Funny story, when I was working on chapters 7 and 8 for AD, I realized there was a lot of story that I was just not going to get to, considering the focus of AD was Rosalee (and sometimes Monroe) but basically it was their relationship.

This new venture is focusing on dealing with the aftermath of Chapter 7 "Small" and how we get to chapter 8 "Clockmaker's Daughter"

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Again, I are a grad student and I do this for lulz and feels.

- 4 Weeks

Rosalee's determined to keep it together. She is not going to let this tiny Seelengut baby get to her.

No matter how chubby his cheeks or how he wraps his entire tiny hand around her thumb, holding her captive to his baby charms. He smiles up at her with those little blue eyes that probably won't stay blue for long, and that small scar on her heart aches so much that it's suddenly impossible to breathe for a moment. Swallowing hard, Rosalee tries hard to ignore how warm he is and how it feels so natural to settle him on her hip.

She pats his tiny back, swinging from one foot to the other. He's quiet, but gurgling happily against her shoulder. "So, he's not sleeping through the night yet?" She asks the boy's mother.

"Nothing works," she says to Rosalee, exhaustion laced in every word. "I just can't get Mikey to stop crying when it's bedtime. I feel like I've forgotten everything since Lorna." She nods to the sullen teenager prowling through the shop.

The girl, who up until now has been weaving through the aisles peering at all the bottles and canisters, turns at the sound of her name. She straightens and instantly Rosalee's jealous of the girl's wild, but perfect ebony corkscrew curls. Sixteen, if a day, Lorna's all legs and elbows. But frowning and folded up in her black hoodie like this, she reminds Rosalee of a gothic stork.

Rosalee hands the boy back to his mother, her arms suddenly bereft of his form. "I think I can make up something real quick for him." She grabs the bottles from the different shelves, most without labels. She doesn't use droppers or measuring cups; her hands move with rosy memories of her own mother's careful guidance.

"How are you doing that?" the girl, Lorna wanders over and asks. She's pretty heavy handed with the black eyeliner. The black nail polish is a nice touch too.

Rosalee smiles "It was the first one my mother taught me." She pauses a moment, thinking about what she just blurted out loud. That same scar on her heart throbs harder

Lorna leans over a little farther as Rosalee tips the chamomile oil into the solution.

Rosalee sniffs back the lump in her throat. No time for that. She keeps her eyes on her hands and refuses to look at the infant again. She'll loose it for sure. "I make it a lot actually. It's good for headaches, muscle aches. Just generally soothing." She tosses in a fresh sprig of spearmint, secures the lid and shakes. She turns to Lorna and Mikey's mother. "Just rub a little in like lotion after a bath and it'll help relax him."

"And it's safe?" The mother asks, handing over a few bills.

"Its what my mother used to with my brother and me." Rosalee replies.

"That easy?" Lorna asks, astounded.

"That easy." Rosalee hands it over.

Lorna leans over the counter, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You're an Apothecary, right?" When Rosalee nods, Lorna goes on, "Can you make a love potion?"

"Who for?"

Lorna glances over at her mother who's cooing over the baby and making for the door. "My mom and dad. He's my stepbrother," she says by way of explanation; the baby is infant pale but Lorna's a golden brown. "I get to be the black sheep of the family." Lorna growls. "Pun intended."

"Lorna!" Her mother calls.

"Just a second!" She screeches back in the sullen put-upon teenage way Rosalee instantly recognizes from her own memories. "I wanna ask her a question!"

Rosalee's heart goes out to the girl. "You know... I'm going to let you in on a little secret."

Lorna grins and leans her elbows on the counter.

"There really isn't such a thing as a love potion." Lorna stares at her as if Rosalee informed her that Santa Claus wasn't real. "You start messing around with people's emotions like that and it only causes problems. You can mimic love, but you can't create it in a bottle."

Lorna frowns, crestfallen. "It was a stupid question," she snaps more to herself.

"It's not stupid," Rosalee assures her. "It's not."

The girl deflates over the counter. "So, am I going to be stuck with him, then?"

Rosalee smiles as comfortingly as she can. "Looks like it. But," she grabs one of her business cards and hands it over to the girl. "If you need anything, short a love potion of course, call me. I'm always around."

She doesn't hear him come in; she's too absorbed in her wine and research and has been since she got home.

Switching from one book to the next, she makes notes to take with her to the shop tomorrow. There are recipes for gifts that could come in handy, some potions she'd never dream of attempting or even wanting to attempt and far too many images of death and destruction. Her constitution is hardier than most, considering her line of work and upbringing, but this is pushing it.

Thus the wine. If one's parents are apothecaries, a sheltered childhood is not something one is in possession of. She and Freddie had seen more than their share of shattered lives, broken bones and diseases that had no names by the time they were fifteen and twelve, respectively, than most wesen did their whole lives.

And yet...and yet. It was the first one my mother taught me. And it hadn't been the last. As always, her words come back to haunt her. She turns another page to take her mind off her heartache and, of course, there is a chapter on wesen children and how to spot them. She turns it over and pushes it as far from her as possible.

It isn't until the door closes behind him that she senses someone and woges out of surprise.

