Choosing a doctor proved to be difficult. It only takes overhearing a drunken Hutt discuss the politics of the body and organ trade once to learn not to trust just anybody with your wellbeing. As much as he hated to admit it, the best choice happened to be the Disciple. Even if the kid had no clue what to do with him, Atton was pretty sure he could take on blondie in a brawl, parasitical abomination against nature fetus inside him or not.
After the initial embarrassment and skepticism passed, the Disciple gave Atton a full physical. And after that was finished, the only thing that idiot could think to murmur was, "Fantastic!"
"See, there are several words I'd use to describe this situation," Atton drawled. "Fantastic doesn't happen to be one of those words."
"I have never seen anything like this before in my studies, Atton." The Disciple looked up with his blue eyes wide. That hint of child-like awe on his face was unsettling. "That the child appears to be viable is nothing short of a miracle."
"Or karmic payback," Atton snorted. He covered his face with his hands. "I can't do this. You have to help me."
"Have you ever heard of the term ectopic pregnancy?" the Disciple asked.
"I don't have the babies," Atton snapped. "I make them."
"Obviously, this has turned out to not be the case," the Disciple replied.
Atton felt a vein begin to throb in his temple. He wouldn't kill the Disciple. Not yet. Use the man for all he was worth, then kill him. Patience. So long as the end result was blondie face down in a puddle of his own blood, all would be well.
"An ectopic pregnancy is one where the fetus implants outside of the womb," Disciple explained. "Usually, the fetus dies and we operate on the mother so she doesn't hemorrhage to death."
"Are you saying we're going to kill this kid?" Atton asked. "Because I'm all for that."
"Not exactly." The Disciple gave him a lukewarm smile. "You're a very unique case, Atton."
Atton slammed his fist onto the examination table. "I have a penis and I have a baby in me, I get that. I'm trying to rectify the situation, you asshole…" He blinked. "…holy crap. I don't believe this. I'm like some kind of science experiment for you, aren't I? You want to drag me to some lab and dissect me, don't you?"
"No! That's not… well, yes, I suppose I would, but that's beside the point."
Atton scrambled up the examination table until his back hit the wall. "You come near me, I swear I will kill you!"
Disciple frowned. "You're not letting me explain, Atton."
"Start talking," Atton snapped.
"Generally, with an ectopic pregnancy, the fetus implants in one of the fallopian tubes." The Disciple cleared his throat. "But you, being male, do not have fallopian tubes—"
"Oh gee, really?"
"Please, let me finish."
Atton threw his hands up and tried not to roll his eyes.
"Without a womb to provide nourishment, this child has latched onto a number of your internal organs," Disciple said as he began to dry wash his hands. "I'm going to advise bed rest for you so that the child doesn't become dislodged and create uncontrollable bleeding."
Atton was pretty sure he was developing a twitch. "How about we kill it?" he exploded. "Kill it with fire, kill it with knives, kill it with your mom, just kill it, kill it, get it out of me."
Disciple looked down at his knees, his smile failing to be anything but uncomfortable. "It's the bleeding that I'm worried about. If we operate right now, there are too many places where bleeding could go unchecked and even though you admittedly only need one of your kidneys, you do need your liver in order to live."
"So if I move too much, I could bleed to death. But if I remove the problem that might make me bleed to death. So no matter what, I could bleed to death?" Atton slumped down on the table. "That's just great."
"I'm hoping that when the child's ready to be born, it will release your organs in a more gentle fashion than the options currently available," the Disciple added.
"When you hope for things, I want to stab you in the head with a spoon," Atton grumbled. "You expect me to just give birth to this thing out of my crotch?"
Disciple's eyebrows raised. "Of course not! You lack a birth canal. We'll have to perform a C-section. All other possibilities sound rather… unpleasant."
Atton crossed his legs.
"At any rate, the medical community needs to hear about this." The Disciple was getting a feverish look to his eyes as he rambled on.
"Wait just a damn minute!" Atton waved his hands. "No! And when I say no, I mean no. In case you're not listening, let me repeat it one more time: No."
