Twenty-Four Little Hours
Part Two
The sun is shining brightly through the kitchen's curtains, early-morning light spilling throughout the room and wiping away any lingering shadows that might have remained from the dawn dimness. I can smell the remains of Bobby's patented Captain Crunch-and-marshmallows ice-cream in the sink, where it is slowly reverting to gooey, sugary liquid form amidst the piles of sticky bowls and spoons, and there is also the faint sooty odour of Hank's toast hanging somewhere in the room. Smiling to myself, I run the cold tap into the kettle and place it on the stove in the corner. As soon as I hear it boil, I place a couple of teabags in the small china pot which I've rescued from its hiding place in one of the cupboards, and pour the hot, flavoursome tea into my favourite mug – a Garfield cup that Warren bought me when we were coming back from our honeymoon – causing clouds of rich, fragrant steam to waft up into the air. I take one small sip, and everything else seems to drop away into the ether, as if the tea's vapours can melt my troubles into nothing more than transient distractions.
"There's nothing quite like your first cup of tea, sweetheart," I say, rubbing my belly gently and smiling at my unborn child. "You might as well get the taste for it now, I suppose. Tea is one of the best things you can drink, you know." I smile stupidly as a thought strikes me. "Of course, you'll probably spend the first ten years of your life wanting to drink nothing but Coca-Cola, won't you? I suppose I had better start stocking up on that now, if I want to be anything other than a 'silly mummy', hadn't I?" Getting to my feet, I walk over to the window that is set behind the sink and look out across the grounds of the estate. In the distance, through the soft rolling fog that clings to the grass like spider-webs, I can see some of the others gathering around the lake for a morning swim (Remy, Joseph and Logan are notable by their absence – evidently they value their sleep too much to go for a swim right now). Ororo has created a soft haven of sunshine around them all, rays of light branching down from the sky and making the morning seem a lot brighter than it actually is – a rare gift that she is blessed to be able to bestow.
"These are my friends," I whisper to my baby, brushing away the thin film of condensation that has accumulated on the glass with my fingers. "When they find out about you, they'll be over the moon. They don't often get to be happy about new arrivals around here; everybody's usually too busy fighting bad people to worry about having children, after all. I think you'll be a nice change for them all." I smile, and stroke my abdomen once again, feeling the toned muscles beneath my skin push back against my fingertips. "You're already a nice change for me – I never thought I'd be able to have a baby, you know. I thought that I'd be childless for the rest of my life after what happened in the Bronx; I thought maybe that I'd been hurt too badly by some of those bad men I told you about just now. And your daddy and I haven't been able to do what we used to do, either; not so much, anyway – but he's been very understanding about everything, and he's never forced me to do anything I didn't want to do. I think we've been together less than five times since I came back from the Bronx, but your daddy never once said anything negative about it. I suppose something must have happened, though, or I wouldn't have you to show for it." My smile widens and I sigh, wistfully. "Your daddy is a very good man, sweetheart. You'll like him, I'm sure – I know I do, after all."
"Talking to yourself, Betsy?" comes a voice from behind me. "That's the first sign of madness, you know." Whirling, my cheeks turning a rich shade of crimson, I can see Jean standing in the doorway of the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe with her arms folded. Even at this early hour of the morning, she is dressed; a softly-hued red sweater complements a pair of slender blue jeans and slip-on shoes. She looks effortlessly beautiful, even when it is clear that she has only just woken up – her face is bare of make-up, and her expression is sleepy. "So, are you going to tell me when you're due, or am I going to have to ask Hank or Warren to give me the scoop instead?" She smiles then, before pushing herself off the doorframe and covering the few paces between her and me in a few strides. "Congratulations, honey," she says as she puts her arms around me and hugs me gently to her, her soft lips touching my cheek. "You deserve this, after the year you've had so far."
"Thank… thank you, Jean," I reply, a little fazed by her display of affection (although I really shouldn't be. Jean often takes it upon herself to be the mansion's very own wellspring of good wishes, positive emotions, and whatever else the X-Men need – a responsibility she takes very seriously). "That means a great deal."
"No problem." Jean draws back from me slightly, and then reaches forward to touch my stomach with her hand. She steps back a pace as she sees me glancing at her a little bemusedly, and then bares her teeth in a sheepish smile. "I'm sorry, Betsy – I should have asked. May I?" She points towards my belly with a single well-manicured finger, and I shrug and spread my hands wide to either side of my body, so that Jean can approach me and feel my stomach to her heart's content.
