Mariella sighed and blew her nose for what felt like the thousandth time. She took her toddler's temperature; the little one was stuffy, cranky, clingy, and lacked appetite. Her temperature was elevated; normally, they ran a little hot at 104.2°F, but now it was 105.6°F. The child was flushed and shivering, and Mariella could feel her discomfort. She gently wiped her daughter's nose, trying to clear it, but the child tiredly turned her head, not wanting the pipette near her.
Damon, in a cranky mood himself, had offered an insincere apology. His telepathy had picked up Mimi's thought that his apology wasn't genuine, and he felt no regret. This, in turn, had angered him. He was still confused, and part of him realized that Mimi might have some insight into helping him, but he couldn't be honest, regret his outburst, or relinquish his blame. Consequently, things remained at a standstill.
He had enjoyed seeing Sadie, his actual daughter, upstairs, and a part of him wanted to be involved in her life. However, his ego and pride were too substantial to allow for real change. Now, with the sniffles, Mariella was unwell, and their temperamental triplets were sick, life felt even more complicated and tiresome.
He felt increasingly lonely. Ironically, he had never felt lonely before, but now, again, a part of him yearned for Mimi, his biological half, to be near him, hoping the loneliness would vanish. But he had too much on his mind; he was too messed up to get his act together, but perhaps someday.
"Damon, could you get another dose of fever medicine? Her fever is over 105°F," Mariella's voice echoed in his mind through their bond.
She had given nicknames to her triplets: Candice was Candy or Candie, Tiffany was Tiffy or Stiffy, and Amber was Berber or Bumber, as she refused to use those names on her babies. Damon hadn't regretted the names, claiming they were common, and Mariella had exaggerated the situation.
Then again, he was the one who had told her about the lustful, big-titted bimbo trio who had inspired him to name the babies that way. Mariella hoped that if she had another child, she could choose the names she wanted, not what Damon suggested, or at least she would ask the other Salvatores for their opinions, if there was some history again there.
Damon handed her a jar filled with a bright green substance. He had made it with his special fangs, or rather, from his sinuses and frontal sinuses. Since Mariella was sick, her sinuses were blocked, preventing her from producing their fang-derived substances.
Mariella took a small oral syringe and drew three cc of the substance. She then gently administered it to the cranky toddler, who made a face at its bitter, vinegary taste. To counteract this, Mariella gave her a special juice made from certain plants, which erased the bitterness and replaced it with sweetness, calming the child. Damon's medications were gentle but very effective.
Mariella knew that soon she would be holding a very sweaty, tired little creature, and she might get a long nap—thank goodness for that. As she had grown more proficient as a mother, her instincts had become finely honed. She wanted to care for her children and also ensure that Mimi's brood stayed safe, so she was careful not to spread the sniffles to others, as much as possible.
She hoped that Damon would soon overcome his crisis and start thinking rationally, but knowing him, it wouldn't be easy. Things might get worse before they got better for any of them. This division wouldn't end, and although it wasn't ideal, Mariella tried to find comfort in the idea that they had time.
It had been less than two years since this began, and it would take 13 years, so time was on their side. She was just happy not being pregnant; it had been rough being pregnant, with her high blood pressure. Her difficult pregnancies had led to Damon giving her a lesson, meaning she had lived in the hospital for weeks to get the babies to be okay and then give birth to huge babies, not fun.
Now, she had actual toddlers, sick ones, but still, she had never had children this long, and every day, everything was new and exciting for her, albeit very demanding, too. She sometimes pondered how humans did this and wanted to do this over and over again.
An hour later, Mariella, having bathed and settled her exhausted girls after their fevers subsided once more, quietly left their room and went to the kitchen. She filled the water heater and retrieved concentrated blackcurrant juice from the fridge, pouring it into a tall mug. Once the water boiled, she added it to the juice, creating a warm, comforting drink.
Carrying her mug to the living room, she sat in a chair and sipped it, the warm scent of currant juice easing her stuffy nose. The hot liquid helped with her congestion. It was strange; being sick wasn't funny, but this family life, this human experience, was.
As she pondered this, she realized something: what she was learning and what might have been the goal all along. To teach her, once and for all, that she was not human. There was nothing human about her biologically; no human DNA.
She also realized how differently she viewed the world compared to humans. Immortality, invulnerability – that was likely the biggest difference. For humans, life was limited, ending at some point, sometimes sooner, sometimes later, naturally or by accident, or by someone's hand. This made humans appreciate life, or perhaps see it differently than she did, and had done in the past.
She had once held false or inaccurate notions about humanity. She had seen humanity as a goal to strive for, but in reality, a housecat didn't want to be human; it was perfectly content being feline. Why, then, had she and Damon rebelled against their own nature for so long?
"How are you doing, my love?" a soft voice inquired behind her, startling Mariella from her daydreams.
She nearly spilled her still-piping hot juice, but a firm grip on her wrist steadied the mug, preventing a scald. Although she'd heal instantly, it still would have hurt.
She gazed into the arctic blue eyes of Number Two and replied, "I'm stuffy and tired, but I got the three of them to sleep after giving them febrifuge and washing them. They're miserable, but it's not too bad. And Damon, the dickweed, is still as lazy as ever. I was just thinking about what all this might be about. I was learning my lesson from God, not from Dickweed."
Number Two released her wrist and sat on the nearby sofa, sinking into its softness. He crossed his legs lazily. His hair was longer and mussed, and his white stripe held a brighter, slightly curled charm.
