Twenty-Four Little Hours

Part Three

   My brother Brian and his wife Meggan greet me warmly as I open the door of the mansion, Brian kissing me gently on the cheek and embracing me with gusto. "Hello, butterfly," he says in an affectionate tone. "How are you feeling?"

   "Apart from the morning sickness? Good, I suppose," I reply, enjoying the sensation of having my brother close by me again, "but I feel better now that I have you two here as well."

   Brian laughs – and then gestures at my hair suddenly, as if he has been struck by something extremely important. "Wait a second… you haven't dyed your hair again. Are you feeling ill, Betsy?"

   That amuses me – Brian never really liked my purple hair when I had it (either in my original body, or in Kwannon's), so you would think it would follow that he'd have been overjoyed to discover that I haven't been dyeing my hair at the moment. "No, I'm not feeling ill, Brian," I tell him, chuckling. "I just… fancied a change, that's all. After everything that's happened to me recently, I wanted to feel in control of myself again – and my hair was the easiest place to start, don't you think?"

   "I… suppose so," Brian concedes, picking up his cases in his strong, muscular hands before he smiles broadly at me, as if he has just won a game of conkers. "It's good to see you again, butterfly."

   "I second that," Meggan agrees, hugging me with the elegant grace that is so characteristic of her faerie race. "I can't believe I'm going to be an auntie!" She giggles girlishly. "I bet you can't believe I'm going to be an auntie, either."

   I shake my head, after the meaning of Meggan's statement has made itself clear. "No, Meggan, I can't – I thought that the only babies in this family were going to be yours and Brian's. After what's happened to me and Warren, I don't think anybody would condemn us for thinking that we weren't going to have any children, do you?" Touching my belly reflexively, I smile and then beckon the two of them inside the house. "Come on – I'm sure you don't want to stand out there all day, do you?" Leading them through the doors, I guide them through the lobby and down the hall towards the rec. room, where I can already hear a group of the others watching television and playing table football. I can hear Bobby and Emma's distinctive back-and-forth banter through the numerous sounds coming towards us down the corridor, and there is the distinctive sound of Logan's gruff voice coming from closer towards the doors of the room, but other than using my telepathy, I can't tell who else is also present. As we approach the doors, Brian steps around me and pulls one of them open so that Meggan and I can go inside before he does. "Why, thank you, Brian," I say, smiling at him in gratitude for his display of courtesy. "What brought that on? You never used to hold doors open for me."

   Brian grins. "You never used to be pregnant, Betsy," he says with a delicious touch of brotherly love. "I think all of us have to start adjusting, don't you?"

   "I suppose we do," I agree, and pass through the doors of the rec. room, into the small crowd of my fellow X-Men that are already inside. The TV is showing a baseball game, tiny figures that cause Logan to alternately hold his head in his hands, punch the air, or cry out with satisfaction. I sit down in the empty seat beside him and say "Hello, Logan. Enjoying yourself?"

   Logan nods enthusiastically, then grins and drapes his arm around my shoulder, almost crushing me to him in a bear-hug of affection. "Lizzy!" he exclaims cheerfully. "Didn't know you liked baseball."

   "I don't," I tell him with a wink, and then gesture to Brian and Meggan to sit down on the seats surrounding my own. "My guests and I needed to sit down, and these were the closest comfortable chairs." Logan raises his eyebrows and chuckles.

   "Shoulda known that was too much to hope for," he says wistfully, before he nods towards Brian and Meggan. "Good to see ya, Cap – Meggan," he states, in one of his customary gruff, perfunctory greetings. Then he looks back at me and takes my hand in his own rough, callused fingers. "Like I told ya before, Betts – couldn't be happier for ya, kid." He pauses, and then squeezes my hand encouragingly, his brown eyes filling with an almost paternal affection. "An' I'll tell ya another thing, Lizzy – couldn't think of a better person for this kid to call its mother, either. Pity you couldn't find a better dad than the flyboy, though." I glare at him indignantly, and he laughs in his wild, untamed way. "Ah, you know I'm only kiddin', punkin," he says, winking at me as he brushes my hand with his blunt fingertips. "I'm sure Wings'll make a great daddy. He'll have me to answer to if he doesn't, after all." He ruffles my hair and grins again before kissing me on the cheek, his thick muttonchop whiskers tickling my skin. "I'll let ya catch up with Cap and Meg here before I bore you any more." His face brightens for a second, and he gestures out towards the rear garden of the mansion. "How 'bout we play some Frisbee later? You know I'd ask you to play football, but in your condition…"

   I shake my head. "Oh, Logan, you don't have to wrap me up in cotton wool.  But Frisbee sounds a lot less strenuous, so… why not?"

