July 3, 2013

There was a soft 'thwap' as Desmond's half-eaten BLT fell from his hands back onto the plate. But nobody heard that. What they did hear was him saying, "Ow! Son of a bitch!"

"Lil' parasite sure can kick, can't he." Rebecca observed.

"Ahh-fff." He gritted his teeth. "This is no kick."

Shaun dropped his own sandwich and turned pale. "Erm, are you saying... what I think you're saying?"

"Oh hell no!" Spencer jabbed an angry finger at Desmond's stomach. "This is my birthday, you little bratoid! Not yours!"

Rebecca joined in berating the fetus. "Yeah, you're not supposed to come for another couple weeks!"

"Well, urgh... I am getting pretty tired of having this guy inside me. Ow. But it'd be nice if he could just, like, teleport out, and skip the whole birth thing." Desmond shuddered.

"Can we not talk about birth at the goddamn lunch table!?" Shaun begged. "Please?!"

"We'll go somewhere else, then," Stacey said, getting up and taking Desmond down the hall to the infirmary.

His face bore a nervous and disgusted expression. "Birth... I'm going to give birth... This," he placed both hands on the convexity, "is going to come out of... there!"

"I know, it's not going to be a walk in the park. But I'll get you through it," the medic promised him. "Okay, that contraction's over now, right?"

"Yeah," Desmond took a seat. "It's been over, actually. It was really quick. Pretty intense though."

"I've got painkillers on hand for you if it starts to get too intense. Tell me the moment you feel the next one." She pressed something on her watch.

"So this is actually finally happening." Desmond idly ran his finger back and forth over a seam in the fabric covering the cot. "My 'widdle Apple-baby' is finally coming." Back and forth. "Um... Stacey?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think I'll be a good dad?"

"I think you'll be a great dad."

"Heh. Thanks for the vote of confidence." Back and forth. "I don't feel very confident at all." He stared at the floor.

"Well, you're dealing with this remarkably well, considering..." she trailed off.

Desmond looked up at her. "Considering I'm a man having another man's baby? Considering I used'ta wanna abort him but I couldn't? Considering I was only knocked up in the first place because of crazy Assassin shit that I never wanted to be a part of, but now I'm more-or-less okay with both the Assassin part and the pregnant man part?"

Stacey smiled slightly. "Well, yes. That pretty much sums up what I was thinking... Are you feeling anything yet?"

"Nope." Back and forth. "Feeling hungry, 'cause I didn't get to finish my lunch."

"Have you thought of a name yet?"

"I dunno." Back and forth. "Clay 2.0?"

"Wouldn't Clay 2.0 be the one you met in the Animus?"

"Heh, guess you're right. Clay 3.0 then." Back and forth.

The two of them waited, awkwardly silent. Several minutes passed, then several more. The ticking of the clock seemed unbearably loud.

After yet more minutes, there was a knock at the doors. "Hey there." It was Rebecca. "I brought you the rest of your sandwich, in case you still want it."

"Hell yeah I still want it. Thanks, Becca." He took a hearty bite.

She hummed in thought. "Hey, the rest of you are lost causes, but maybe I can get the kid to be vegetarian."

"He's my kid, I'll let him eat what he wants! Have your own kid if you want to go all Food Templar on someone!" This earned him a not-very-light smack on the arm from Rebecca. "Ow!"

"Serves you right, calling me a Food Templar."

"C'mon, can't you take a joke?" He rubbed his arm. "Can't believe you hit me. I'm pregnant, you know!"

"Not for much longer, you know!" Rebecca echoed. "Speaking of which, how's the labor going?"

Stacey sighed. "I'm not sure it's 'going' at all yet."

Desmond blinked. "What do you mean? Of course it's 'going', what was that insane cramp I felt if it wasn't a contraction?!"

"You said it was over really quickly, right? When did it stop?"

"Uh... Like, right after I left the table."

"And it hasn't started again since. Sounds like a Braxton Hicks contraction."

"A what contraction?"

"Braxton Hicks," she repeated. "Basically, it's practice."

He blinked again. "Practice?!"

