Mystic: What gives you any idea that I've binge-watched Call the Midwife? I have no idea what you're talking about. *sips tea* Updates won't be that frequent, unfortunately, as my summer semester is going to kick my ass. I'll be around, but Microbiology and Psychology have me tied and whipped right now.

First Trimester

Luis M.D. looked pointedly at his old fraternity brother; pointedly like a dull pencil a frat boy would use to randomly draw boobs on his chemistry textbooks. The fact that both physician and commissioner held a 4.0 average in grad school despite drunken fornication was a question for future historians. But the pointed glare came with a smirk and a congratulatory smack on the back. It may be appropriate to rub a woman's growing stomach (actually, no, it's not), but no one thought it a good idea to rub a man's testicles and say, "well done!"

(Honestly, hands off the stomach unless she gives consent. Ask first, it's good manners.)

So after the more appropriate smack on the back, Luis turned to the couple in his office. "So, what questions do you have?"

"Do I really have to give up my lattes?" Yuffie blurted out. "I need it so I don't commit felonies!"

Luis smiled. "One small serving is okay, but I wouldn't go beyond that."

"Really? I can have my latte in the morning?"

"Yes, that's fine."

"YAAAAAAY!"

Despite that Yuffie Kisaragi, White (coughyeahrightcough) Rose of Wutai, Ninja Spy of Awesome-ness, was now in her twenties, she did not always act like a young adult attempting to figure out life and what it meant to be a young adult. She took everything at face value, sometimes literally took it, and appreciated all the shiny things in life. If circumstances required a polishing, that was okay. It made life extra shiny in the end.

"There's a prenatal clinic hosted by the obstetric nurses at Edge Good Samaritan," Luis continued. "I can place you on their roster for care."

Yuffie looked at Reeve, then nodded. "Okay."

Reeve looked at the myriad of pamphlets Luis had placed before them. They had such interesting titles like, "Breast and/Bottle: You Decide!" or "Protein and Sugar in Your Urine. What You Need to Know." He wished his mother was still alive so he could call her, ask questions, and apologize for what he did to her body. "What time is the clinic?"

"Tuesdays from nine to four-thirty. If for whatever reason Yuffie can't make it, call them at this number and they'll send a district nurse to examine her." Luis pushed yet another piece of paper in front of them.

Yuffie giggled. "You mean I might see your baby mama? Awesome!"

"That's only if you can't make it to clinic, but yes."

"Oh, can I still get laid? Reeve is awesome, and I don't want to let that go."

Reeve looked up from the Breast/Bottle pamphlet, eyes furled. "Darling, there are other more important matters at hand." To piss her off, he called her 'darling'. It reinforced the stereotype of older gentleman having a clandestine affair with a young foreign woman. Like all other times, she smacked him on the arm.

"Nothing is more important than getting laid!"

"Your father wants a conference, and I'd rather keep life and limb."

"Over my bomb-ass pussy? The hell?"

Luis leaned back, tapped his pencil on his desk. He pondered if Harmony's idea to one day write a book of all his patient interactions might prove a financial success and good idea. He'd have to change details around to protect patient confidentiality, but a working title was already floating in his head. 'Patients Say the Darndest Thing' or 'Remarks from the Other Side of the Bedrail' or 'Life, Limb, and Bomb-Ass Pussy: Lessons from a Family Physician'. All of them held remarkable potential.

"So, can I still bang or not?"

Luis nodded. "You'll be fine, but I'd avoid the BDSM until after the birth."

She pouted, but accepted her vanilla fate. "Fine, okay."

The commissioner breathed. Despite keeping an air of professional maturity, Luis couldn't help but notice his friend looked like a deer caught in the headlights of a mack truck that lost its brakes. It'd make another good story for his potential tell-all.

Denzel hopped in the front seat of his not stepdad's car. Reno was just the cool guy dating the woman who fed him, clothed him, and raised him as her own. Yes, Reno picked him up from school, helped him with English homework (not maths), and even gave him THE TALK, but Reno was not a step-father. "Hi, Reno."

"Hey, did you have a good day?"

"That's not how school works." His remark came with a smirk.

"Not even English?"

Though the WRO made massive improvements to the education system, Tifa hesitated to place Denzel in the government-run public school. As a young orphan, Denzel lived with Reeve's mother, a vibrant hippie who believed children should learn through life experiences that didn't involve a desk. She taught him his ABCs and 123s herself through playtime and good storytelling. She instructed the boy in basic arithmetic and recitation. Consequently Denzel read and learned at a remarkable rate. To continue the self-learning and child-led education, Tifa forked over the extra gil and enrolled him in a private, Charlotte Mason School.

So. Much. Gil.

"We're studying medicine in History class," the lad said with a shrug. "We're reading 'Notify the Nurse' by Flora Cardinal and creating a Book of Centuries comparing physicians, nurses, and midwives through historical eras."

Reno snorted, pulling out of the parking lot and onto the main highway. "So ... the history of medicine, basically."

"Yep."

"Oh, kid. You just made the next conversation so much easier."

"Yuffie Kisaragi!"

