so many months. He was complicated, he was gruff and rude, but he was also a loving husband. Right to the very end.
He died of a broken heart.
"He stabbed himself."
"I'm so fucking sorry I left you alone with him." The pain and self-blame is evident in Diogo's voice.
I want to tell him it's not his fault but the words stick, the same words I'd said to Stryker over and over while he described how his wife and daughter had died. Maybe it is Diogo's fault, maybe we're all to blame. We hold ourselves together physically in a world that constantly beats us up. But what about our mental health? We don't talk about it, we just keep going. We ignore the problem because each passing day is reserved for survival. It's time to look at people as individuals that require more than just the basic physical needs met.
I don't say anything to Diogo. There's nothing that can be said right now. Stryker is gone. Even if he was still alive, I'd have to convince Diogo to spare his life, to get him treatment. Not something my husband would consider. Kidnapping the wife of the Warlord is a death sentence.
Bishop arrives moments later, his face creasing into a relieved grin when he spots the baby. Diogo is reluctant to give Blaze up to the other man but must realize he doesn't have a choice. Making sure our child is in good health is the top priority. Bishop sets him on the bed next to me and gently unwraps him like he's made out of the most precious glass.
He goes over the baby from head to toe, examining every inch, counting fingers and toes, looking in his mouth, eyes and ears. Finally, as the baby wakes up and begins to fuss, Bishop bundles him back up and hands him to me announcing, "Perfect, simply perfect. Well done, Taran."
I grin at Bishop, completely agreeing with his assessment. I did create a perfect baby.
"And what about his mother?" Bishop asks seriously, his eyes drifting down the front of my body. I'm covered by my bloody dress and the blanket. "How are you doing?"
I smile wanly. "There was some tearing when he was coming out, and now a trickle of blood."
"The placenta?" Bishop asks the question matter-of-fact, but I still blush, still hesitate to speak about such an intimate thing. Especially around Diogo, my ultra-masculine husband.
I shake my head, indicating it hadn't come out yet.
Bishop nods. "We'll get you back home right away, take care of the afterbirth and get you stitched right up. I imagine you're feeling pretty uncomfortable."
I let out a sigh of relief at his words. I am extremely uncomfortable, my entire vaginal area is on fire and the perineal tear stings like a motherfucker. The worst is that I'm going to have to pee soon and I'm terrified of doing that in my current state.
"Thank you," I say with heartfelt gusto. I'm so ready to leave this horror show of a house.
"I'll carry you," Diogo says, standing to his full height.
As he bends over to scoop me up, I hold out a hand, stopping him. "Don't touch me," I say calmly, moving back against the headboard. "I can walk."
I push him and he moves back away from the bed. Of course, he wouldn't move if he wasn't prepared to move. Maybe surprise at my words forces him back. I clutch Blaze to me as I slowly, gingerly slide off the bed and get to my feet. Bishop takes my arm as I sway for a moment. Then I look at him and nod, prepared to walk out and never come back.
"Taran," Diogo says from behind me.
I turn to look at him.
The question is in his eyes, he doesn't understand why I've suddenly become so cold. Doesn't understand that now that he's met his son, named his son and seen to his family's safety that I'm through with pretending. He betrayed my trust. He kept a secret from me.
"You killed Xavier," I say simply and turn to walk out.
Before I make it two steps out of the bedroom, Diogo is behind me, scooping me into his arms, holding me with the baby in between us. I glare up at him. "I don't want you to touch me."
He stares back, his eyes blazing emotion and anger of his own. "Fuck that," he says simply and strides out with me in his arms.