"Yeah. It's the uterus' way of warming up for the real contractions. If you were actually in labor, you should've had another one by now." Stacey gave him a curious look. "This should have been in that book William gave you. Didn't you read it?"

"Well, I've been trying to. I've read some parts, but a lot of it is all sappy and girly and stuff. All this crap about 'your little one' and 'your bundle of joy' and 'your hubby' and 'the miracle of life', gah!" He threw up his hands in exasperation. "I couldn't take it!"

"Yeah, I can see how that would turn you off." She rolled her chair across the room and grabbed a book off her desk. "Okay, you can try this one. It's just the facts, none of the fluff."

"Clinician's Handbook of Obstetrics and Jeenaycology," he read.

"That's 'gynecology', ya doof," Rebecca said, lightly swatting the back of his head.

"Honestly, I never thought I'd get any use out of the 'Obstetrics' portion," Stacey admitted. "You're the first pregnancy I've ever treated. Assassins do a lot more dying than reproducing these days. We're like an endangered species."

"Your first ever pregnant patient is a man?" Rebecca laughed. "Wild."

"By the way, Desmond, I should probably check your effacement." The medic saw his uncomprehending expression. "That's another thing you could learn from the book. Basically, in order for the cervix to open up-"

"Ugaah!" He recoiled.

"You better get used to the idea, okay? You'll have to experience a whole lot of opening up before this is over."

"Agggh, son of a bitch. Fine," he admitted grudgingly. "How do you check this facement thing anyway?"

Stacey was pulling on a pair of gloves. "How do you think?"

"Son of a bitch." Desmond glared at Rebecca, who was covering her mouth to suppress laughter. "Get out of here, you."

Rebecca passed by William on her way to her workstation, and the elder Assassin stopped her to ask, "How's he doing?"

"Same as before. Seems it was a false alarm. You'll have to wait a little longer to meet your grandson." She was secretly pleased at the unease she incited with those last two words. "Hey, what was it like when Desmond was born?"

His face shifted in an expression that Rebecca was tempted to describe as a pout. "I don't know. I wasn't there."

"You weren't there?"

"I was away on an assignment." Yeah, that was definitely a pout.

"You left your pregnant wife alone to go do Assassin stuff?"

"Janet was not alone, and furthermore, our mission had been in preparation for over a year, and I wasn't going to blow it off!"

"Okay, geez."

Desmond knocked hesitantly on the door of his father's office. William opened the door and gestured silently for him to sit down.

"So... um," Desmond began but was cut off by a curt sentence.

"It was a false labor."

"Yeah... Stacey says it's called, um, Braxen Higgs. Like, a practice contraction," he reported, fingers fidgety.

"Practice contraction," William echoed stonily.

"Yeah. Stacey says it's normal to get that a few weeks before... before the real deal." Desmond paused a beat before adding, "Yeah, 'normal', as if any of this is normal."

More silence. Then... "So it won't be happening for a while."

"Well, probably not. I, uh. My... The cervix..." He frowned and blushed slightly, then mumbled, "Cervix isn't even effacing yet."

William raised an eyebrow. "And that means what, exactly?"

"Yeah, I never heard of 'effacing' either. It's uh... it's what happens before dilating. It's not effacing yet, meaning my kid's not ready to come yet." Desmond looked at his father. Was that concern in his eyes? "Um. Dad?"

"Yes?"

"I, uh. The reason I wanted to talk... I... Do you..." God this is so fucking awkward. "You know how to change a diaper?"

"I haven't done so in many years." William's distant expression softened a tiny bit. "Not since you were an infant."

"But you remember how, right?" Desmond probed. "You can teach me?"

"Yes, I suppose I can." The older man exhaled. "I'll also have to teach you to wash them properly."

"Wash... diapers?"

"Yes."

Desmond scratched his head. "Since when do you wash diapers?"

William smirked slightly. "Cloth ones have to be washed and reused. We can't use disposables."

"Eeugh." Desmond felt more than a little queasy at the concept of reusing a previously used diaper. "You better have a damn good reason why we can't."

