James squinted carefully at the shard of mirror, holding the cherished razor as close to his face as he reasonably could, bandages and alcohol (for medicinal purposes, honest) on hand for just in case. He'd tried to convert, really he did, but flintstone cut it just a little too well.
A smooth stroke under the jaw nearly turned into a neat slash across his jugular as the most wretched sound rent the air, causing him to jump.
He quickly caught the razor, wrong end up, before he could drop it. Whew...
He whirled around to pinpoint the sound, eyes wide, the ritual abandoned as a mere neat streak of pink skin along his jaw line.
Was something dying?!
He twitched as that noise started up again, visceral and...and coming from their room?
"Tarzan?!" he bellowed, dashing out of the bathroom to see her half-out of the window, coughing while bracing her hands on its frame.
He was torn between running to her or flinching back as she made that noise again, the cause now all too clear.
Tentatively, remembering past experiences where he'd accidentally startled his wife, he approached her to hold back her hair, nervously, barely rubbing the skin of her back out of some hope to comfort her until the episode passed.
"S'rry..." she mumbled afterwards with a rasp, wiping off her mouth as she slumped against the wall, holding her stomach.
"It's alright, Tarzan," he told her, morbid curiosity making him lean slightly out of the window to check at the distant foliage below.
No evidence of her distress. There were many good advantages to living in a jungle.
"Did you eat something bad?" he asked, noting with concern her continued paleness.
She frowned a bit in confusion, already chewing on some dried mint to get the bad taste out of her mouth, thinking of what construed as 'bad', and he corrected himself, "Tell me what you've eaten lately."
And she did. The list started out pretty typical, and then quickly bridged into the surreal.
When she finished, her husband blinked, "You ate all that the past few days?"
"Since last dinner." she corrected him, and then kissed his cheek carefully on the strip he'd shaved. "Good morning, James."
"So all's normal, then?" he laughed weakly, and she just smiled up at him, before going to the rain barrel to 'brush' her teeth. James and his mother had come up with a handy device to purify the water the barrel collected.
Tarzan was intrigued by the taste, though oftentimes was put off by its relative blandness.
He touched the place affectionately, then remembered the rest of the stubble. He blinked, "Razor." and ran back to his business.
"Bad meat, maybe?" he wondered, contorting his face comically to reach the stubborn facial hairs, "Well, she's often eaten it...raw... Maybe a disease? Admirable immune system, but really, had to slip up at some point..."
He paused, blades to his upper lip, as he considered all that she'd eaten, and how often they'd kissed...
He shrugged, nearly jostling the razor up his nose with the gesture.
"Immune systems are marvelous things." he commented, making a note to not think while shaving.
"Seriously, though," Terk said, laughing nervously as Tarzan retched into an innocent bystander of a fern.
"This thing you got...it's not contagious, is it?"
"You—guh—let me know if it...is-uh... Uh-hurk!"
"Right, sure, I will. . . Hey, wait a freakin'—!"
After a few mornings of upset stomachs, James was understandably worried.
Nothing was really wrong aside from the vomiting and her sudden ease of getting fatigued, but it was still concerning him.
He'd finally convinced Tarzan to stay still for his mother, as the wild woman let the older one examine her.
Mrs. Porter checked the back of her throat, and then felt along Tarzan's stomach and hips.
"James, be a dear and fetch us some tea." she told her son while smiling, who hesitated before he did so.
She turned to her daughter-in-law, "How often have you and James, er, consummated recently?" she asked bluntly.
Tarzan had the knowledge to blush, showing that James' mannerisms were rubbing off on her, "Many times."
"When's the last time you bled, love?" Mrs. Porter continued after a polite pause.
Tarzan blinked, "The cutting blood or that blood?"
"The second one."
Tarzan frowned as she thought it over, and an expression crossing between relief and confusion came over her face.
"It's been a while." the 'savage' noted, feeling along the place that would usually bring her pain when bleeding.
"Thought so." Mrs. Porter grinned, patting Tarzan's stomach, just as James came in with a mug of the tea.
"I'm going to be a grandmum." she proclaimed happily.
The mug shattered on the floor, hot tea spilled on the young man's shoes, and the young man did not notice.
Tarzan stared.
Mrs. Porter looked around, beaming at the blank faces.
". . . Ooh, that's right, I must go tell Kala!"
She kissed her son's face on the way out, "We'll discuss nurseries later, James, and of course, the matter of christening. Good job!"
His jaw fell open as his mother left.
Husband and wife stared at each other.
"G-Grandmum?" James stuttered.
"Christening?" Tarzan asked.
"She's WHAT?!" Terk shrieked, gaping at Mrs. Porter.
Kala just laughed.