"Tough day?" Monroe asks, walking past but not before dropping a kiss on the top of her head as she woges back.

"No, no. Just..." she gestures to all the books that have migrated all over the kitchen table in the last hour. "Research. Nick lent me a few of his books so I figured I'd go through them. Juliette gave them to me when we met for Thai."

"Anything in particular you're looking for?" He pulls up a chair next to her, glancing at the pages.

"No, just browsing. Anything non-lethal." She turns another page to get past a rather horrendous and graphic Fuschbau beheading.

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Why?"

He flips that dreaded book over to a chapter on baby wesen; he glances over at her, worry written all over his face.

Her shoulder slump. "Yeah, couldn't deal with that one. Especially after I had a Seelengult family come in today." She sighs, focusing only on the book before her. "The baby was maybe five or six months old. Mom needed something to help him sleep so I made up that ointment for headaches."

He closes his eyes for a moment. "Are you okay, really?" He reaches out and takes her hand. She sees the contained panic and the careful weighing of all her previous words.

She shrugs. "Some days are better than others." She's suddenly guilty about the last time, and how she said nothing to anyone. She wasn't one hundred percent, it had only been four months since the hospital and the doctor said it would take a while for things to get back to normal. Maybe. Maybe not. "And it was okay...until the kid's sister, Lorna, asked me how I made it without directions. And I said..." She feels the lump expanding in her throat. " 'It was the first one my mother taught me'...And then I thought... What if I have no one to teach?" She finally looks up at him, unsure.

"Oh, Rose," he sighs and puts his arm around her to draw her in. She rests her forehead against his shoulder to pull herself together. His arms come around her waist, fingers tracing the line of her spine.

"I'm fine." She sniffs hard and scrubs her hand across her eyes. Not that there are any tears but its more habit now. "I am. I'm fine." The more she tells herself that, the truer it'll be. Habit.

"No, you aren't," he disagrees quietly.

"It's been eight months. I'm fine." She insists and pulls away finally.

Monroe presses a hand to her cheek. "Don't you'd think I'd know it you weren't fine?"

She tries to smile up at him but can't seem to get her mouth to obey.

"I just hate to see you like this. When you were in the hospital..." he shakes his head. "There wasn't anything I could do. And I don't want to see you like that. Ever again."

She smiles sadly. "But now-what are we? We were going to be parents. I know it wasn't planned and I know we weren't ready. But I wanted it to be a girl. I wanted someone to teach." She admits finally, the words she's kept to herself all this long while.

His thumb moves across her cheekbone. "And we still might. I haven't given up yet, you know. There's no reason to rush this, I just don't want to see you like that again."

She nods slowly, considering.

"Besides, I didn't marry you because you were pregnant." He smiles. "I married you because you were too pretty to let go of. Couldn't let someone else snap you up if I could help it."

"So it's all about looks then?" She lets herself laugh. "That's all that matters to you?"

"Of course. Thought you already knew that." He kisses her forehead. "See, I obviously won. I got you and you got stuck with me."

"You are ridiculous," She slips out of her chair and settles herself on his knee. She reaches up and runs her fingers through the curls at the back of his neck. "Completely wrong, of course. You are kind," she kisses him once. "And stubborn," and again. "And an annoyingly early riser," And again. "And handsome. And I don't want anyone else." She lets out a little sigh. "Kids or not."

His arms tighten around her. "How about we go away next weekend, to the coast? Just you and me, no shop, no Nick. We never really got a chance last year."

She smiles for real this time before tightening her arms around his neck again. "I think you get to be the smarty-pants today." She murmurs before kissing him once more. But this time he meets her half way, lifting one hand from her waist to cup the back of her neck.

"So..." He gestures to the table. "Why don't you put the books away for tonight?"

The next morning, Rosalee's humming along as she mixes up a tea; blueberry, ginger and Earl Grey for a customer who'd be just around the corner when the bell above the shop door jangled. "It'll be just a minute," she calls out. "I'm almost finished."

"Hey..."

It's not who Rosalee's expecting.

Lorna, still in her black eyeliner, nail polish and hoodie, stands there.

"What's wrong?"

The girl rolls her eyes, another well-practiced gesture. "Nothing's wrong." She buries her hands in her hoodie pockets and stares at her feet. "I was just...in the neighborhood and...I was wondering if you were looking for any help?"

"Help?"

"You know, I could sweep up, dust ... Look, I'm graduating from high school in less than six months and I'm starting at Portland State in the fall and it'll be nice to have a job before I start..."

Rosalee smiles. "How old are you?"

"Seventeen. I skipped second grade." She replies in a flat tone as if she's told the story six thousand times.

"What are you going to Portland State for?"

Lorna shrugged. "History maybe. Art? I dunno. But..." She looks all over the store. "That stuff you made for my brother worked really well. Helped relax my Mom too. And I was wondering...if you could teach me?"

I'm actually really excited that you guys get to meet Lorna, she was there in my head when I wrote the last chapter "Watchmaker's Daughter" but there wasn't a place to introduce her. So she'll poke in and out through out this story

R&R!

See you on the other side of finals (i.e. like a week and a half)