Twenty-Four Little Hours

Part Eight

   My due date passed a day or so ago. I feel like I'm about to burst. The weight of my baby is preventing me from moving anywhere without getting out of breath, and I'm beginning to consider just begging Beast to perform a Caesarean section on me, scars be damned. My ankles are sore, my back aches, there is a horrible bloated quality to my body at the moment, and I wish I could just be free of it all. I have been experiencing occasional, but painful Braxton-Hicks contractions – in other words, "practice runs" for birth – and they do not fill with me with anything but a deep sense of disappointment when they turn out to be little more than that. However… as I have told myself again and again, it's pointless to complain about something that can't be changed. If Hank eventually feels he has to induce labour, then that's what he'll do. I don't think he's happy seeing me so uncomfortable (even if it does give him the opportunity to practice his bedside manner), so I'd bet that he'll be looking into that possibility before long.

   At the moment, though, I'm taking the opportunity to rest my back, sitting in the crowded rec. room with a (half-full) cup of Earl Grey from the pot of tea that Brian and Meggan managed to brew up for me. They're sitting across from me, cups in hand, giving me earnest, concerned looks (which I swear I am growing incredibly tired of). Meggan's bright green eyes are alive with fascination, too, since she's likely never been too bothered with human mating before, and she is regarding me with an almost insatiable curiosity – like a child who has been given a new toy, in fact.

   "How are you feeling, Betsy?" she asks, brightly, leaning forward and placing her bone-china cup on the small table in front of her, as Rogue and Jenny begin a fresh round of pool on the table behind her, and Hank begins to juggle peanuts with his toes in order to impress Ororo.

   "Like a beached whale," I say, a sour tone running through my words. "I can't sleep. I can't eat. I can't even drink my tea without needing to visit the toilet every five minutes. I just want this whole thing to be over." Rubbing at the corners of my eyes, I exhale loudly, feeling a small twinge of pressure at the base of my pelvis. "I'm sorry, Meggan. I didn't mean to go off at you like that… I'm just so very tired of feeling like I have an anvil strapped to my stomach."

   Brian nods as sympathetically as he can, and puts his teacup down onto the table in front of him before he leans forward and touches my knee with his hand, giving me a reassuring smile at the same time. "You'll be fine," he says, trying to sound as confident as possible. "I'm sure of it. If I've learned anything from being your brother, it's that you can take anything that life throws at you. You're a survivor, Betsy, and you're going to get through this whatever happens." He winks. "Take it from one Captain Britain from another."

   At the mention of my short tenure as Captain Britain, my free hand involuntarily rises to brush the skin around my eyes. Daggers of remembered pain sketch out the feeling of Slaymaster's fingers carving into my face and bursting my eyeballs like soap bubbles, hot splashes of remembered blood wetting my cheeks. Brian immediately senses what I'm feeling and says, quickly, "I'm sorry, Betsy. I didn't mean to –"

   I wave him silent, blinking the unwelcome memories away. "No, Brian, I know what you meant, and I'm grateful for the compliment. Like you said: I'm a survivor. I got through that, and I'll get through this." I shrug. "I'm still breathing, so it's not like I have much of a choice, is it?"

   Brian grins, relief washing over his face. "There you go. That's the Betsy I remember."

   "And you're still the Brian I remember," I shoot back, chuckling lightly. "Totally tactless… but very sweet."

   "Thanks. I think," Brian says, as he scratches his head and smoothes out a wayward tuft of his blond hair. Then he sips a little more of his tea and puts his arm around Meggan lightly, so that Meggan shifts closer to him and drapes her left arm across his stomach. "So… you've thought about what you're going to do for the birth, I'm guessing?"

   "I want to stay here, and be with my family," I say, firmly and with almost no hesitation. "Hank's programmed a birthing pool simulation into the Danger Room, and I think he's also calling in a few favours to get hold of a cot so that Tom can sleep in the infirmary for the first few days. I want him to have the best of care, and I want him to be completely safe. If he were in a hospital filled with humans, there's a chance he might not get one or the other."

   "Don't you think that's a little… paranoid, Betsy?" Meggan asks, her curiosity getting the better of her again. "I thought you X-Men were supposed to trust humans?"

   "If you were pregnant, and you knew there were racists out there who were willing to burn your kind to death and hang your children from windows, would you take that chance, Meggan?" I reply, an acidic tone in my words. Meggan opens her mouth for a moment, and then shuts it again, shaking her head resignedly.

   "No," she murmurs. "No, I wouldn't."

   "Neither would I, and that's why I want my son to stay here." Pausing, I try and raise as strong a smile as I can, without much success. The pain and exhaustion of my third trimester are taking their toll, much to my frustration. "Look, Meggan, I know there are plenty of good, decent humans out there, but as long as there are Friends of Humanity people everywhere you look, and new Sentinels being built every other week, I don't want to make life any more difficult for my boy than it already will be. Being in a public place like a hospital only makes him that much more of a target, especially if he's an obvious mutant, and I don't want that."

