Dust and Stone
A/N: Yes, I know everyone wanted me to write a happy fic. Well...not this time. Sorry. I also keep promising myself I won't torture myself with writing love triangles. Well...not this time. Look, my characters continue to not run around in uniform all the time, and to generally call one another by their real names. Anyway. The Justice League is about to be thrown into a circumstance they never even thought about planning on. :3. Also, I am thinking about continuing 'Self Destructive Tendencies', but it will require Character Death. Any thoughts on that? Warnings: Language, death, various Bad Things. Part: 1/3
PART ONE: THE FIRST THREE MONTHS
Someone was playing a steel drum in perfect synchronization with a jackhammer, inside her head. The pounding was so intense that she expected her body to be shaking. It wasn't, instead she seemed infused with a dull ache, spread from her fingers to her toes and everywhere in between. She experimentally flexed her toes, and was relieved to find that though the ache did not lessen, it didn't intensify either.
She slipped one eye open experimentally, before hissing and squeezing it closed again. Damn the sun. The light burned her corona, left a bright yellow afterglow of her window inside her eyelid. Her headache responded to the sudden painfully bright light by intensifying it's pound and throb. The pain snuck down her neck, threw her ribs, into the pit of her stomach.
She was going to be sick.
When she scrambled from the bed she was strangely tangled in her sheets, and ended up dragging them with her to the bathroom, where they clung to her sweating body as her stomach heaved and contracted. She was quivering, and the steel symphony in her head had at least tripled in size. The blankets encircled her, tight like bandages or bonds.
She didn't twist in her sleep. How had she become so wrapped up in these sheets? She didn't have time to consider it further, her stomach choose that moment to rebel. For the second time that morning she experienced something very near to complete agony.
The mystery of the sheets would have to wait, and with it she would find various other mysteries around her room. Her dresser lamp she would later find shattered into a million pieces, though she had no recollection of it breaking. There was an indentation in her bed that did not match her shape, still vaguely warm by the time she stumbled out of the bathroom nearly forty-five minutes later. Her own feathers were scattered around both her room and her bed.
Coupled with the fact that the entire League had been celebrating something or the other last night, and there had been an extraordinary amount of alcohol consumed, they were a series of oddities that she would not start to piece together for twelve weeks. And it would be nine months before the puzzle finished itself completely.
Shay, known as Hawkgirl to friends and enemies alike, sank into the warmth of her bed, no longer as comforting as it had once been. Confusion swirled with nausea low in her stomach, and she buried her face in her hands, not wanting to think about the possible conclusions she could draw. Her mouth open in a silent 'o' of disbelief, she refused to think about the bruises in the shape of hands on her hips, the bite mark on her shoulder.
This wasn't happening. This hadn't happened.
She wrapped her wings protectively around herself, and willed herself to forget what she knew, and for what eluded her to stay in the safety of the unknown.
She was going to be sick.
*
In another room, two hours later, a man woke up, rubbed his eyes, and wondered what the hell had happened...and why he was wearing only his shoes.
And why his head felt like it was being goddamned sawed in goddamned half.
**
It took Shay most of the morning to convince herself that nothing had happened. But she was good at believing what she had to in order to keep sane. So it took her till noon to convince herself that nothing was wrong, whereas it would have taken most people several days. By the time she had showered and washed the sweat and memories off herself and slipped from her room to eat a hurried breakfast of coffee there was no trace of the previous night in her room or in her mind.
By the third week after that fateful Friday she could remember nothing exceptional about it at all. It had been a party. Nice. Refreshing. Hadn't Batman and Diana left together afterwards? That was the extent of it, until she woke up the morning of the one-month anniversary of that night with crippling nausea. It brought what memories she had not completely decimated racing back to the surface, flashes of being wrapped in sheets, bent over her toilet.
And...worst of worst, it was not to be a one-time experience. She felt tears slipping from her eyes, warm fat things that slid down her cheeks and over her lips, and swore fiercely and bitterly. She didn't cry, damnit, what was wrong with her? The tears dissolved into laughter.
An hour later she made her way to the kitchen, her emotions finally seeming to settle into what felt almost like a depression.
They really needed to take better care of the kitchen, she mused as she stepped in. Everything was so smudged and dish stacks were tilting. Clean, but tilting. She straightened them, humming a broken tune whose words she could only remember in bits and pieces. Satisfied with the slightly better state of the kitchen, she reached for the coffee, and took an experimental swig from the thermos.
