WARNING:This fic deals with the ramifications of incest.
Nothing graphic, but it's there.

TITLE:Counting Time
AUTHOR:Laure Alexander
SUMMARY:Set 16 days after the end of the movie. Lucilla discovers that Commodus may have left something behind. If you're squicked by incest, don't read, though there's nothing graphic here. I'm going from my perverse belief that he made good on his demand of her before he went off to fight Maximus.
SPOILERS:The whole movie
CONTENT:Possible squeamishness, Rated R
DISCLAIMER:I don't own anything, well nothing related to this fic, anyway. No money is being made for writing this, no copyright infringement is intended, so please don't sue.

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I count the days.

Seventeen.

Sixteen.

Two.

Seventeen since I had hope.

Sixteen since the morning my brother dragged me down into Hell.

Sixteen since their deaths, their blood spilt for idiotic reasons, staining the sand of the Colosseum.

Two since...

My monthly time is late.

Two days.

He gave me no time, no time to take the necessary herbs and precautions. Anything done overtly would have earned me the loss of my son. I was helpless.

I hate being helpless.

I hate being a woman.

My body is betraying me. My hands rest on my stomach and I pray to the gods, to anyone who will listen that his seed did not take root, that I am only late due to stress or change in diet or anything.

There is a goddess of motherhood, a goddess of love, a goddess of fertility, a goddess for whores, but where is the goddess for those who pray desperately that they are barren?

Sixteen days...

How many more before I know for certain?

My cycle is never accurate, but it is never far off either, yet...these are trying times and maybe...

I grasp at straws, anything to delude myself. I'm panicking and it's only been two days. I have been later.

But, why now? Why did I have to be late now? Why not last month or six months ago? I had no man in my bed then. Even skipping a month would not have mattered. I would have given pregnancy no thought. It would not have been a possibility.

But, thanks to a half-mad child, I...

Spinning around my eyes light on the bed, a bed I cannot sleep in since that day. Instead, I curl on the pallet at the foot, like a slave, like a whore.

He took me here, in my own room, declaring to me that I was not safe from him anywhere. My sanctuary for most of my life was no longer secure. He had breached it, sullied it.

Breached me, sullied me.

On that broad bed covered in silk he covered me, and I did not dare tremble or cry.

The memories are too much and I flee for the outer room. He lingers here as well, but not as conqueror, not as rapist, more as brother.

I had known of his interest in me for years, of course. His kisses were often not quite brotherly. His eyes would light with dark passion when I would pass by or smile at him or give him a kind word or two.

While our father lived, he dared not take any liberties, but after...

His attentions became more amorous. I used all the excuses that had kept him at bay for years, but my fear grew. I waited the day he demanded I come to him. I waited, trembling at the thought, knowing deep in my heart I would have no choice.

I never thought that he would use my son against me to gain his pleasure.

I hear Lucius' laughter from the courtyard outside my rooms. He has recovered quickly and thrives. He does not miss his uncle, or, at least, he never mentions him. He speaks worshipfully of Maximus, more so than of his own father, but then, children can be fickle. He is young, and, thank the gods, still remarkably innocent.

I should take him from Rome, take him to my country estate. I should take myself from the memories this place brings.

But, I don't. Nor do I move to another wing of the palace. As if to punish myself, I stay here, in these very rooms that echo still with my false cries of pleasure.

Will I birth a child here? A child of doom?

My brother saw only the glory a child of pure blood would bring, saw only his dream of creating an empire to rival that of the pharaohs. In my dreams, in my mind's eye, I see only a child of corruption.

The worry is driving me insane, as insane as my brother. I will know soon enough.

If there is no child, I will make sacrifices to all the gods, and retire in obscurity to my country estate, to raise my son to be a good man.

If there is a child...

I can destroy it, of course. I know the ways. I am an educated, modern woman, and I know I do not need to carry a child to term.

But, there are risks in doing so, much higher than in bearing a child. I could die, and I know I cannot leave Lucius alone in this world.

So, in my sorrow-filled heart I know that, if there is a child, I cannot destroy it. I can wish it dead. I can pray that I miscarry, but I cannot abort it. I must live for Lucius.

And face the condemnation of the world.

A child cannot be hidden from the world, not even by one of royal blood. Perhaps, especially by one of royal blood. The eyes of the world are on me.

Will I allow the dissolution of the throne? Will I support the Senate? Will I stand behind my father's dream? Will I take power for myself? For my son?

So far I have done nothing but publically mourn my brother as I finally can mourn my father.

As I privately mourn Maximus.

Everyone awaits my next step. I truly doubt anyone will be ready for the revelation of my pregnancy.

And the irony of it is that, even if I proclaim the truth, no one will believe that I carry my brother's child. Those who know of my meetings with Maximus will believe it is his. Even those who believed my brother truly corrupt, will they believe he took this step?

I doubt it, and...how can I proclaim the truth to the world, lay out my shame for the world to see?

The people will believe what they want. I will not reveal the identity of the father. Regardless, I will be condemned as a whore, my child fatherless.

In my mind I have already reached the conclusion that there is a child. Rationally I know that the chances are equally good that I am simply late, but...it is easier to jump to conclusions, to try to prepare for the worst.

To try to accept the worst.

Instead of wandering these rooms like a ghost, I should begin preparations for moving to the country. I should throw my public support behind Gracchus. I should go outside and play with my son and forget the possibility that I am pregnant.

I should do so many things.

Instead...

I stand here and I count the days, the hours, the minutes, the seconds.

And I pray.

I pray that my brother left no legacy behind.

End