"It's all right, Jean," I say, "feel free. I don't know what you'll be able to find at this point, though – I can't sense any thoughts from the baby yet, and that probably means you won't be able to, either. Besides which, the baby won't be more than a couple of inches across – so if you're hoping to feel it kicking, you'll have to wait a while, I'm afraid." Jean laughs and lays her hand hesitantly across my belly, grinning as she feels my maternal pride at being able to share my child – that is, with somebody other than Warren and Hank – for the first time.
"That doesn't matter, Betsy," she says, her voice almost punch-drunk with excitement. "I just… can't believe this is happening, that's all. Finally, we're going to have a normal kid around this place – it's been too long since Nathan was a baby, after all. I'm sure Kurt and Hank are dying to play teddy bear again after all these years, and Ororo has a wonderful way with children; you should see the finger-paintings she and Nathan did when he was tiny." She smiles at the memory, her eyes clouding over slightly at the thought of her stepson as a tiny child. "They're wonderful… I think Scott has some of them framed somewhere in the boathouse, if you want to see them for yourself." She laughs again, in a silly, yet relieved kind of way. "And you know what else is good about this whole deal? Finally, we have a child around here that isn't part of the Summers-Grey family tree. You have no idea how much of a relief that is… it gets so confusing trying to remember everybody's birthday."
"I think I have some idea, Jean," I reply, returning Jean's expression of humour with a laugh of my own, which reverberates around the kitchen and makes me feel a lot more at ease. "My daughter does carry your husband's genes, after all."
"Well, yeah, I guess there is that," Jean admits, "but at least Rebecca hasn't been lost in the future for most of her life. That's never fun – and I'm speaking from personal experience here, okay, so don't question me."
"When you put it like that, Jean," I say, uncertainly, "I don't think I want to question you."
Jean shrugs, and pats my stomach gently. "Oh, it's not so bad, Betsy – get sucked into the future and try to raise your husband's eldest son, all while avoiding Apocalypse's soldiers and your husband's son's clone, and trying to prevent yourself from going crazy in the process… piece of cake."
"Oh my," I say, gulping a mouthful of tea. "Now I know I didn't want to question you." I pause, and then lift the small teapot with one hand. "Changing the subject slightly – would you like some tea? Only I've got a full pot here and I don't want to let it all go cold."
Jean nods, groaning with relief and rubbing at her still slightly-bleary eyes. "Yes, please, Betsy – I need some caffeine or I'll never wake up." Nodding towards the cupboard where the mugs are kept, she opens it telekinetically and floats out a mug shaped like a squat, stylised penguin, its features dominated by a pair of large, overly-cute eyes. She notices me looking at her questioningly, and raises an eyebrow. "What?" she asks. "Scott bought this for me for Christmas last year. He liked the look of it, and so do I." She pokes her tongue out at me as she mentally pours herself some of my tea. "So there." Swallowing, she touches me on the arm with her free hand and then indicates my stomach again. "Anyway… you still haven't told me when you're due. Come on, Betsy – quit dodging the bullet and tell me, already!"
"Well, Hank told me that I should be due around November," I say, "barring alien invasions, attacks by mutant warlords and unexpected body-swaps, of course." I gently touch my belly and smile down at it for a moment or two. "Do try to keep them out of my way when I'm giving birth, as well. I don't think I'd appreciate interruptions, do you?"
Jean gives me a small salute, and clicks her heels together. "Aye-aye, sir. I'll do my best."
"Thank you, Jean," I reply, before I finish my tea and set my mug down in the sink, balancing it on top of the pile of bowls and dishes with a great deal of care. "I shall hold you to that, the moment my waters break." Once I've put my mug away, I walk towards the kitchen's back door, which will lead me out into the gardens of the mansion. "Will you walk with me, Jean? You and I haven't really talked properly in a while now, and I'd like to set that right." I hold my hand out for her, hopefully, and am gratified when she smiles, finishes her tea, and walks towards the back door as well.
"Why not?" she says cheerfully. "Might shake some of these cobwebs loose." She taps her temple and rolls her eyes at her own tiredness, before she follows my lead and walks out into the slightly chilly morning air. The garden is just beginning to come back to life after the winter, and there are numerous squirrels hopping around on the lawn, carrying bunches of nuts to hide in their nests. There are birds flitting here and there in the sky occasionally, twittering and singing softly, cutting through the otherwise silent garden with their different songs. I begin to walk across the lawn, feeling the dewy grass slide underneath my feet, and I feel the heat of the morning sun splash against my face like warm spring water.