   Just as Meggan is about answer, Emma Frost sashays over to our sofa from her prior position on the other side of the room, a glass of chardonnay in her gloved hand. She's wearing a white business suit over a revealing white leather bodice with her neat platinum-blonde bob perfectly-arranged as usual. She seats herself elegantly, and then nods towards the three of us, smiling a predatory smile at Brian and a perfunctory greeting to Meggan and myself. "I'm not disturbing you, am I?" she asks in her silky cat's purr of a voice, winking at Brian. "I can leave if you'd like me to."

   "No, Emma, you're not disturbing us," I say, before realising that Bobby isn't with her – which in itself is unusual, because Bobby and Emma are usually inseparable (more to the point, Emma usually has Bobby on an invisible leash). "Managed to separate yourself from Bobby, have you?"

   Emma raises a carefully-sculpted eyebrow, in equally carefully-understated contempt. "I'm shocked, Elisabeth. Did you use your telepathy to discover that, or are you just naturally observant?" She sips from her glass genteelly before continuing "No. Bobby is… elsewhere… at the moment. He said he was going to have a few drinks in Salem Centre with Kurt and Scott, and he wanted it to be a – quote-unquote – 'boys' night out'. No girls allowed. And since I'm a girl, I had to stay here." She sighs, as if she is actually disappointed. Knowing Emma, however, that's probably as far from the truth as it's possible to get. "Never mind… I'm sure he can behave himself without having me there to spank him."

   "Somehow I don't see that happening," Brian remarks, trying his hardest to hold Meggan's hand as tightly as he can. "Drake's not the type to behave himself when he doesn't have to, after all."

   Emma raises her eyebrows, and a salacious light flickers briefly in her eyes. "Brian, darling, I'm positively counting on it," she chuckles. "Naughty boys have to be punished, after all. Wouldn't you agree, Elisabeth?" For a moment, she looks as if she wishes she had a riding crop to crack against her thigh, her right hand flexing involuntarily around an invisible handle as if to reinforce the point.

   "I couldn't possibly comment," I begin, shifting in my seat to try and make myself a little bit more comfortable, and to ease out the initial tingling sensation of pins and needles in my buttocks. "What you and Bobby do in your own time is your business. I really have no desire to hear about it, thank you."

   "You British," Emma says, throwing her hands up in despair. "You're far too reserved. Try joining the twenty-first century sexual revolution sometime. You never know – you might like it."

   Regarding Emma with what I hope is a deadpan expression, I say, as flatly as I can, "Emma, if your type of sex is what I have to start liking, I'll pass, thank you very much. And besides, I'm nine months pregnant; sexual experimentation isn't exactly at the top of my 'to do' list. All I want to do is get this baby out of me and sleep for a month afterwards. Is that so bad?"

   For a moment, Emma remains silent, and then she folds her hands around her knee and smiles in a feline, inscrutable fashion, flicking a stray strand of hair out of her eyes with a single controlled movement of her neck. "Not at all, Elisabeth, not at all," she chuckles, apparently unfazed by my minor outburst. "We can't all be fans of whips and chains, after all. Fun though they may be…" She flutters her eyelashes at Brian shamelessly, licking her lips as she revels in Meggan's growing irritation and Brian's embarrassed attempts to focus his attention elsewhere.

   "So, Betsy," Meggan says through gritted teeth, "I wanted to ask you something… do you think you'd have any more children after this?"

   "Honestly? I don't think so, not unless they're accidental," I say, rubbing my swollen belly with both hands. "After nine months of this, I don't think I could plan going through it all again. No, Rebecca and Tom are enough for me. Why do you ask?"

   Meggan shrugs, still giving Emma an icy glare from time to time, just to put her in her place. "Brian and I discussed having more than one child last night, that's all."

   "Yes, we thought about putting a definite limit on the number we'd have," Brian adds, finally managing to break the nervous silence Emma has forced upon him. "I thought that two was probably enough. After what you've had to go through, I thought going for more than that was pushing things a little too far."

   "Yes, well, I'm not exactly a model case, Brian, am I?" I retort, slapping him on the shoulder in a chummy kind of way. "Rebecca didn't arrive the usual way, did she? Better to use somebody else's example, I think. Somebody like Reed and Sue Richards, perhaps – at least they managed to have a child the normal way, the first time round."

   "See, you say that, Betsy, but look what they turned out – a little boy who creates universes before morning playgroup," Brian fires back. "I think, given the choice, I'll stick with my sister… if that's okay with you, that is."

   "All right, Brian," I say, holding my hands up in defeat. "You win – again. But on your own head be it."

   Brian snaps his fingers and cracks the biggest smile I've seen from him in a long time. "Excellent," he exclaims energetically. "You'll have to give me nappy-changing lessons some time."