   Logan's face lights up, and he claps me on the shoulder in a chummy sort of way. "Great!" he says cheerfully. "Don't tire yourself out talking, okay? I want a real challenge, like last time."

   "Oh, for goodness' sake, Logan, I'm not that pregnant yet. I can still beat you at anything you want to try me at, you know," I tell him, before he turns and leaves the rec. room, swigging from his half-full bottle of beer and singing a dirty limerick. Brian gestures after him with a cocked thumb and an expression of disbelief.

   "I still can't believe he's your best friend," he says, incredulous. That makes me smile, and let out a small laugh.

   "Yes, you wouldn't have guessed it from the way I've acted my entire life, would you, Brian?" I reply, holding my hands up in a display of mock-despair. "Besides which, he knows too many rude drinking songs for me to ignore him entirely."

   Meggan smiles. "Every time I visit, I get reminded of why Brian had such an interesting childhood," she says, grinning. "I can't imagine living with you for eighteen years."

   "Neither could you, could you, Brian?" I reply, nodding towards my brother, who has found a cushion to throw at me. It hits me on the arm and bounces onto the floor, where it sits forlornly until I pick it up and put it on my lap. Its golden frills run over the surface of my leather trousers and almost spill onto the fabric of the chair itself, the expensive fabric soft against my thighs and the slightly exposed skin of my navel.

   "No, I couldn't," Brian tells me, and then looks at Meggan with puppy-dog eyes. "I had to put up with this every day, Meg – Betsy always found a way to drive me insane. Mostly she just stole my physics textbooks, but sometimes she'd put marmalade in my shoes, or change my shampoo for hair dye." He rolls his eyes. "I can remember having to go to school with blue hair once. I never heard the end of it from my teachers, and I didn't get much peace from my friends, either. Most of them still call me 'Bluey', thanks to her." He shoots me an evil glare, and then winks at me (a demonstration of the two sides of our relationship, I think). "But despite all that, she's still my sister, and I love her very much."

   "How admirable," Meggan chuckles, before she kisses Brian on the cheek and digs at his ribs playfully. "Now I remember why I married you – you sweet, kind man, you."

   "Don't over-do it," I tell her, my hands on my hips. "You'll swell that head of his more than it already is. I bet he hasn't told you about the time that he put a frog down my blouse, has he?"

   A flash of amusement washes over Meggan's face, and her smile widens, as if she has just discovered some incredible, long-lived family secret. "No, he hasn't," she exclaims, raising her elegant eyebrows and pursing her lips jovially. "Care to explain, Brian?"

   Brian rolls his eyes. "That? Oh, that was only because she put that frog in my bed in the first place. I was just… giving it back to her." He laughs. "You should have heard her scream." After a second or so, he clears his throat and sits forward in his seat, his expression becoming a little more serious. "I'm… really happy for you, Betsy. I really hope this goes smoothly – I know how much this means to you. It means a lot to me, too; I never really thought about what it would be like to be called 'Uncle Brian'. I suppose we'll find out together, shan't we?"

   A grateful smile tugs at one corner of my mouth, and I nod in agreement, thankful that we have brought the conversation around to safer and more immediate matters. "I suppose we will, at that." I squeeze the cushion on my lap for a moment or two, glancing at the floor of the room as I do so. "My baby is very lucky to have you as an uncle, Brian," I say, softly. "You should be proud of what you've achieved." Glancing at Meggan, I automatically correct myself. "What you've both achieved."

   "Thank you, Betsy," Meggan replies, folding her hands in her lap and intertwining her fingers. "That's very kind of you. So," and she smiles broadly, "have you found out what you're having yet?"

   I shake my head. "No. It's still too early for that at this point." I rub my belly again, almost without thinking about it, and then blush a little self-consciously before I speak again. "Between you and me, Meggan, I'd quite like a little boy – although I can tell you right this moment that Warren will probably want to make him Warren Kenneth Worthington the Fourth, and I don't want that; not especially, anyway. I really don't want my boy to be called 'Junior' all the time – I have visions of the poor child being abused at school for having Roman numerals stuck onto the end of his name."