Bitter. It needed...she opened the fridge, then after a moments consideration, the freezer. Black Cherry ice cream. Humming again, more upbeat now, she scooped two heaping spoonfuls of ice cream into the coffee thermos, and left the kitchen pleased with herself. She'd have to straighten up the freezer later.
Superman was the first to find her later, lounging in front of the television, giggling as she watched some cartoon he'd never seen before. Hawkgirl. Giggling.
He blinked, blinked again before approaching her slowly. Something was clearly very wrong. Had she been poisoned, tortured...maybe this wasn't Hawkgirl at all, but some kind of doppelganger sent to destroy the League... "Hawkgirl?"
She tilted her head up to look at him, and now he could see the bowl of what appeared to be sugar between her arms, and the half-eaten pickle sticking out of it. She smiled, a completely innocent, full lipped, teeth baring smile, and he took a step back in surprise. Hawkgirl grinned, smirked, and frowned...smiling was an expression he'd never seen. "Supes! You have to watch this! See, the hamsters, they can talk, and, ohhh, look, there's my favorite!" she was gesturing wildly at the television.
"How much sugar have you had?"
She looked thoughtfully down at the bowl, roughly the same size as her head, and a little over halfway full. "Two and a half bowls," she smiled up at him again, "And eight pickles!" She held up eight fingers to demonstrate this, and then seemed to realize that quiet a bit of her show had slipped by without her attention.
She sniffed, and abruptly stood, scowling at him now. As she shoved past him, bowl of sugar cradled in her arms, she muttered, "Bastard, you made me miss the best part."
Superman blinked.
Maybe she was sick.
** *
A week and a half after the nausea in the morning started, Shay woke up and found her stomach blessedly calm. She reveled in this for a few moments, before dressing and winging her way to the kitchen. She wanted chocolate. Possibly some coffee, too, but mostly she wanted chocolate. The kind with nuts. And lots of salt. Maybe dipped in coffee.
Diana was already in the kitchen when Shay arrived, and the Amazon watched the redhead quickly riffle through every cupboard and drawer before putting her hands on her hips and frowning thoughtfully. "How are you this morning, Hawkgirl?"
The smaller woman turned towards her, blinked several times, and abruptly raised a hand to her lips, shoved Diana out of the way. Shay made it to the kitchen sink before her stomach revolted. By now this was almost routine. Shay waited till her stomach settled, rinsed her mouth, stood and turned back to Diana. "I'm fine, thank you. I'm going to go pillage Jay's stash of candy now. Do you want anything?"
Diana could only blink, aware that her mouth was hanging open, but not able to convince herself to shut it. Hawkgirl shrugged, "Suit yourself," and flew off before Diana's brain kicked into gear again. Sure, Shay had been acting oddly for a few weeks now, but this was a new level of oddity altogether. Maybe Shay was just sick...but this sickness was taking an awfully long time to run its course. Maybe they should get J'onn to examine her, or something.
No, not yet. After all, none of them really knew very much about Shay's anatomy, it was perfectly probable that this was something she went threw on a regular basis. At least it was keeping things interesting up on the Watchtower.
After a moment Diana quietly swore to herself. She'd missed a chance to get some of those delicious gumdrops Jay kept hidden. Damnit.
** **
Another three weeks passed with everyone, including herself, attempting to understand her bizarre behavior.
She was crying and she didn't know why. Since she had awakened this morning she had been crying, and continuing stream of tears that she couldn't seem to halt no matter what she did. She wasn't even sad. Angry, yes; sad, no.
This had happened before, several times now, and she had yet to find an effective solution. So she relied on something that had always made her feel marginally better in the past. Her punching bag. It amused her that such things seemed to have been invented by countless species across the universe. Or at least, it used to amuse her. At the moment the fury that roared in her chest, and the tears that rolled hot down her cheeks were masking all her other emotions.
What the hell was wrong with her? She didn't cry, much less over something so infinitely pointless as some supervillian or the other telling her that she was crazy. Of course they thought she was crazy, she was trying to stop them. Of course. Of course. The fact that she'd taken out a small army of very real illusions all by herself, and then beaten their creator to a pulp before she'd been pulled off was perfectly understandable in the circumstances. They'd hurt her friends, damnit. He'd put her in that damn box.
