Barren-(adj) not producing or incapable of producing offspring; sterile: a barren woman.

There was a little room in his house where he went when life got tough.

It was a room he kept locked and shut, a room he let no one but himself in. He was very adamant about this, for he never wanted anyone to know what was hidden in that room. Not that it was anything bad. In fact, it was a very beautiful room, adorned with all shades of red and paintings on the wall Grell had spent hours working on. All for nothing, as he knew very well. This room would never be used for its real purpose. Yet...it made him feel better to sit in the rocking chair in the middle of the room and imagine what could've been if he'd been born his true gender.

On this particular day, it just happened to be raining, which always put Grell in a sort of sad mood. On top of that, he'd simply had an overall bad day. William had rejected him once again, though that usually didn't upset Grell as it happened so much. Today, though...perhaps he was just being emotional.

After work he'd come immediately home and had entered his locked room, had stood in it for a moment, completely still, and taken in its essence. The walls were painted a light red, of course, an almost pinkish color. Painted on the wall were various scenes from fairytales, lighthearted pictures, and anything that had come to Grell's mind whenever he sat down on the floor with paints and a brush, trying to get the room ready for something that would never come.

The paintings were all over the west wall, the most open wall. Grell had begun to run out of space and the paintings had begun to spread to the opposite wall. The dark wood crib was against that wall, filled with soft dolls and stuffed animals. Soft flannel sheets covered the mattress, a red striped blanket covering them almost completely. It had been there for two years now. And it still hadn't been touched, other than Grell occasionally adding a stuffed animal to the growing collection. Once or twice he had striped the bed sheets, but there had been no reason other than to make believe he had what he'd always wanted. One day, he kept saying to himself. One day a miracle would happen and he'd be able to bear a child.

He now sat in the rocking chair by the picture window taking up almost the entire north wall. Rain fell down on his house, making a soft pitter patter noise. He rocked back and forth to it, swaying slightly. This was how easily he could drop his flamboyant persona and be reminded of the fact that he could never have a child and could never miraculously change his sex. This was what currently entertained his thoughts.

For the first time in hours, Grell tore his eyes away from the puddles outside and glanced around the happy room. He had everything ready for a child to come. He had a closet full of clothes and supplies, a box full of toys, a comfortable room, and, most of all, a heart willing to give the child all the love it needed. The only thing missing was the child itself.

At times, he'd think about what his child would look like. Ideally, it'd be with Will, but he'd settle for anything, really. Would it be a boy or a girl? It didn't matter. Not to him, anyways. If it was a boy, he'd have to get rid of the dolls, but that was about it. He'd give the child the same amount of love no matter what gender it was. As for names...he had always thought Angelina for a girl. He had truly loved that woman, for she had been strong and passionate as Grell's favorite color. She, as well, had been unable to bear children. Grell had been able to sympathize with her. Even after killing her, he still held an admiration for the woman she had been.

He didn't quite have a name for a boy, but perhaps William or even Sebastian. A small smile came onto the Shinigami's solemn face as the thought crossed his mind of a little Will running around the house, causing trouble and messes. Oh, how he longed for that.

Grell breathed a heavy sigh and rose from the rocking chair, shuffling over to the closet where he kept the paints, smock, and tarp. He brought them over to the wall near the crib, set up, and sat on the tarp, cross legged. He raised his brush and hesitated, suddenly not knowing what he was going to paint. His subconscious mind took charge, then, and he began painting in many different colors. Hours later he had finished a small painting of a family-with a woman with long red hair and a father with short black hair and a serious expression. A child stood between them, a mixture of the two.

Silently, Grell got up and cleaned up his small mess, never once leaving the room. When he was finally done, he retreated to the door, preparing to leave. He paused, however, looking around the room once more and taking in the scent of still wet paint. It was time to return to normal life. As soon as he would exit this room, he would return to his normal self. Not until he returned would he allow himself to feel the pain and emptiness again.

Without another thought, Grell blew out the candles and exited, closing the door to his unused nursery.

He knew he shouldn't linger on the things that couldn't and wouldn't be.

He just couldn't help it, though. He would never have what he craved the most.

Based on a headcanon from a Grell rper a while ago. Please Review.

~Wolfie.