   "Really?" Meggan seems surprised at my decision, despite my explanation. "So what else would you want to call your son?"

   "Well," I begin, "I quite like the names David, Mark and Robert, actually. I also thought about Henry, too – naming my boy after Hank would be a nice way of saying 'thank you' to him, don't you think?"

   Meggan's expression softens, and she chuckles with delight, before she lays a long-fingered hand on my arm and squeezes it gently. "You're so sentimental under that tough exterior, Betsy," she says, smiling in amusement. "Don't worry, though – I won't tell anyone." Stifling her giggles, she continues "So what would you call the baby if it's a girl?"

   "Sarah," I say instantly. "Don't ask me why – I think I've always just had a soft spot for that name." Pausing, I mull over other options for a moment or two and then continue "Well, either that, or Sophie… although I quite like the sound of Fiona, as well."

   Just as I'm about to continue, Bobby appears from around the pool table, where he was playing pool with Joseph (who is a clear novice where games are concerned, if his poor performance was anything to go by). "Hiya, Betts," he says, and then slumps bonelessly down into the seat beside me. His Def Leppard t-shirt and black jeans crumple as he causes the seat's cushion to wheeze in protest at his descending weight, and Bobby then shifts slightly so that he is not slumping, his body finally coming level with mine. Slinging an arm along the back of the chair, he says "Congratulations on the good news, by the way. Hank told me about it the other day, and I didn't get the chance to tell you how cool I thought it was until now." Looking at Brian and Meggan, he continues "You guys must be thrilled, too; I bet you were head over heels when you heard the news, right?"

   "Yes, Bobby, we were," Meggan tells him, leaning forward to take his hand in a gesture of gratitude. "Brian and I were so pleased to hear that Betsy and Warren were going to be parents – it's been too long since the Braddocks have had any real good fortune, really. Most of what happens to my husband and his sister seems to involve fist-fights, power-changes and brooding."

   "Oh my," Bobby says, almost on cue. "Lions and tigers and bears, eat your heart out…" Meggan giggles and grins at that, recognising the reference immediately (which for a faerie is quite a feat, considering they often don't follow mortal culture as closely as perhaps they ought to).

   "Thank you for asking," she says, her elfish features lighting up – almost literally, in fact. "So does that make you a Munchkin, or should I start calling you Dorothy?"

   "Not a problem," Bobby replies, shrugging his shoulders slightly before he sits forward in his seat and gestures at me with one hand. "But I'd prefer being called a Munchkin, if it's all the same to you. I don't turn out well if I wear dresses." He swallows a small laugh before composing himself. "It's funny, you know? I always thought Scott and Jean would be the first to have kids – yeah, yeah, I know Scott's already had a son, but not with Jean. And all those alternate-future kids don't count either." He pauses to mutter something about the Summers family tree confusing even God, and then raises his voice again. "What I was trying to say was that I never thought you and Warren would have kids – not now, anyway." He laughs slightly awkwardly, and one side of his mouth jerks up in a hesitant smile. "Then again, like I said, I didn't see anybody but Scott and Jean raising kids here. Sure as heck wouldn't be Emma and me filling the place with rugrats... not now, anyway."

   "And that's exactly how it should be," says a silky, sensuous voice from behind Meggan and Brian. Emma Frost, its owner, pads silently around the sofa and hops into Bobby's lap lightly before kissing him with gusto, her white-gloved hands draping themselves lasciviously about his neck. "I'm not really the motherly type, after all." As she speaks, she runs a forefinger up and down the edge of Bobby's left ear as if she is petting a dog. "Am I, Bobby dearest?"

   "No, Emma," Bobby says, rolling his eyes as if this is the hundredth time he's had to say this today. "I can pretty honestly say that you are definitely not the motherly type." Emma laughs softly, and tickles him under his chin with two fingertips

   "Good boy. I think I've got him well-trained, don't you?" she says as she turns her head to look at Brian, Meggan and myself, raising her shoulders and wrinkling her nose briefly as she smiles – which gives her face an impish aspect. She turns her face back towards Bobby and brushes her mouth across his, tracing her tongue around his lips gently – so gently that it surprises even Bobby. "My little icicle, aren't you, darling?" Without even pausing to notice the considerable effect she has had on Bobby (his pulse has fairly obviously jumped about twenty beats, and I can feel the sudden, thudding rush of testosterone in his veins playing havoc with his thoughts), Emma gives me a rakish smile and gestures towards my belly with one hand. "Anyway, Elisabeth," she says matter-of-factly, "I'd just like to offer you my sincerest congratulations on your new baby. Better you than me, after all…"

   That makes me smile, somehow. It seems entirely appropriate that Emma would be so inclined. "Thank you, Emma," I tell her genuinely, recognising the sentiment behind her words (however grudging or warped). "You're too kind."

