Simon stands beside his wife, her hand held tight in his as he watches her face, watches her push through another contraction. He hates this, hates the helplessness, and he understands, now, why they say a man's place is not within the birthing chamber. He feels unable to do anything but cheer her on, he feels ill watching her pain, he feels sick knowing that her life and the life of their child might be on the line...

But, how could he leave her in this time of need? Each time she is with child, he has always done as she requested, and always, she wants him by her side, so that he may hold their child first. Three times he has done this, held a beautiful baby girl, and he...

He loves his daughters. He loves them more than anything. But he also fears that his wife is asking too much of herself.

Others might wonder why a Duke would not long for a son, but for Simon, a son comes at a price. There is always a price. And he values his wife far more than he cares about titles and inheritance and the estate.

How can he raise their daughters without her?

His eyes lock with Violet's, and he can see the fear in her eyes. Never before has it taken so long... it has always been hard, always been tiring, but this entire pregnancy, Daphne had struggled to walk, the aches had left her exhausted, and as she had neared the birth... 

Simon had been afraid. Afraid that something was wrong. Afraid that he would be able to do anything but watch.

"The time is near, your Grace," the doctor urges as he looks back underneath the sheets.

If the man says those words one more time, Simon will strangle him. 

"You can do this, Daphne," Violet urges, tightening her grip on her daughter's hand.

Daphne looks up at him, and Simon looks back, smiling at her. He tries to hide his fear, but he can tell from Daphne's eyes... she's scared as well.

"Given how much fight he has, I suspect it is a son, your Grace," the doctor adds on.

He will shoot this man if he says one more thing about Simon having a son.

"I only ask that my wife is well and that our child is healthy," Simon snaps, enunciating the word child. He wants there to be no question - Daphne is his priority, followed by the unborn babe. An heir is not his current concern.

"All will be well, all will be well," the doctor responds, reaching back underneath the sheet.

"I can feel the babe kicking," Daphne says, smiling at him in between her waves of pain. "The baby is fine."

He wants to tell her that he doesn't care about the child.

He does. He does care about the child. He loves his children. He loves his girls. But Daphne...

How can he raise his children without their mother? How can he exist without her smile? She is always first in his mind, for how could he raise any children in a loving home without her beside him? He would become cruel, like his father, without her there.

He would... he fears he would blame the children, for the loss of her.

No. He pushes it all from his mind. She is strong, so very strong, and as she bears down and pushes once more, he tightens his grip on her hand, kisses her forehead, and waits.

That's all a man can do in the birthing room... is wait.

And wait he does.

It takes hours, so long he considers shoving the doctor out of the way and just pulling the baby from Daphne, to save her the agony. Not even their first had taken so long. He knows, if this continues for much longer, she won't have the strength.

The doctor had even gone to relieve himself, leaving Simon and Violet alone with Daphne, while she cries out from the pain.

"Your Grace," one of the midwives whispers.

She's just there to assist, of course. An extra set of hands. A wet nurse, if needed.

"What is it?" he asks, assuming it must be one of their daughters, on the other side of the house, far away from the screams of their mother.

"Help the Duchess to stand. Perhaps... perhaps we can let the natural course of things..."

"Stand?" Violet asks, looking up at them both. "Why, it is unnatural."

Simon knows that... that there are absurd ideas about childbirth, about what is proper and what is not, but when life and death are on the line...

"Daphne?" he asks, squeezing her hand. "Do you want to try standing?"

Daphne's eyes open as she looks up at him, a smile on her lips. She nods a few times, and tries to roll onto her side-

In seconds, Simon is up, helping her onto her side, then off the bed. She doesn't make it to full standing, and instead, turns and pushes her hands into the mattress, squatting as though a dog against the side of it.

"Oh!" she gasps, and he doesn't know what that means, exactly, but there's a light in her eyes, a new strength, and he knows that the change in position has relieved some of the pain.  "I think... I think I can push."

The doctor is still not in the room, but Simon is not willing to wait for the man.

"Trust your body," Simon says, standing behind her, his hands on her hips. He doesn't know what to do, but he has to help her through this. "If you need to push, then-"

She lets out a groan, or a scream, and Simon looks to see his mother-in-law standing with her hands clapped over her mouth. It's terrifying, hearing Daphne's screams, and he looks down to see the nurse lifting up Daphne's sweat-soaked shift, her hands up, touching, reaching-

"I can feel the baby's head," the midwife says, a smile on her face. "It was turned the wrong direction, pressing poorly on the Duchess. Come now, your Grace, the babe's head is nearly out."

Daphne lets out another scream, and Simon looks down just in time to see that the nurse is covered in blood... but there's a smile on her face, and Daphne lets out another cry of relief. 

The doctor walks into the room, but it's too late. Simon knows that the child is born.

"What is going on here?" the doctor asks, clearly horrified.

Daphne screams out again, and then, he hears it - the sound of a baby's cry. Simon looks down around his wife to see the nurse there, on her knees, holding their child in one of the blankets.

"What is it?" Daphne demands, as though that is important.

