A/N- I'm really excited about this story. I don't know why, I just feel like it has a lot of possibility, so keep the reviews coming in! Sorry for all the dividing lines. I don't usually write this way, but I believe it's necessary for this story, at least at this stage. Also, I'm debating names for the twins. Two girls. I'm thinking about Mercy and Clair. What do you peeps think?
Disclaimer- Do I even have to say it?
Emilee—just Emilee, for neither she, nor anyone else here, could remember their last name, from so long ago—gazed out over the barren landscape, imagining the city where she'd been born. Or at least, she figured she'd been born in a city. Everyone else in the Multiple Barracks had.
She gazed out over the short scrub bushes and red-brown dirt and almost convinced herself that she could see a faint blotch, the outline of a city. Her city. Then she laughed at herself. The Multiple Barracks were so far out in the desert, so thoroughly planted in the middle of nowhere, that only those who had begun to go insane—and most of them did eventually—fancied they could see a city.
Emilee imagined it anyway. She imagined someone else out there who looked just like her. Wavy, cinnamon-stick hair that tangled easily. Small, watery green eyes. Ultra-pale skin that never tanned, just burned.
She wondered why they'd decided to keep this other her, this mystery girl.
She wondered why they hadn't decided to keep her.
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Two unborn fetuses.
Two tiny, unborn babies
Perfect.
Studying the pink pearls of their toes.
Marveling at their fingers.
Only a thick wall of muscle
Separating them from the world
The cold, cruel world
That would tear them apart
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"So, Beka," said Dr. Abigail Storks casually, trying to distract the young Pretty—Middle Pretty now, that she would be having a child—from the needle he was slowly inserting into her skin, the vial slowly filling up with the crimson potency of her blood, "How many weeks are you?"
"Thirty weeks," Beka replied, cringing slightly at the pain of the needle.
"Uh-huh," the doctor mumbled. "Very good."
"Why, thank you," Beka said, as though she was receiving praise for a difficult task.
"So, um, what exactly is that you're doing?" Siam asked, inserting himself in the conversation.
"Just a routine blood check." Routine for someone we believe is expecting multiples, she silently added.
Siam nodded, satisfied, believing he'd asserted himself and gained knowledge as to their situation.
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Abigail entered the conference room, the same one that had been used for the initial meeting, to present her evidence in this follow-up.
"Yes," said the doctor simply. "Beka Silverstream is expecting twins. The fetuses are too far along for the abortion of one fetus or the other."
They all groaned, and several doctors placed their heads in their hands.
"Someone should tell them." Said one doctor. "They have to be prepared for this."
"This hasn't happened in over fifty years. Announcing it will just make us look bad!" Another argued.
"So will not telling a patient something they deserve to know." Said Abigail, standing.
The other doctors watched as Abigail exited the room, and then promptly began to argue once again.
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Siam nuzzled his nose against Beka's stomach, and she giggled.
"I'm ready for this baby," Siam said suddenly.
"Me, too," replied Beka soberly, a rare moment.
"I'm ready to be a father. To love and cherish this little person. This little person who is going to be ours."
Beka nodded, her eyes wide. "I'm ready, too, Siam. I'm readier than I'll ever be, than I ever thought I could be. I'm ready to care for this baby. I want to care for this baby."
Dr. Abigail Storks walked briskly into the room, shattering the delicate moment, unknowingly.
"Mr. Silverstream, Mrs. Silverstream, I have something to tell you,"