   "That's the first time I've heard somebody actually wanting to learn how to change a nappy," I laugh. "Most people only want to take the baby for walks or teach it how to fly a kite. Are you sure you wouldn't rather learn how to do that?"

   "Well, if I'm going to be a daddy, I guess I'll have to see the warts-and-all side of things," Brian shrugs. "I can't exactly hire a nanny to do all of that for me, can I?"

   "I don't think that'd work either, Captain Limey," Rogue says, as she turns away from her game of pool, having beaten Jenny soundly yet again. "Momma always told me that you ain't really a momma until you've thrown away your first dirty diaper. 'Course, I reckon she was just sayin' that, but I guess the idea's sound." She puts her cue down on the green baize surface of the pool table, and then beckons Jenny around to the other sofa that sits opposite Brian, Meggan and I. She hops agilely over the tangle of feet that obstructs her path, and then slumps backwards into the sofa's soft embrace, with Jenny settling comfortably in beside her. Rogue waits until Jenny is totally still, and then curls a hand around her girlfriend's palm. Small trickles of electrical energy spark between them, flowing across their skin like water. Rogue's thoughts indicate that she likes the feel of the tiny crackles of current – as if she feels they give her some kind of foundation, almost.

   It's still a little odd to see Rogue act this way with a woman (especially considering her lengthy past with Gambit), but as time goes by, it's becoming more and more natural, and the two of them seem happy enough. They even bought a little romper suit for my son as a joint present – which I thought was a wonderful gesture by the two of them – and they've both been dying to be able to mother Tom in every way they can; Jenny even asked me if she and Rogue could take Tom out for walks and playtime one afternoon a week, in fact. I said I'd think about it, and let her know after the birth, but I actually really appreciated the fact that they want to help Warren and me. It makes me feel as if the family atmosphere that this house sometimes lacks is returning, and that's a very nice feeling indeed.

   "My mother told me once that being a good parent was like walking a tightrope," Jenny says thoughtfully. "She said one wrong step could mean a disaster, but once you've done it, you can really feel like you've achieved something." She laughs, and tucks her shoulder-length brown hair behind her ears with her fingers. "I think she put me off having children for years after that. And I stayed away from boys, too, just to make absolutely sure I didn't get pregnant."

   "Well, that's probably a good thing, sugar," Rogue replies, grinning. "Otherwise you might have been gettin' drunk out of your mind and goin' to frat parties just to get laid. Sounds like real torture, huh?"

   Jenny's face twists into a mock-grimace, as if she's disappointed. "Yeah, Lou, I know. There goes another missed opportunity, huh?" she says. Then she kisses Rogue briefly, the same blue sparks I saw earlier passing through the two women's lips for a split second or so. "Never mind. It could be worse, I guess."

   "I guess it could. You could be with the Ice Queen instead of me," Rogue snickers, causing Emma's impassive, cat-like mask of superiority to slip for the first time since she joined us. It's quite amusing to see Emma put on the back foot for once, since she delights so much in doing it to other people. It doesn't last for long, though, as within a few moments Emma's trademark ironclad composure slams back into place like a radiation shield, totally enclosing her from any potential harm.

   "Well, if she were, I think she'd appreciate it," she says coolly. "Don't think I haven't been with at least one woman in my time, Louise." She uses Rogue's real name as a schoolteacher might when admonishing an errant pupil, and it achieves its desired affect – Rogue almost squirms in her seat. "I had them lining up to be with me at the Hellfire Club, whether they were lesbian or not." Pursing her lips into a sultry pout, she gazes at Rogue through half-lidded eyes, as if she is sizing up prey. "Perhaps I should give her a few pointers sometime? You'd thank me…"

   Jenny meets Emma's almost hypnotic gaze in a totally unflustered fashion - although her hand visibly tightens around Rogue's, as if to reassure her. "It's... nice of you to offer, Emma, but no thank you. Lou and I don't need any help."

   Emma shrugs, visibly unflustered. "If you say so. It's your loss, darling." With that, she gets to her feet and leaves the rest of our little group without another word, leaving her empty wine glass on the coffee table as a silent reminder of her presence.

   Meggan makes no attempt to hide her relief that Emma is gone, and her body language immediately changes from that of somebody who is intensely irritated to somebody who is just beginning to relax a little. She leans back in her chair and smiles at me almost apologetically. "Sorry, Betsy," she says. "I really don't like her very much."

   "That's all right, Meggan. Not very many people do," I reply, returning her smile and winking at her. "I think she likes it that way." Meggan is just about to reply when I feel a familiar twinge in my abdomen, the muscles of my womb starting to exercise themselves and a warm trickle of fluid spilling down my leg. It strikes me silent for a second until Meggan grips me on the arm and asks me if I'm all right. "My waters have broken," I say, dumbfounded. "Get Hank. Find Warren…"