A flurry of people - pregnant women, men who had no idea what to do, and nurses in royal blue scrubs - busied themselves in the administration building of the local hospital. Folding screens created makeshift patient rooms for private examinations, and every nurse held an electronic tablet. A physician in a lab coat oversaw the organized chaos, handing out prescriptions and advising the expectant mothers. An autoclave hummed in the back, amid the chit-chatter of adults and cries of newborns.

The ninja took a deep breath and walked over to the smiling nurse. "Yeah, I'm here."

"Right this way, ma'am," she directed. "Second stall."

It started fairly routine. Yuffie already urinated in a plastic cup upon arrival; the nurse checked her height and weight, then listened to her heart-rate and checked her blood pressure. "Hm," the nurse miffed.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Your BP is up a little. Is it normally elevated?"

Yuffie shrugged. "I dunno. I mean, I work as a spy so ..."

"It could be nothing to worry about. We expect the blood pressure to rise a little because of all the extra fluid in your body, but it's something we don't want to get out of hand. Did you give a urine sample?" The nurse looked at her electronic chart. "Oh, good; you did. No protein solids. Let's see your ankles."

"Uh..." Yuffie stretched out on the slab, feeling as if she got the wrong end of a masseuse's happy ending. "I feel fine, if that helps."

The nurse miffed again. "Be sure to come back next week. We may need to watch you more closely."

Outside her private stall, another nurse called out, "Tifa Lockheart!"

"Oh, shit! No way!"

"Ms. Kisaragi!"

Not even a nurse in uniform could restrain an excited shinobi. Yuffie bolted from her awkward ankle massage and cornered a bartender with known fists of fury. "Hahahaha! You let Reno knock you up?"

In the corner, along with all of the other men, Reeve sighed, facepalmed. Reno sat beside him, smirked; the two already shook hands in companionship and planned an evening where they would share whiskey and cigars. And then, in the grand ritual of all expectant fathers, they would complain about their women and woes. The men would ponder why a woman would crave raspberries in the dead of winter, or pair sour pickles with sweet chocolate ice cream. Reno already was in trouble because of something he did in Tifa's dream while she napped.

"I knew full well what I was getting into by courting Reno," Tifa answered.

In his corner, Reno snorted.

"Ms. Kisaragi ..." the nurse called.

"Betcha my baby's cuter."

Tifa said, "And I bet I make more milk than you."

"BUUUURRRRRN!" Shouted Reno from his corner.

Reeve remembered he kept a flask in his coat pocket.

Far from the usual fare of pickles and ice cream, Tifa loved the idea of leftover fried beer batter. Mountain-folk called them 'hush-puppies', a glorious round ball of flour, beer, and specific seasonings kept secret by the family matriarch. It was high in calories and high in flavor. A few made a snack, and several made a light meal. The fish she could do without, but a glob of poke salat next to the hush-puppies? Her stomach growled and her lips smiled just thinking about it. "Reno, you know that fish market next to the funeral home?"

Edge's civil design was ... unique. "Oh, yeah! The fishmonger used to run the crematory."

"I think he still does part-time."

The couple's drive home - so far - had been without motion sickness. Reno felt immense relief. "You want to pick up something for supper?"

"Hush-puppies," she said. "I want to fry them so hard and cover them in ketchup."

"You're such a dirty girl. I like how you think."

Reno was the type of man who giggled when an attractive woman ate a hot dog or a banana, but he stopped giggling and begged for attention when that same woman successfully tied a knot in a cherry stem. (Tifa easily knew how to make him stop giggling.) "And poke salat. With hot sauce. And a hard-boiled egg," she added.

"Oh, baby; you are awakening the sexy hillbilly in me." He attempted a mountain-grown accent. He failed.

Tifa, though, Nibelheim born and bred, reverted back to a gentle twang with little effort. "Well, honey, if you would go pick me a mess of greens and some eaters, I'll fry you a batch. You better read your plate first."

"...wha?"

"Say grace."

"Ohhhhhh."

She teased again. "If y'all be kind to me, I'll bake ya some heavy bread."

"Huh? Speak English."

"Why, I am sugar lump."

"Okay. No."

"City slicker." One day, she vowed, she would find some persimmons and force it down his throat. The green fruit might look ripe and ready to eat, but woe to the individual who popped them in their mouth. The tartness of persimmons gave a street prostitute a run for her back-breaking gil. "Keep that up and I won't make you my dippy anymore."

She could almost see the question mark over his head. "That sounds sexy?"

"It's gravy."

"Gravy can be sexy."

White gravy maybe, with chunks of sausage in it, and the whole glop dropped over fluffy biscuits. Her stomach growled in anticipation. This pregnancy was going to be awesome for her taste buds, but her waistline might hate her later for it. Still, that's what breastfeeding was for. Her unborn would grow up with a healthy appreciation for dark greens cooked in pork fat, fried seafood, and tangy barbecue falling off the bone. Where Tifa came from, macaroni and cheese was considered a vegetable.

"Are we there yet? I am really hungry."

Reno chuckled and rubbed her abdomen. It begins.

Author's Note: Who likes bluegrass? Show of hands! I've never delved into Tifa's background before. Luckily she grew up in a mountain town, and of that, I have experience. *cough* Let's pretend it's Appalachia.