"It is a boy, your Grace," the nurse answers.

Daphne turns in his arms to look at him, a smile on her lips, and he smiles back, happy that she is happy, that the child is crying and alive and looks well, and that Daphne is still standing...

And then, she isn't.

Her eyes roll back in her head, and it happens so slowly, yet, he cannot stop it. She crumbles within his embrace, her body slumping forward, nearly crushing the midwife and their child.

"It is the sack," the nurse cries out. "There's too much blood."

"She should have never left the bed," the doctor curses, coming across the room quickly. "Get her back down - there's too much blood."

It happens to fast, and Simon remembers what Lady Danbury had said, about the day that he was born.

There's nothing to be done. There's too much blood.

He freezes, as Daphne is taken from his arms, laid out on the bed. The cord between mother and child is cut, and he looks to see the nurse standing there, holding the child, their son, trying to hush him and moving to offer him to Violet.

Violet, who has her hands over her mouth, watching Daphne on the bed.

Simon stares at Daphne, watches as her skin goes from pinkish red to white, watches as more blood pours out of her.

The doctor is urging her to push, to push out the rest of the fluids, the rest of the sack, but he can tell that Daphne is... she's still breathing, he can see her chest rising and falling, but she hears nothing.

"Take the babe," the nurse demands.

Simon looks down at the woman, startled, and in seconds, his son is in his arms. He is... beautiful. Big eyes that look like Daphne's, and perfect lips that look like his. Their son, his heir, the one that Daphne had cried for all the years of their marriage. He's finally here, and perhaps now Daphne will no longer insist on risking her life for more children, but he...

Simon looks at Daphne, horrified.

"She must push it out," the doctor insists, looking at Simon, as though Simon can do anything.

"Oh, out of my way," the nurse says, and Simon doesn't know her name, but the fact that she has already guaranteed the birth of his son, and is now trying to do something while the doctor waves his hands about... she is most certainly earning herself a very very nice relaxed life.

Simon watches as she reaches her hand underneath, and in horror, he realizes what is happening. She has her arm within Daphne, and she begins pulling out...

He looks away. He cannot bear to see the blood.

Instead, he looks at his son. His beautiful perfect son. 

And then he looks at Daphne, who has never held the child, never kissed his brow, never even looked at him.

"Not like this," he begs, wanting to do something, anything, but... there's nothing he can do. "Please, not like this."

He prays to God, begs him for forgiveness for every transgression he has ever committed. He begs for Daphne's life, swearing that he shall never ask for anything more. He swears to never touch her again, save to give her pleasure, but never allow himself pleasure as well.

He begs for her to name their son. He begs for her to wake up and smile. He begs for her to-

The nurse makes a groaning noise, and he looks to see that the sack is out. She is still reaching deep within, searching the sack... he doesn't understand what is going on, but he also doesn't want to know.

"What are you doing?" Violet asks.

He wants to yell at the woman to be quiet, to let the nurse work, but he cannot find his tongue.

"The sack, it has torn," the nurse says. "It has caused the blood to knot up. It is fortunate that the babe came when he did, for her womb was filling with blood."

Simon looks down at the babe, noting that it is rather red in comparison... not as white as he is used to the babe looking when it is firstborn, covered in the weird wax that everyone insists is normal.

Blood. His son had nearly died within her, so close to being born.

"So then what are you doing, if the sack is out?" Violet asks, sounding frantic.

"There's a piece left within," the nurse says. "It must come out, or else-"

"There is nothing to be done," the doctor says, stepping closer to Simon. "It is... it is something that happens, to women in childbirth. If it has torn... what she is doing, it is a fool's errand. Your Grace, I am-"

" Do not speak another word ," Simon hisses at the man.

He would use his fists to get his words across, were he not currently holding his son.

"If you cannot assist in saving my wife, then your presence is no longer required. Thank you for your services. You may go."

He has never spoken thus to an educated man before, but he has no patience for apologies. He wants results. Needs results.

"I've got it," the nurse says, her hand withdrawing and holding... Simon isn't really sure, but what he does know is that Daphne looks weak, and fragile, and grey.

"How long until she wakes up?" Violet asks, looking at them frantically.

The nurse doesn't have an answer, just looks at the blood...

Simon cannot take his eyes off of it, now that he has seen it.

There's blood on the floor, on the nurse, on the rags, the bed... it's everywhere. Blood. Daphne's blood.

"She must rest," the nurse says. "And be cleaned up. She has lost a lot of blood, but look-"

Simon does not know what he is looking for, but as he steps closer to his wife, and the nurse wipes away between her legs...

The blood had poured out before. Now... it has stopped.

"The bleeding has stopped," Violet says, speaking what is on Simon's mind.

"There was a tear within. It shall take longer for her to recover, but she will recover."

"Do you think she shall be able to have more children?" Violet asks, as though that is a concern.

"My wife will never again be with child," Simon says, the fear clear in his voice.

Both women look up at him, as though suddenly remembering he is in the room.

"Will my wife live?" he finally asks.

The nurse doesn't give him an answer at first, then looks up at Daphne. They all do, seeing she is still breathing.