What did Superman and Diana know, to look at her like they had? She beat her fists into the punching bag over and over, her vision so blurred by tears that for a moment it almost looked like the punching bag was Superman. She pounded harder. "Take that, you self-righteous, condescending-" And how dare they tell her that it was ok, and that they didn't think any less of her. They had no reason to!
The anger was hot in her veins, like fire racing threw her body and setting her nerve endings aflame. And now the punching bag looked like Flash, with his wide surprised eyes, and comforting hand on her arms, the jolt that had startled her enough to make her drop her club before she brought it down on the damn illusionist's face.
She sank to the floor, sobs raking her body as she hugged herself and rocked back and forth. Her heart felt jagged, as though it had became a stone and shattered in her chest. Sweat fell from her forehead, and her muscles quivered from overexertion, but the pressure remained inside her, and now she didn't know what to do to relieve it.
As she sobbed an unplanned meeting was taking place in the kitchen, as the other six members of the League stood or sat awkwardly around the room.
"We have to do something, there's obviously something wrong." Diana nodded along with Superman's words, her arms crossed, her blue eyes troubled. The others voiced various levels of agreement, but no one offered a solution.
"Maybe its just PMS," Flash suggested brightly, cocking his head over his shoulder as he washed dishes. Batman absently wondered why the younger man was wearing a pink apron, and then decided he didn't want to think about it. Diana flashed Jay a dirty look, and in response he shrugged. " Just a suggestion?"
"People don't have PMS for two months straight," Diana hissed, her eyes narrowing. Batman chuckled and disguised it as a cough. She leveled her glare on him and he pretended he didn't notice. After a moment she snorted indignantly, and turned her glare back on Flash.
"Look, whatever it is, she wants to handle it by herself right now, why don't you all leave her be, and she'll ask for help when she wants it," it was the first time John had spoken, and the others frowned thoughtfully.
"Not doing anything feels like giving up," Superman murmured thoughtfully after a moment, and Batman snorted, turning to leave the kitchen. He had known that this was how it would end, and wondered absently why he had wasted his time here in the first place.
"You can't lose a battle you weren't fighting."
** ** *
A month later and Shay was being escorted, somewhat unwillingly into the Medical Bay.
"I'm telling you, my arm is fine," she demonstrated how fine it was by backhanding Jay across the chest. He grinned down at her while catching her wrist in his hand. John rolled his eyes, and ushered her into the room where J'onn was waiting, just finishing examining an extremely unwilling Batman.
"Look, Shay, we don't know what was in that gas Joker pumped into the warehouse, or how it will effect all of our different physiologies, so just get the tests." She turned to him and scowled, her gray eyes hard and angry. Right, this was an Angry Day. He preferred those to Sad Days and Hyper Days, for the most part. Still, it was best to be away from her on Angry Days, so he retreated as soon as she was inside the Bay.
To his surprise Flash stayed, shrugging by way of explanation.
"Shay, will you sit here, please?" Batman had disappeared, and J'onn motioned to the space that he had previously occupied. Shay stalked across the room, before sitting on the bed and leveling a glare on any and everything. "This will only take a few moments," the tall, green, man assured as he inserted a needle into her wrist, her blood being quickly pumped into his computer console.
The minutes passed is silence, disturbed only by Flash darting around the room, picking up various objects and examining them, before darting back. Shay started out glaring at him, but eventually settled on distracting her mind by trying to track his movements. Finally, the machine beeped its completion, and she waited to be told that she had a clean bill of health, which she already knew.
After a moment of silence she looked up at J'onn, confused as to what was holding him up. He was staring down at the computer monitor, his eyes wide as she had ever seen them. She felt fear settle low and hard in her belly. "Is something wrong?"
Her voice seemed to jerk him out of his thoughts, and he looked at her, opened and closed his mouth several times. Nervousness crept like hot pinpricks up her spine, and she would have jumped to her feet, but she didn't want her knees to wobble. The gas couldn't have hurt her. She would not have herself killed by gas of all things. She'd barely even inhaled any of it, damnit.
"Nothing is...wrong." J'onn voice was low, and she could see his pulse jumping in his neck. "It would appear..." J'onn cleared his throat, started over, "It would appear that you are pregnant."
She felt the wave of shock and numbness wash over her, the denial crushed by the fact that she was already beginning to suspect... Her mood swings... Oh, damnit. And... She barely even noticed that Jay had dropped the beaker he had been examining, the glass shattered to a million pieces at his feet, while he stared at her in absolute shock.