"Isn't it wonderful?" I whisper. "I love mornings like this. They're so… peaceful. I do this a lot, you know – I like to run down to the lake when no-one else is around. It's a lot less strenuous than the Danger Room, and it helps me to think; and with everything that's happened to me recently, that comes in very useful."
Jean nods sagely, one hand at her chin. "I suppose it would do." She pauses suddenly, as a thought strikes her. "How do you think Rebecca is going to take this news?"
"Rebecca? I don't know," I reply, honestly. "I doubt she'll be jealous of a new arrival in the family, though – she's not the type to feel neglected just because there's somebody else around. I hope that she'll enjoy the idea of having a little brother or sister to play with, but I won't know until I have a chance to talk to her – at the moment, you're the only person that knows I'm pregnant, aside from Hank and Warren. I was hoping to talk to her before I told the rest of the team – I think she, above everyone else, has a right to know, don't you?"
"I think so," Jean agrees. "I'm sure you can afford to pamper her silly if she decides to have a temper tantrum about it, after all."
I fold my arms and do my best to look pained. "Very funny, Jean, but I don't think it'll work that way at her age. I can hardly bribe her to like her new brother or sister with a packet of sweets or a new Barbie doll, now can I?"
Jean chuckles. "Oh, come on, Betsy – I'm sure you know other ways to turn a teenager around to your way of thinking. Take her out for a manicure, give her concert tickets, let her drive your car… the possibilities are endless." She spreads her hands expansively, and turns a full circle in mid-stride. "I envy you so much, Betsy. Scott and I have been trying for years to have what you have – you and Warren have a wonderful daughter and a new baby on the way. I envy that more than words can say." She laughs – a small muted expression of amusement that is almost swallowed up by the background choir of birds. "Promise me you'll let me take this kid out for sodas as well?"
"Just as long as you don't feed them endless amounts of chocolate and Coke, Jean; I don't want my child to be spoiled rotten before they hit five years old, all right?"
"All right, Betsy," Jean says brightly, "I promise. Girl Scout's honour." She holds her hand up beside her, as if she is swearing an oath of allegiance. "Maybe just once every fortnight," she adds, with a naughty gleam in her eye. Pursing my lips, I hit out at her upper arm with the back of my hand, no real force behind the blow.
"Tell me again why I agreed to let you and Scott go anywhere near Rebecca?" I murmur, a smile nevertheless spreading across my face. "I appreciate you being there for her, Jean. Sometimes she needs friends more than she needs her mother – at least you're not as likely to fly off the handle if she tells you she wants to get a tattoo."
Jean looks uncomfortable for a second and scratches the back of her neck, as if she is trying to find the right words to convey what she wants to tell me. "Um… about that, Betsy –"
"Oh, she hasn't, has she, Jean?" I say, my heart sinking.
"Gotcha," Jean says, licking her fingertip and painting a line in the air with it. "You are so easy, you know that?" She laughs – a breezy, cheerful sound that matches the tone of the birdsong in the air.
Sticking my tongue out at her, I shake my head at her silliness. "Yes, well, being a mother does that to you, Jean. When you and Scott have that baby you want so much, you'll understand what I mean."
Before Jean can reply, there comes a shout from a little way off, in the direction of Breakstone Lake. I look over to where it is coming from, and I can see Warren waving to us, clad in nothing but a pair of Speedos and a towel that he has draped around his neck. Water drips down through his hair and onto his broad, muscular shoulders, trickling down across his washboard stomach and wiry physique before he wipes it away with absent movements of his towel. He jumps into the air and swoops towards us, propelling himself with a couple of beats of his wings, and as he does so, a fine spray of moisture is thrown into the air. The tiny droplets of water catch the sunlight as it comes through the trees, sparkling briefly as they fall to the ground. Warren alights near the two of us, and kisses me good morning.
"Hi," he says affectionately, placing his left hand over my belly almost immediately. "How are you both today?" Then, realising that we aren't alone, he turns towards Jean and adds hastily "Sorry, Jean – forgot you were there. How you feeling today?"
"Oh, I'm fine," Jean says breezily. "Thank you for asking, Warren." Then she gestures towards the two of us, a big grin plastering itself over her normally serene features. "Before I forget, though… congratulations, sweetie." Her smile widens, displaying more of her pearl-white teeth, which glint brightly against her rose-coloured lips. "Betsy let me in on the good news." She leans forward and kisses Warren gently on the cheek, before she embraces him. "Well, I heard her talking to the baby, so she didn't really tell me, but…" She shakes her head and rubs her brows with her hands, as if she can feel a migraine crawling across her frontal lobes. "Oh, you know what I mean."