The Disciple blinked. "This is bigger than you, Atton," he said. "And I'm hardly an expert in healthy fetal development—"
"No!" Atton jumped off of the table and groped for his clothing. "I don't need people poking and prodding at me, thanks. I'll be sleeping with a blaster."
"At least take a multivitamin."
"Shut up." Atton punched the door's console behind him and stormed off.
The speeder ride back to the apartment was fairly uneventful. If uneventful could be described as kicking the door open during a stop light and leaning over the open stories of air on the speedways to puke up the recommended multivitamin. Someone needed to pay for this. Someone needed to die.
As soon as he got to the apartment, Atton tossed his jacket on the back of the door and flopped down on the couch. "Blondie says it's all your fault," he called out. A complete and total lie, but at that point in time, Atton felt he was entitled. "You just loved me too much to be sterile."
The Exile stumbled out of the kitchen in his boxer shorts, arm draped around a clueless looking pink Twi'lek. He stared at Atton's belly as he wobbled side to side, "Well son of a schutta. I knew I was virile, but damn."
"Tell me about it," Atton sighed melodramatically. "He's says I'm stuck with it for the time being, too. I think he's decided I'm his personal living breathing test tube."
The Exile took a drag from his cigarra. "Better you than me."
Atton shot a mournful expression at the Twi'lek. "I hope for your sake you brought protection. If this freak of nature child fermenting in my guts because of him isn't enough to scare you away, maybe the strange rash he gave me is."
"Don't listen to him, baby. He's just jealous." Kor-Vas smacked her on the ass. "Now hurry up and go pick us up some more smokes and juma, K? And pick up something nutritious for the freak of nature here. Like vegetables or something."
The Twi'lek shot them both wide-eyed looks before hurrying out the door. Now there was a winner, right there.
"Dammit, if she doesn't come back, I'm going to give you an ass beating," Nico muttered.
"In my delicate condition?" Atton rubbed at his brow line. "I think this thing's attached to my liver. You think if you cut me open with a lightsaber it'll cauterize and minimize bleeding?"
"Your liver, huh?" The Exile started snickering. "No drinking for you then until this thing is born."
"Somehow I fail to grasp the humor in this situation," Atton muttered. "Come on! I can't do this. You've got to gut me and then heal me with the Force or something."
"Look. If the Disciple said he couldn't get it out of you, then I'm not going to be able to without killing you." Nico shrugged. "Besides, if it's the will of the Force for me to populate the galaxy with my awesome spawn, then who am I to argue?"
"I can't believe this." Atton rolled the couch's decorative pillow up and placed it behind the crook in his neck. "It's the will of the Force to make me its bitch."
Kor-Vas snorted. "Welcome to the higher understanding of the Jedi. Some people meditate for years and become masters and never figure that simple truth out. You should be proud of yourself, precious."
Atton waved a hand. "Well, here's another simple truth: I'm stuck on bed rest until this thing is evicted. Think you could get a nursemaid? Maybe one with red hair. Or yellow lekku. I haven't seen a yellow Twi'lek in a while. An attractive one, at least."
The Exile was silent for a minute as he considered. "Too bad Mira hates my guts, or we could ask her." He looked over at Atton, "Although she likes you."
"Yeah, I don't know what that's all about." Atton rolled over on his side. "She's a good kid." He raised his eyebrows as a thought occurred to him. It probably wouldn't work, but it was worth a shot. "So how about a foot rub and a beer?"
"How about I sell you to a Hutt instead?" the Exile asked. "You could be their next exotic dancer." He scratched his bare belly and wandered back into the kitchen, probably looking for more Juma. Because he could. Frack-head.
"I'm serious!" Atton hollered after the other man. Judging from the clatter of bottles a room over Kor-Vas was busy ignoring him. Atton threw his arm up and wrapped it around his pillow.
"I could drink it to death," he grumbled to himself. "I thought that idea was pretty brilliant, myself." He poked at his stomach with his free hand. "My liver's not big enough for just me, kiddo. One of us has got to go."
And they would. A deeply existential battle for one's own body. And Atton was prepared to kick fetus ass. After a quick nap.