"What?"
A/N: Yes, I know everyone wanted me to write a happy fic. Well...not this time. Sorry. I also keep promising myself I won't torture myself with writing love triangles. Well...not this time. Look, my characters continue to not run around in uniform all the time, and to generally call one another by their real names. Anyway. The Justice League is about to be thrown into a circumstance they never even thought about planning on. :3. Also, I am thinking about continuing 'Self Destructive Tendencies', but it will require Character Death. Any thoughts on that? Warnings: Language, death, various Bad Things. Part: 1/3
PART ONE: THE FIRST THREE MONTHS
Someone was playing a steel drum in perfect synchronization with a jackhammer, inside her head. The pounding was so intense that she expected her body to be shaking. It wasn't, instead she seemed infused with a dull ache, spread from her fingers to her toes and everywhere in between. She experimentally flexed her toes, and was relieved to find that though the ache did not lessen, it didn't intensify either.
She slipped one eye open experimentally, before hissing and squeezing it closed again. Damn the sun. The light burned her corona, left a bright yellow afterglow of her window inside her eyelid. Her headache responded to the sudden painfully bright light by intensifying it's pound and throb. The pain snuck down her neck, threw her ribs, into the pit of her stomach.
She was going to be sick.
When she scrambled from the bed she was strangely tangled in her sheets, and ended up dragging them with her to the bathroom, where they clung to her sweating body as her stomach heaved and contracted. She was quivering, and the steel symphony in her head had at least tripled in size. The blankets encircled her, tight like bandages or bonds.
She didn't twist in her sleep. How had she become so wrapped up in these sheets? She didn't have time to consider it further, her stomach choose that moment to rebel. For the second time that morning she experienced something very near to complete agony.
The mystery of the sheets would have to wait, and with it she would find various other mysteries around her room. Her dresser lamp she would later find shattered into a million pieces, though she had no recollection of it breaking. There was an indentation in her bed that did not match her shape, still vaguely warm by the time she stumbled out of the bathroom nearly forty-five minutes later. Her own feathers were scattered around both her room and her bed.
Coupled with the fact that the entire League had been celebrating something or the other last night, and there had been an extraordinary amount of alcohol consumed, they were a series of oddities that she would not start to piece together for twelve weeks. And it would be nine months before the puzzle finished itself completely.
Shay, known as Hawkgirl to friends and enemies alike, sank into the warmth of her bed, no longer as comforting as it had once been. Confusion swirled with nausea low in her stomach, and she buried her face in her hands, not wanting to think about the possible conclusions she could draw. Her mouth open in a silent 'o' of disbelief, she refused to think about the bruises in the shape of hands on her hips, the bite mark on her shoulder.
This wasn't happening. This hadn't happened.
She wrapped her wings protectively around herself, and willed herself to forget what she knew, and for what eluded her to stay in the safety of the unknown.
She was going to be sick.
*
In another room, two hours later, a man woke up, rubbed his eyes, and wondered what the hell had happened...and why he was wearing only his shoes.
And why his head felt like it was being goddamned sawed in goddamned half.
**
It took Shay most of the morning to convince herself that nothing had happened. But she was good at believing what she had to in order to keep sane. So it took her till noon to convince herself that nothing was wrong, whereas it would have taken most people several days. By the time she had showered and washed the sweat and memories off herself and slipped from her room to eat a hurried breakfast of coffee there was no trace of the previous night in her room or in her mind.
By the third week after that fateful Friday she could remember nothing exceptional about it at all. It had been a party. Nice. Refreshing. Hadn't Batman and Diana left together afterwards? That was the extent of it, until she woke up the morning of the one-month anniversary of that night with crippling nausea. It brought what memories she had not completely decimated racing back to the surface, flashes of being wrapped in sheets, bent over her toilet.
And...worst of worst, it was not to be a one-time experience. She felt tears slipping from her eyes, warm fat things that slid down her cheeks and over her lips, and swore fiercely and bitterly. She didn't cry, damnit, what was wrong with her? The tears dissolved into laughter.
An hour later she made her way to the kitchen, her emotions finally seeming to settle into what felt almost like a depression.
They really needed to take better care of the kitchen, she mused as she stepped in. Everything was so smudged and dish stacks were tilting. Clean, but tilting. She straightened them, humming a broken tune whose words she could only remember in bits and pieces. Satisfied with the slightly better state of the kitchen, she reached for the coffee, and took an experimental swig from the thermos.
