Work Text:
1.
First there is lava, and lava makes rock.
Then, one day, the rock splits open.
Rock makes child.
He is small, and round, and very loud.
The rock would think of a name for him, but it is just a rock.
2.
There are emotions that should never appear on the face of a midwife. Fear causes concern; sadness is even more worrisome.
Pity is terrifying.
She knows she has been bleeding more than she's supposed to. She knows it hasn't stopped. She feels so weak, and the pain is nothing like what her mother described.
She is dying, and they both realize it.
The midwife takes her hand. She is no longer working, no longer frantic. There is nothing more she can do. "He's very healthy," she says. "Strong. Did you see his hair? So pretty, so light it's almost white...."
She has seen her son. Someone else will have to nurse him. Someone else--
The adrenalin finally fading, the full horror of it hits her. "You need to name him," she whispers, and the midwife leans down to catch her words. "Call him--"
3.
"And this one's a boy," the midwife announces, holding the squalling child up to the light, his father's dark hair and some of his handsomeness already visible in his face.
And their families said they were making a mistake. What kind of mistake would result in two children this lovely, this perfect?
The midwife helps her put the second child to her breast-- Gonou, she remembers, the name they chose for the first boy, if one or both were boys. "You shouldn't have any trouble feeding them both, as long as you eat well," she says.
"I'll take care of that," her husband says, taking her hand.
"I know." It is a strange sensation, the children at her breasts, such small, unfamiliar creatures, so warm and hungry.
They are a family now. She squeezes her husband's hand and smiles.
4.
"Welcome to the world, Gojyo," she tells her son. His hair is the strangest thing she's ever seen on a newborn-- as dark a scarlet as the blood still smearing his cheek. She has never seen a child so lovely: his father's soft, pretty mouth, his mother's jawline, his eyes uniquely large and soft, a blue so dark they're close to violet.
She takes the pad of her thumb and wipes the infant's face as he nurses. His gaze is so trusting; his eyes stay on her face as he slowly drifts to sleep.
"You're going to be a heartbreaker, little one," she says. "I can tell."