Warren smiles, and returns Jean's affectionate kiss on the cheek with one of his own. "I think so, Jean," he says, chuckling. "Thank you."
"Don't mention it," Jean replies, before she nods towards the lake. "I think you have another visitor," she says softly, and she points towards Rebecca, who is padding towards us clad in a solidly-red bikini, some chic sunglasses balanced on top of her hair, which hangs damply down around her face and neck, and some plastic sandals on her feet. "I'll let you three talk," Jean continues sagely. "I'll see you later, guys. Good luck." She gives me a reassuring smile, and then walks towards the small congregation of X-Men who are sunning themselves and swimming in the brilliant blue waters of the lake. As she passes Rebecca, she smiles briefly at her "niece", and then walks on a little further towards her husband, who is lying on a towel and letting the sun bronze his tautly-muscled physique, as if he cannot bear to let the sunlight go to waste (and with a body such as his, I don't blame him).
Rebecca reaches us then, and her expression immediately brightens. "Hi, Mum," she says cheerfully. "Are you going to come for a swim soon? The water's great – Sam said he'd take me water-skiing, if he could work out how to pilot that water skimmer over there." She turns and points with her thumb at the Shi'Ar-created water-skimmer that is floating on the surface of the lake, its anti-gravity units switched off for the moment, and then she smiles shyly for a moment or two. "Took him a couple of tries, but it worked in the end. The others even let me have a go at piloting it… eventually." Her pretty face splits into a wide grin, her scarlet eyes flashing with mischievous fervour. "I don't think Logan will ever forgive me." She laughs, the soft, tinkling notes sounding for a moment or so, before she recovers herself and towels off her dripping face. Tipping her head to one side suddenly, she frowns. "You want to talk to me about something," she says, her tone indicating that what she has just said is a statement, not a question. "Don't you?"
I take a deep breath. "Yes, Rebecca, I… we'd like to speak to you." When her face twists in disappointment, I hurriedly continue "Don't worry, sweetheart, it's not about you. It's… well… it's about me, my darling." I take a deep breath, and enfold her hands in my own, squeezing gently so that I can try and make her feel a little more at ease. "I'm… I'm pregnant, button," I say in a soft voice. "Hank says that I should give birth around November." Nodding at my daughter with a firm motion of my head, I continue "I'd like you to be there."
Warren steps forwards and lays his own hand on Rebecca's shoulder, smiling at her reassuringly. "We both would, honey."
In an instant or two, I can feel Rebecca's sense of shock splash against my mind – it's a good feeling, but Rebecca still has a keen feeling of being utterly stunned by what she's just heard. She looks down at the ground for a moment or two, her brows knitting together and her eyes closing as she tries to assimilate the knowledge that she has just been given. When she raises her head again, she opens her eyes and smiles as broadly as she can, despite her own private misgivings. "Well done, Mum – Dad," she says, putting her own surprise behind her, and letting her own pleasure at learning what's going to happen to us shine through (and she is pleased, at least to some degree – her expression alone tells me so). "Do you know if it's a boy or a girl yet?"
I shake my head. "No, it's too early to tell right now. When I start looking more like the side of a house, though, Hank might be able to tell you. Right now the baby is too tiny to see anything." I illustrate how small the foetus inside me is by placing the forefinger and thumb of my right hand close together, as an indication of how far across it is from head to toe. "I think he or she is about this big at the moment – too small for anyone to really tell what sex it is yet." I smile. "But don't worry, button; when we find out, you'll be the first to know."
Rebecca grins. "I'd better be," she says with a wink. "Don't you dare break that promise, okay?"
"We'll try not to," Warren says, before he draws Rebecca to him and hugs her gently. "Are you sure you're okay about this?" he asks uncertainly, using those uncanny powers of empathy (which I'm sure are a mutant talent he's told nobody else about) again.
"Yeah, Dad, I'm fine," Rebecca insists, offering him a small smile as proof. "Just a bit too much to take in all at once, that's all. Give me a couple of days to get used to the idea, and I should be fine." She laughs suddenly, her face lighting up. "I'm going to be somebody's big sister," she exclaims, in a slightly shell-shocked voice. "Oh, that kid is doomed."
That makes me laugh, and, as Rebecca draws away from her father, I say "I'm sure you'll be fine, Rebecca." I give her a hug of my own and whisper into her ear "I'm counting on you to be our best babysitter, after all."