   "Only when it suits me, Elisabeth," Emma chuckles, wagging her finger at me. "Don't think that this means I'll be beating down the door to be your child's nanny."

   Brian raises his eyebrows, and blinks, saying "Emma, I think that's the last thing any of us expect you to do." There is a moment's silence before he adds "Julie Andrews you aren't..."

   "And thank God for that, Brian dearest," Emma sighs – almost in relief, or so it seems. "Dealing with screaming brats all day would drive me to drink faster than sleeping with Drake." She silences Bobby's burgeoning protest with a rough, animalistic kiss, completely ignoring the fact that there are other people in the room besides Bobby and herself (which strikes me as more her style, actually). "Doesn't mean I wouldn't do it if pushed, though," she purrs, once she has apparently sucked the life out of Bobby.

   "The nursing, or the sleeping?" Bobby asks with numbed lips, after he has caught his breath. She shrugs and squeezes Bobby's hip, her eyes filling with a naughty gleam.

   "Oh, I'm not entirely sure," she says, almost glowing with pleasure at the effect she has just had on her boyfriend (although I doubt she would ever call him that. "Pleasant distraction", perhaps, but "boyfriend," I'm not so sure about). "Perhaps we could try both? I'd be happy to play doctor with you, after all…"

   Brian's face reflects the disbelief I can feel brewing behind his eyes, and he inclines his head towards me, so that he can form a sentence at the forefront of his mind. Is she always like this? he asks, gesturing covertly at Emma's slender body with a cocked finger.

   Unfortunately yes, Brian, I reply. Emma has a habit of attracting all the attention in a room without even trying, I'm afraid.

   "What can I say?" Emma remarks – not even bothering to take her eyes away from Bobby, even though she has quite obviously been eavesdropping on our little telepathic conference. Laughter bubbles from her throat, her elegant features breaking into a wide grin. "It's a hobby."

   "I suppose it is," Brian says thoughtfully, before Meggan interrupts his train of thought.

   "Betsy," she exclaims, thankfully distracting everybody from Emma's virtual peep show, "if you ever need a real nanny…"

   "You'll have to take a number, I'm afraid," I tell her with a smile. "Most of the people here in the mansion are fighting tooth and nail to get first dibs on my child when he or she is born – Jean wants to take him or her out for walks in the park, and Ororo's been planning activity days for the baby since she first found out I was pregnant, after all." I pause, patting my stomach lightly with one hand. "Rogue and Jenny have been begging me to let them take him or her kite-flying, too. And it's not just the girls, either – Remy wants to teach it how to cook, Hank wants to help it learn to hang from the ceiling by its toes, Scott wants to show it how to read, and the Professor wants to help it learn to paint."

   Meggan gives me a sceptical look. "The Professor wants to help it learn to paint?"

   "I know," I say, raising my eyebrows. "I couldn't believe it at first, either, but Charles seems quite willing to get his hands dirty." Holding my hand up to one side of my mouth, as speaking with the utmost secrecy, I continue "Personally, I think he likes the idea of having a child around so he can feel like the schoolteacher he used to be. I really think he misses being able to hand out demerits and class credits – once a headmaster, always a headmaster, after all. And it's not just him who's getting a dose of the soft touches, you know – Logan actually offered to carve me a rattle yesterday."

   Brian gawps stupidly. "Oh, now I've heard everything. Logan said that?"

   "He did. I actually checked to see if he was being mind-controlled, but apparently not." I shrug, indicating that I was utterly mystified by the whole situation. "Apparently having a new baby around does more strange things to people's minds than any evil telepath. I told Logan I'd think about it, but I can't really see him taking no for an answer…"

   "I don't suppose he would," Meggan admits, evidently still a little thrown. "Whatever happens, Betsy, I think the next few months are going to be very… interesting, to say the least."

   "Absolutely," I agree. "I think I'll need you two to help me stay sane…"