Bitter. It needed...she opened the fridge, then after a moments consideration, the freezer. Black Cherry ice cream. Humming again, more upbeat now, she scooped two heaping spoonfuls of ice cream into the coffee thermos, and left the kitchen pleased with herself. She'd have to straighten up the freezer later.
Superman was the first to find her later, lounging in front of the television, giggling as she watched some cartoon he'd never seen before. Hawkgirl. Giggling.
He blinked, blinked again before approaching her slowly. Something was clearly very wrong. Had she been poisoned, tortured...maybe this wasn't Hawkgirl at all, but some kind of doppelganger sent to destroy the League... "Hawkgirl?"
She tilted her head up to look at him, and now he could see the bowl of what appeared to be sugar between her arms, and the half-eaten pickle sticking out of it. She smiled, a completely innocent, full lipped, teeth baring smile, and he took a step back in surprise. Hawkgirl grinned, smirked, and frowned...smiling was an expression he'd never seen. "Supes! You have to watch this! See, the hamsters, they can talk, and, ohhh, look, there's my favorite!" she was gesturing wildly at the television.
"How much sugar have you had?"
She looked thoughtfully down at the bowl, roughly the same size as her head, and a little over halfway full. "Two and a half bowls," she smiled up at him again, "And eight pickles!" She held up eight fingers to demonstrate this, and then seemed to realize that quiet a bit of her show had slipped by without her attention.
She sniffed, and abruptly stood, scowling at him now. As she shoved past him, bowl of sugar cradled in her arms, she muttered, "Bastard, you made me miss the best part."
Superman blinked.
Maybe she was sick.
** *
A week and a half after the nausea in the morning started, Shay woke up and found her stomach blessedly calm. She reveled in this for a few moments, before dressing and winging her way to the kitchen. She wanted chocolate. Possibly some coffee, too, but mostly she wanted chocolate. The kind with nuts. And lots of salt. Maybe dipped in coffee.
Diana was already in the kitchen when Shay arrived, and the Amazon watched the redhead quickly riffle through every cupboard and drawer before putting her hands on her hips and frowning thoughtfully. "How are you this morning, Hawkgirl?"
The smaller woman turned towards her, blinked several times, and abruptly raised a hand to her lips, shoved Diana out of the way. Shay made it to the kitchen sink before her stomach revolted. By now this was almost routine. Shay waited till her stomach settled, rinsed her mouth, stood and turned back to Diana. "I'm fine, thank you. I'm going to go pillage Jay's stash of candy now. Do you want anything?"
Diana could only blink, aware that her mouth was hanging open, but not able to convince herself to shut it. Hawkgirl shrugged, "Suit yourself," and flew off before Diana's brain kicked into gear again. Sure, Shay had been acting oddly for a few weeks now, but this was a new level of oddity altogether. Maybe Shay was just sick...but this sickness was taking an awfully long time to run its course. Maybe they should get J'onn to examine her, or something.
No, not yet. After all, none of them really knew very much about Shay's anatomy, it was perfectly probable that this was something she went threw on a regular basis. At least it was keeping things interesting up on the Watchtower.
After a moment Diana quietly swore to herself. She'd missed a chance to get some of those delicious gumdrops Jay kept hidden. Damnit.
** **
Another three weeks passed with everyone, including herself, attempting to understand her bizarre behavior.
She was crying and she didn't know why. Since she had awakened this morning she had been crying, and continuing stream of tears that she couldn't seem to halt no matter what she did. She wasn't even sad. Angry, yes; sad, no.
This had happened before, several times now, and she had yet to find an effective solution. So she relied on something that had always made her feel marginally better in the past. Her punching bag. It amused her that such things seemed to have been invented by countless species across the universe. Or at least, it used to amuse her. At the moment the fury that roared in her chest, and the tears that rolled hot down her cheeks were masking all her other emotions.
What the hell was wrong with her? She didn't cry, much less over something so infinitely pointless as some supervillian or the other telling her that she was crazy. Of course they thought she was crazy, she was trying to stop them. Of course. Of course. The fact that she'd taken out a small army of very real illusions all by herself, and then beaten their creator to a pulp before she'd been pulled off was perfectly understandable in the circumstances. They'd hurt her friends, damnit. He'd put her in that damn box.