Despite their identical appearances, their expressions set each of the ten apart. This casual hairstyle made Number Two seem younger than Number One, who, with his clipped, neat hairstyle and meticulously chosen attire, often felt stuffy, old, ancient, stiff, and unyielding.
"And what's the lesson, my love? Anything I need to learn?" he asked, his sharp gaze fixed on Mariella's red nose, her stuffy breathing, and her elephantine nose-blowing.
Mariella said, "We are not human, not at all. While humanity seems – or seemed – something to strive for, I understand now that it isn't for us, not for me. Maybe it's all these instincts and whatnot, or maybe it's Mimi, but I get it. We are not humans; we are our own species, something special. I'm not entirely sure I have it all figured out yet, what this is all about, but I'm getting there, I hope. The mere fact that we are immortal and unkillable is such a significant difference from humans. Maybe it prevents us from appreciating every moment as humans do. Perhaps I saw that, and that's why I was trying to live like a human, but we don't have to. There's no need to count minutes, hours, days, trying to maximize it all; we have time."
"It seems something of Mimi has truly rubbed off on you," Number Two smiled and nodded. "Good for you. You're right, letting go of one's humanity is hard, even for me, and I've been around for millennia. But there was always this notion inside me, of humanity, of being partially human, or whatever human I was. I had parts of me... and then the whole Damien thing. It shocked me, us all, showing us just how false our memories, our concept of humanity, and our sense of selves had been. It threw us all. And then Mimi, again. I have so much to learn, and the lesson I'm taking away is to keep what you truly need and not waste it thinking you have time. Sure, it's a bit controversial, but for me, well, it's Mimi. I want her, God, I love her. This time I've been with her, she's wonderful, and I truly have gotten to know her. I had no idea who she was, and I know, for a fact, that dickweed doesn't know her at all either. I love you too, but I know you. Well, go on, surprise me, learn more, change, this is fun."
Mariella nodded and said, "I was hoping Number One would be over this damn crisis, but no, he's still a stubborn dickweed. Since his makeup apology fell flat, he finds reasons to hate Mimi more, even though he's deflecting his self-flagellation onto her, and it's screwing up this whole pack. I mean, what will it take to get us over this damn crisis once and for all? I just don't have a clue."
Number Two nodded and said, "Time. It's unfortunate, but time, patience, and resilience. We just have to endure his little midlife crisis. And when it all comes down, you'll most likely bear the brunt of it before he can pull himself back and get over it. It's not easy for us, fourteen males, to be married to you and Mimi, having to share you, but we are getting there. And Mimi's expression... priceless. I can tell when she's about to have it, and then we just back off a tiny bit before becoming loving husbands again. It takes skill to handle her, and by God, she's skilled at handling us. I'm not sure who's actually the pack leader at this moment."
Mariella rolled her eyes, wondering if Damon would ever get his pack leader status back and what it would take for him to learn how to deal with Mimi. She was one cunning individual who wasn't doing anything wrong and was doing everything for the right reasons, but most of the decisions were hers, not Charles's.
It was a problem, or perhaps a challenge for the future, as Damon wasn't ready. Mariella wasn't sure what he would become when the crisis subsided. Would he want to be pack leader immediately, or simply adjust to this new way of life? It was irritating not to have all the answers, but it taught humility. Surprises were a significant part of life, and though some weren't pleasant, they could be the catalyst for change.
Mariella hoped her sniffles would soon improve. Her nose was constantly full and sore from blowing, and she knew it was red and irritated. It was also perpetually dripping, and she constantly used a handkerchief. Her sense of taste was dulled, and her usually acute sense of smell was diminished. This made everything seem plain.
Even the calming atmosphere of the living room, with its red curtains and white rugs, didn't help. She sipped her cooled juice more eagerly, knowing she needed to hydrate. She was learning to be a caregiver, not just a recipient.
Damon might have once sunk his fangs into her, knocking her out and clearing this pestilence from her system, but not now. Now, she was a mother and caregiver to her three toddlers. Humans got sick, and so did she, but she knew she was stronger and could handle it.
She had learned her multiple roles, as the wife of fourteen men, a mother, and a therapist for one stubborn, millennia-old creature experiencing an identity crisis at the worst possible time. She sighed, anticipating Damon's regret-filled backlash once the initial crisis passed. Then, she would have to listen, understand, support, and encourage him, and do tons of other things. But this no longer felt like a prison sentence; it was real, honest, goddamn life, and she was living it.
Mariella wasn't as skilled at multitasking as Mimi. Mimi could juggle three tasks simultaneously and plan her day hours in advance. As the saying goes, good planning is half the job done, and Mimi certainly got things done.
Mariella, on the other hand, often felt like she'd just finished one task when another would pop up. She'd then have to figure out how to tackle it, rarely taking the time to plan. She'd simply dive in, not always in the most efficient way, but experience is a great teacher, and Mariella was learning.
She hoped that someday she could spend time with Mimi again, just to observe her and perhaps glean some insights. It was always a bit of an effort to get Mimi to explain her methods, but when Mariella pressed her, it usually piqued Salvatore's curiosity. As they persisted, Mimi eventually yielded and explained her actions and plans. Regarding Charles, Adam, and the boys, they were all more or less smitten with Mimi, allowing her to do as she pleased without needing permission or approval.
Mariella thought bitterly, contrasting her own life, where she felt she constantly needed Damon's permission for even the simplest things. She didn't want another fight; Damon could become spectacularly angry when he felt like it, and Mariella wasn't in the mood for a tantrum. She already had enough to care for with three toddlers, without adding a husband to the mix.
"Oh, life," she thought, "what a wonderful challenge, experience, and nuisance, all wrapped in the same damn package."