"Okay, no more drugs, missy," Damon's voice said, breaking the silence as I sat in the medbay, devoid of feeling. "You're fine, or you will be. Just rest and recover. You're 22 weeks pregnant, so take it easy. You have some time left."
My mind was a terrifyingly empty echo of a state I remembered from when we were captured, a state where even my rage was lost, leaving me utterly dull. I didn't respond, instead pushing myself to stand. My vision swam as I waddled out of the medbay, a brutal headache slamming between my eyes.
Mariella's scent, a confusing mix of undefined pheromones that only made me nauseous, flooded the downstairs. My head throbbed, and my helplessness was painfully evident. Damon was either blind to it all or simply didn't want to see the truth.
Now came the hardest part: revealing my vulnerable state. A huge part of me wanted to hide, to retreat. But step by step, I went to the elevator, and pressed the button to our wing, to safety. What the future held, I had no idea.
As I exited the elevator and entered our wing, it was mostly empty. The children were being cared for, but they had also been taken downstairs, as my sorting room was located there. It was easier to keep all the children in the same place.
Despite my children being cranky, refusing to eat well, and rarely smiling, Damon's hushed voice told the other Salvatores that they sensed my sickness, and it made them cranky. Well, that was only partially true. They sensed me, but they also sensed my disdain towards Damon and acted out, as they did towards Mariella.
I walked into the bedroom and took a deep breath. The sour stench of my sweat filled the air, and my neck ached. The pheromonal suppression had lifted, and my fermented pheromones were unleashed. I had no idea what I was letting out.
I sat on the bed and began to undress. The drugs still lingered in my system, and my coordination was off. My muscles felt weak, and it took a long time to get my clothes off. I left them in a pile on the floor, opened the covers, and curled into a ball.
Then came the hard part. I took a breath, focusing. I could still feel Damon suppressing the bonds, but as the hive queen, I had my ways of overcoming him. I closed my eyes and just did it. I opened the bond between Number Five and me, letting everything flood to him.
I sent the message, "Come, help, I am in a bad state."
I felt his alarm and a sudden, strong flood of pure love flowing towards me. I could feel him sensing where I was. He was perplexed and worried. He was coming. I had done it.
In my most vulnerable and weak state, I had told someone I needed help. I couldn't do this alone; I needed him. Wulfe would have to wait. I needed to be a little more clear-headed before telling him my plan, our plan, our lessons.
As Number Five received Mimi's distress, his heart felt like it was struggling to beat. Anxiety and worry hit him like a physical blow.
He cursed under his breath, "Fucking shit, what is going on, baby? Hold on, I'm coming."
He flooded her with as much love as he could and started towards the wing. He knew that Number One's plan had gone sideways, but now was not the time for that. Now was the time to help his baby, to care for her. Damn it, he had been weak and listened to Number One and Mariella, too. Cursing in his mind, he tried to calm himself.
He knew this was a big deal for Mimi to ask for help, and he felt honored. He felt so many emotions, ranging from the deepest, purest love to a dark rage at how someone had gotten her into this state.
It took all his self-restraint to control himself, not to explode right away and let it all out in the hive. Mimi didn't want that. He was doing what she needed, and she didn't need that kind of attention or drama, but she needed love, pure love, nothing more. And he was ready to give it to her.
Number five entered the bedroom and took a breath. He could smell Mimi's panic, her weakness, and her sweat. A pile of dirty clothes lay on the floor, and Mimi herself smelled unwashed; it seemed no one had bathed her in the past nine days. Damon gathered the soiled clothes and tossed them into the laundry chute.
He then undressed, his expression tight, but he continued to flood her with his love. He crawled into bed beside her, wrapping himself around her. She was curled into a ball, her belly quite large, her hair greasy, and her expression scared. Damon muttered an old Italian poem under his breath, using it as a spell to cleanse her, even just a little. His voice was gentle as the words spilled from his lips, his magic unfurling, healing, helping, and cleansing the one he loved.
"Benedetto sia 'l giorno, e 'l mese, e l'anno, e la stagione, e 'l tempo, e l'ora, e 'l punto,e 'l bel paese e 'l loco ov'io fui giunto da' duo begli occhi che legato m' hanno; e benedetto il primo dolce affanno ch'i' ebbi ad esser con Amor congiunto, e l'arco e le saette ond'i' fui punto, e le piaghe che 'nfin al cor mi vanno. Benedette le voci tante ch'io chiamando il nome de mia donna ho sparte, e i sospiri, e le lagrime, e 'l desio e benedette sian tutte le carte ov'io fama le acquisto, e il pensier mio, ch'è sol di lei, sì ch'altra non v'ha parte.
(translation : Blessed be the day, month, year and season, and time and hour, and the point and the beautiful country, and the place where I was reached, by the two beautiful eyes that have bound me. And blessed be the first sweet sorrow, that I had, to be combined with love, and bow and arrows from which I was hurt, and the sores that ultimately go to the heart of me. Blessed are the many voices that I, calling the name of my woman, I scattered, and the sighs and tears, and desire. And blessed are all the papers where I fed the purchase, and my thought, which is only of her, so that there is no other side.)"
Mimi sighed and trembled. Damon could feel how messed up her mind was, a result of the drugs she had taken. Once again, she'd learned a nasty lesson when Mariella tried to portray herself as a victim, someone to be cared for. As soon as he could get his "baby," Mimi, into a better state of mind, lessons would be given.
He too was going to let it all out; this was never supposed to happen. But he tried to understand where it had gone wrong, why she was in this mess. Clinically, Number One's idea had been sound, but why? There was no sense of time, only him holding Mimi, loving her, trying to stop her trembling.
