Quill didn’t know how to feel about the baby. She would spend hours looking down at it’s round, fragile face always as read as an open wound. Charles and the Polish one thought it was out of love, that she stood watching over it like some sort of maternal goddess, protecting it, caring for it. Positively foolish.
In fact she knew exactly how she felt about that baby, she hated it.
Maybe hate was a little strong but she didn’t love it. Mothers on this planet all talk about their instant connection with their offspring, they speak of their love as it it were a magical supernatural bond, something to be celebrated rather than just a deeply ingrained hereditary human trait to protect ones own genes. The Quill don’t have that, you see, this part isn’t supposed to happen, she should be dead.
But then the Doctor had came. He whisked her into his magical little box (well, little on the outside) and fixed everything as he so loves to do. Quill had tried to fight him but the Doctor knows best, she woke up after just a few short hours with a baby by her side. And Quill ended up back on that miserable ball of dirt but this time with a baby that she never wanted.
How could she want it? It was a reminder of a man she could have loved, a reminder of a trial that had won her back her freedom but cost her so much.
Sometimes she wished that she had died in childbirth. By the time the thing was ready to rip it’s way out of her she had prepared herself, her death was supposed to be inevitable. That’s the worst thing about motherhood to a Quill, the outcome is inevitable. War you can prepare yourself for, an enemy comes charging at you in a battle you can fight it, fear no matter how much you feel as though you are drowning in it, you can always fight your way through. But this is the one thing a Quill can’t fight.
And that’s the thing Quill was most ashamed of, she was glad. Part of her was so tired of fighting, she had fought the Rhodia, then the Shadowkin, then the grief and sorrow that took over her life. And to add insult to injury the non-stop stream of aliens that came pouring through the gap. She was tired. She screamed and shouted about being war itself and fighting until her last breath just to drown out the voices in her head telling her to give up.
She had no right to call herself Quill, her people were warriors now what is she, a mum. People who were to become mothers were pitied by the Quill, their fates had been sealed, so of course her people were not maternal. Quill could never be a mother she just didn’t know how.
But yet she persisted, she got up every morning, cared for the child (even if she still refused to look it in the eye) and still carried on living because that’s the trick you just keep on living even while those emotions consume you because that’s what a warrior does, they survive even when they don’t want to.
hello long time no write fic. that made no sense i’m sorry but i hope you enjoyed this :D
i know a lot of people in this fandom really love quill (as do i) so i hope i did her justice, i hope it didn’t come across that i was saying she was cold and unfeeling because she’s not it’s just that i know a lot of people that have gone through post natal depression and it just made a lot of sense to me that quill might go through some of those feelings, you know? motherhood wouldn’t come naturally to her.
i haven’t read a lot of class fanfiction in a while so if this has been done 1000 times soz but i wanted to write this so i did. i have never written any proper angst either (this hardly counts) but if you have any feedback feel free to lmk.