"Babies go through thousands of them," William explained, and Desmond now noticed he was avoiding actually saying the word "diaper". "I'm not going to ask Tom for a new shipment every week, and neither am I going to risk compromising the secrecy of this location by sending anyone out into town that often to buy more."

"Great. Just another fucking perk of being on Abstergo's Most Wanted list... Ah!"

"What was that?"

"I'm fine," Desmond assured him. "He's just wiggling around. It surprised me, is all. I thought he'd run out of space to move, 'cause he's been really quiet for a while."

William's mouth hung open slightly and he seemed ill at ease. Desmond couldn't figure out the reason. Not until he noticed the staring eyes. Eyes that were pointed at his distended stomach.

"Do you... want to feel?" he asked warily. "Feel him moving?"

Those eyes moved back up to meet Desmond's, seeming unsure.

"You can if you want." Desmond lifted his shirt.

His father shifted in his seat, but didn't quite get up.

Desmond smirked. "Come on, now's your chance, before he goes back to sleep or whatever." He paused, not quite sure if he should say the words that were on his tonguetip, then decided to hell with it, he'd go ahead and say them, who cares if it sounded asinine. "I think he wants to meet his grandpa."

Asinine or not, that did it. William stood and came around his desk, then squatted down in front of his son. An aged, trembling hand reached out and landed on the firm roundness of Desmond's pregnancy, seeking out the movements of the child within.

"Here." Desmond guided the hand upward to the appropriate spot. "I dunno what he's doing, but you can feel it better here."

"Fascinating," William breathed.

"Yeah... Kinda annoying for me, though. Urk." Desmond twitched as the kid jolted vigorously against his insides.

"I can imagine."

Desmond almost laughed. "No, I really don't think you can." The dance number, or whatever it was, came to an end and the uterine activity ceased. William stood up again, and Desmond stood as well.

"Um, Dad?"

"Yes?"

"Uh, once he's born... I do wanna take care of him, but I also wanna go back to being an Assassin."

"You haven't stopped being one."

Desmond lowered his eyebrows. "You know what I mean. I wanna go do missions and stuff. I don't wanna be stuck in here all the time. I wanna be part of things."

William looked stern. "Isn't that what you've accused me of before? Focusing too much on the Brotherhood, neglecting my parental duties along the way?"

Desmond tried to hold back his anger. "I'm not gonna neglect him! I just don't wanna be, like, reduced to some fucking nanny or something! I've spent all that time training with my ancestors, it'd be a waste if I didn't get to put those skills to use! Or am I just not important to the Assassins anymore, now that you've already used my stupid genes to get the Apple and save the fucking planet?!" He was yelling now; the attempted anger holdback was an utter failure.

William put a hand on his shoulder. "Calm down, Desmond. I'm just-"

"Just trying to control my life?!"

"Trying to help you think clearly!" The grip on his shoulder tightened. "Assassins' lives are dangerous. Doubly so if they're going out and assassinating people. What if you die out there?"

Desmond set his face firmly. "I won't. I've gotten pretty good at cheating death this past year."

"You've been extraordinarily lucky, I'll grant that. But luck runs out eventually. Do you want to risk leaving your son orphaned?"

"Of course I don't want him to be orphaned! You can give me, like, the less dangerous missions! Like the one you're giving Shaun, he's not a fucking fighter!"

"You can't do undercover ops," William rebutted. "Your distinctive scar and your idiotic tattoo make you stand out like a sore thumb."

"I stand out?! Spencer's like a five hundred pound gorilla and he has the goddamn Assassin logo as a tattoo!"

"Hence why he doesn't do anything that requires stealth."

"Ughh," Desmond growled. "Fine! I'll stay in and stay all safe and cozy! But you better give me something to do! Something important! I didn't wanna be dragged back into this Assassin shit after I left, but now I'm stuck in it for life, so I'd really prefer to be a useful part of it and not just some kid's dad!"

"I'll find some way you can continue to contribute, all right?" William released him, and tentatively patted his back. "But in the meanwhile..." He trailed off.

"Yeah, in the meanwhile, just keep being a freakazoid who's gonna shit a baby out his male vagina." Desmond stormed out of his father's office. "Fuck my life."