He gently helped her mind, easing the drugginess and feelings of helplessness. He was there for her; he was going to care for her, and he would not leave her, not at all. He felt like there was something he didn't quite understand, but now wasn't the time. He wasn't contacting anyone else; he was focused solely on her, and this focus made his soul sing like never before.
Mimi shuddered.
Her voice was weak as she said, "He never felt for me."
Damon asked, "What do you mean, baby? Who never felt for you, and why are you such a mess?"
Mimi trembled some more, and he wrapped himself more closely around her. Then, Mimi spoke, and slowly, realization dawned on Number Five just how wrong this whole thing had been. Mimi's first question made him almost hold his breath.
"Tell me, Damon, clinically, if I were suffering a bout of MNDS, what would you expect to find in my labs? I know no blood tests have ever really been taken."
It came like a crashing wave to Damon, and he said, "Elevated cortisol, of course, but then again, as you are hyper, surely your testosterone and thyroid levels are high, as well as adrenaline, and your metabolism is sped up."
Mimi then asked, "Now, if I were to have empaths and telepaths in my belly, creatures of love, what would be a reasonable assumption they might do if I were in mental distress?"
Damon remained silent for a moment, then spoke, "He was wrong, yet he wasn't. But you're right. He didn't care for you. He was a clinician. Never again, my baby, you hear me? Never again."
Number five considered how he could help her, and what the future held. Love was the primary concern, but Mimi felt thin despite her large pregnant belly.
As Mimi said, "No enzymes," Damon sighed softly.
One more complication; he didn't need any more, but couldn't help it. Only time would tell what this damn life would bring. Would number one have the nerve to regret his actions, or would he hide behind facts and medical science?
He whispered gently to her, "Easy, my love. Rest. Let me do a little check-up, okay?"
He examined her wrist and bit into it. Her blood tasted, well, not much like blood.
"Fucking hell, this is nasty. Fine, missy, I'm going to ask for some help, and we'll get you well soon enough. Everything's going to be just fine, you see," he murmured.
Then he contacted number four, knowing he might lose his temper, but he was almost as skilled with his teeth as number one, and he deeply loved Mimi.
"Four, are you free? I'm going to tell you something that might make you blow a fuse, but it's not time yet," he said.
Number four replied, "Yeah, I'm free. What is it? I'm sick and tired of number one pestering me about Mariella and her eating; he has no sense when it comes to her."
Number five continued, "Well, it's Mimi. Guess what? I'm going to ask you a few questions. No need to answer, but if you're up to it, come and find us. We're on the wing. My questions are: 1. Have any blood tests ever been taken from Mimi during MNDS? 2. What would you expect to find from them if they were taken? 3. What kind of interference or protection might her unborn babies, who are telepaths and empaths, have received if they were sensing their mother's distress? Like I said, no need to answer, but if you feel you can help, we could use your expertise. I'm about to sink my fangs into this critter and get rid of this shit in her blood, since she's once again messed everything up and feels awful."
Number four sat in a chair in the kitchen, eating when number one and Mariella entered. He was already in trouble for not rushing to help Mimi, but he was loading up his fangs. He knew she needed assistance and protection, and he felt like an idiot. He, too, had poisoned her, yet he felt a nasty influence stemming from number one, and he wasn't sure where it originated.
Focusing intently, he swore in his mind that next time...fuck, why was there always a "next time" when it came to Mimi? No more. This time, there would be strict procedures when sedating or tranquilizing Mimi, and one thing he would do was ensure Mariella had no say in it.
His voice was cold and uncaring as he spoke when Mariella opened her mouth to whine about her food or ask what he was doing: "I am going to help Mimi; she's in a bad way. Tell me, number one, what is the one thing Mimi hates, fears the most, and why the hell did you make her feel like that again? What other options were there? Surely there were, but as you have a damn issue with her, you go, as usual, for the big guns when it comes to caring for her."
A quiet voice, like death, asked from the door, "What the fuck is going on, and why do I feel like my heart is about to explode?"
Wulfe stood at the door, his expression neutral, but his aura pressed down on everyone, making even Damon, number one, gulp nervously. "Oh, don't worry, I'm not going to change you into ticks. Nope, I'll just let you feel what my unicorn is feeling."
Number four rinsed his mouth with pretty much pure vinegar, but Wulfe said, "Let me show you one little trick my unicorn has."
He conjured a few 300ml bottles of murky liquid and handed them to Number Four. The recipient grunted, opened the bottles, and gulped down the contents.
Mariella muttered, "Molecule concentrates, really? And she didn't tell you about them?"
Number One didn't reply, lost in thought as he tried to understand his presence in this treatment plan. He struggled to find a reason beyond an inherited cruelty toward Mimi. He concealed his distress from Mariella, not wanting to hear her praise of the treatment when he felt it was wrong. A nasty part of him saw Mimi as an enemy. It was time, once more, for self-reflection: to find that part of himself, confront it, and learn how to dismantle or at least control it.
It was time for the whole pack to grow. This lesson would reveal a reality they had never considered, encompassing both good and bad, and the path forward demanded brutal honesty. For the pack leader, the path led to confronting deep-seated issues with both Mimi and Mariella, a process that would be neither easy nor simple.
However, this personal growth held the potential to transform their world. For Mimi, it was a time for love and recovery. For the Salvatores, it was a time to express, feel, and witness the miracles of love. Mariella and the pack leader faced the most challenging lessons, ones that explored their identities if a promise were broken.
Would the pack leader always choose Mariella, regardless of previous commitments? Or, given the chance, would he choose Mimi, his alpha? Would this be a love story for the ages, or would sparks fly throughout the house?
With children and more on the way, the question remained: would they learn to coexist as a couple and parents, or would they be consumed by unending battles of will? The pack's ultimate test was learning how to navigate life with two strong, stubborn alphas clashing like opposing forces of nature. Only time would reveal their destination.