What did Superman and Diana know, to look at her like they had? She beat her fists into the punching bag over and over, her vision so blurred by tears that for a moment it almost looked like the punching bag was Superman. She pounded harder. "Take that, you self-righteous, condescending-" And how dare they tell her that it was ok, and that they didn't think any less of her. They had no reason to!
The anger was hot in her veins, like fire racing threw her body and setting her nerve endings aflame. And now the punching bag looked like Flash, with his wide surprised eyes, and comforting hand on her arms, the jolt that had startled her enough to make her drop her club before she brought it down on the damn illusionist's face.
She sank to the floor, sobs raking her body as she hugged herself and rocked back and forth. Her heart felt jagged, as though it had became a stone and shattered in her chest. Sweat fell from her forehead, and her muscles quivered from overexertion, but the pressure remained inside her, and now she didn't know what to do to relieve it.
As she sobbed an unplanned meeting was taking place in the kitchen, as the other six members of the League stood or sat awkwardly around the room.
"We have to do something, there's obviously something wrong." Diana nodded along with Superman's words, her arms crossed, her blue eyes troubled. The others voiced various levels of agreement, but no one offered a solution.
"Maybe its just PMS," Flash suggested brightly, cocking his head over his shoulder as he washed dishes. Batman absently wondered why the younger man was wearing a pink apron, and then decided he didn't want to think about it. Diana flashed Jay a dirty look, and in response he shrugged. " Just a suggestion?"
"People don't have PMS for two months straight," Diana hissed, her eyes narrowing. Batman chuckled and disguised it as a cough. She leveled her glare on him and he pretended he didn't notice. After a moment she snorted indignantly, and turned her glare back on Flash.
"Look, whatever it is, she wants to handle it by herself right now, why don't you all leave her be, and she'll ask for help when she wants it," it was the first time John had spoken, and the others frowned thoughtfully.
"Not doing anything feels like giving up," Superman murmured thoughtfully after a moment, and Batman snorted, turning to leave the kitchen. He had known that this was how it would end, and wondered absently why he had wasted his time here in the first place.
"You can't lose a battle you weren't fighting."
** ** *
A month later and Shay was being escorted, somewhat unwillingly into the Medical Bay.
"I'm telling you, my arm is fine," she demonstrated how fine it was by backhanding Jay across the chest. He grinned down at her while catching her wrist in his hand. John rolled his eyes, and ushered her into the room where J'onn was waiting, just finishing examining an extremely unwilling Batman.
"Look, Shay, we don't know what was in that gas Joker pumped into the warehouse, or how it will effect all of our different physiologies, so just get the tests." She turned to him and scowled, her gray eyes hard and angry. Right, this was an Angry Day. He preferred those to Sad Days and Hyper Days, for the most part. Still, it was best to be away from her on Angry Days, so he retreated as soon as she was inside the Bay.
To his surprise Flash stayed, shrugging by way of explanation.
"Shay, will you sit here, please?" Batman had disappeared, and J'onn motioned to the space that he had previously occupied. Shay stalked across the room, before sitting on the bed and leveling a glare on any and everything. "This will only take a few moments," the tall, green, man assured as he inserted a needle into her wrist, her blood being quickly pumped into his computer console.
The minutes passed is silence, disturbed only by Flash darting around the room, picking up various objects and examining them, before darting back. Shay started out glaring at him, but eventually settled on distracting her mind by trying to track his movements. Finally, the machine beeped its completion, and she waited to be told that she had a clean bill of health, which she already knew.
After a moment of silence she looked up at J'onn, confused as to what was holding him up. He was staring down at the computer monitor, his eyes wide as she had ever seen them. She felt fear settle low and hard in her belly. "Is something wrong?"
Her voice seemed to jerk him out of his thoughts, and he looked at her, opened and closed his mouth several times. Nervousness crept like hot pinpricks up her spine, and she would have jumped to her feet, but she didn't want her knees to wobble. The gas couldn't have hurt her. She would not have herself killed by gas of all things. She'd barely even inhaled any of it, damnit.
"Nothing is...wrong." J'onn voice was low, and she could see his pulse jumping in his neck. "It would appear..." J'onn cleared his throat, started over, "It would appear that you are pregnant."
She felt the wave of shock and numbness wash over her, the denial crushed by the fact that she was already beginning to suspect... Her mood swings... Oh, damnit. And... She barely even noticed that Jay had dropped the beaker he had been examining, the glass shattered to a million pieces at his feet, while he stared at her in absolute shock.
"What?"