"Before... before I pulled it out of her, the answer would have been a certain no. Now... now, she simply needs rest. The answer is not no, your Grace, but I cannot-"

"It is better than a No," he says, waving his hand - and nearly dropping his son.

His son, who has fallen asleep in his hold.

"Your Grace," Violet says, stepping around the bed, reaching her hands out.

Simon does not let go of his hold.

"The babe needs to be cleaned up," the nurse says, rising from where she is before the bed.

Simon still does not budge.

"Then you may bring everything needed to this room. Our son and I shall remain here, until his mother wakes."

The nurse does not question him, and in a flurry, maids and servants enter the room, nurses as well, all moving to clean up the blood, to clean up Daphne, to help her about. Violet, however...

"What about the girls?" she asks, then looks to Daphne. "She will sleep, and-"

"My mother never saw me," Simon says softly. "She reached for me, but my father took me from the room, named me, and celebrated while she died. I will remain here, with my son, until Daphne wakes up, and may see him."

Violet nods and says something about going to check in on the girls.

He is grateful, that she does not argue.

The waiting is the worst part.

Within a few hours, the room is clean, even the mattress and sheets changed out. Two of the older women had helped to lift Daphne, to change her, to clean her up...

Simon does not move from where he is. He sits beside the bed, holding the child in his arms.

A few nurses had looked at him, cleaned him up a touch, one even offering to feed him... 

He waits for Daphne. He tells himself, if the child wakes up and cries, the nurse can help him to feed the baby on Daphne's breast. He thinks she would prefer that to someone else... he wishes he had asked, before, if that would matter to her.

He falls asleep at some point, still holding his son, and when a noise eventually awakens him.

It's moaning and groaning, but it's there. Daphne. His wife. His love.

He looks down and sees that the child is awake, eyes wide, staring up at him. Almost as though... as though the child knew to awaken, to meet his mother.

"Daphne," Simon breathes out, shifting from the chair to sit on the side of the bed.

"The baby," Daphne breathes out, her voice soft.

"The baby is well," he says, touching her hair, brushing it back from her face.

"A son," she adds on, as though confirming.

"A son," he confirms, shifting closer so that he can lay their child down beside her. "I have held him the entire time. We've been waiting for you."

Daphne says nothing, but he watches as she opens her eyes slowly, as though she is too weary to do anything more. He looks down at her, and she smiles, then turns her head to look at the baby-

Who immediately begins crying.

"He is hungry," Simon whispers, his voice soft, not wanting to be any louder. "Do you want for me to call for the wetnurse, or-"

"I shall feed him myself, with your help," Daphne responds on a sigh. "Here, help him to my breast. We shall do it together."

He helps her roll onto her side, and moves about the bed to pull their son closer to her. She unlaces her shift with his help, and almost on instinct, their son opens his mouth, in search of what he knows is there. It is strange to do this with her, even though he has seen Daphne do it many times before with their daughters.

The baby, their child, their son, he latches on, and Daphne lets out a sigh, almost in relief. He knows her breasts have ached for weeks as they filled with milk.

"What did you name him?" Daphne asks, eyes closing as her hand moves from her chest to touch the back of his head, fingers running over the soft hair.

"I waited for you," Simon responds, sitting fully onto the bed so that he can lay on the other side of their child, while also wrapping his arm around Daphne's waist.

"And if I did not wake?" Daphne asks.

It is a thought that he has had too many times. He had feared... He had been afraid...

"I knew you would not leave me," he finally says. "Your love for me, for our children... I knew you would return to me."

Her eyes open, and they are filled with tears. He smiles back at her, and then leans forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She lets out a sigh, then withdraws as her eyes close once more.

"I'm so tired," she says softly.

"Just sleep," Simon says, not letting her go. "We shall be here when you wake up, and we can introduce him to our girls, together."

She smiles, as though appreciative that he is waiting, but he...

What if she had not returned to him? What if she...

"Daphne, there should not be another child," he says, knowing she is half asleep.

She does not respond.

His heart is pounding in his chest as he reaches out, touching her cheek, her neck, checking for her heartbeat. It is still there, but he... he's afraid.

Afraid that he might lose her still. Afraid that he might...

That he might be left alone.

He remains there beside her, their son having fallen asleep, but Simon does not. He remains away, regularly checking that she is still breathing, still alive, still with him.

And when she awakens hours later, starved and bright and smiling and his wife and his love, asking to hold their son, asking to see their daughters, asking for her mother, asking about what she has missed, asking about...

He is still filled with fear. He shall have to tell her that... that this is it.

A house full of children - he shall adopt every child from the nearby orphanage, invite every child in the village to tea, shall do anything and everything....

A son comes at a price. A price his mother paid. A price he will not allow Daphne to pay again. He nearly lost her, and he...

He shall never again forget the image of his wife, grey and lifeless, bleeding out while he held their crying son.

David. It is a good name. David Simon. A very good name, and yet... 

The price. He shall never again touch his wife.

He loves her too much to risk losing her, ever again.