"Atton, please. I need you to take nice, even breaths."
"I am breathing, you stupid murglak!"
Through the rapid pulsations of agony, Atton could hear the Disciple sigh. "I want you to arch your back like a cat so I can make an injection. Can you do that?"
Things had gone to hell so fast. One moment Atton had been sitting and flipping through vids with a minor pain and then a moment later it was like something had burst and had replaced all that ache with a constant thrumming torture. Fortunately Nico was there and after the first few minutes of him poking Atton in the side with a finger and declaring it over exaggeration, he had tossed them both in the speeder and headed to the hospital.
Now Kor-Vas busied himself with flipping through datapads and giving the occasional annoyed glance. If there was any justice at all in the universe, a ship would land on him. It wouldn't have to be a large ship, any ship would do as far as Atton was concerned.
"I know it burns, Atton," the Disciple was saying, "but please refrain from using that phrase to describe my mother."
In the back of his mind, Atton was pretty sure that all he wanted to do was explain that everything was excruciatingly painful and he really wanted the Disciple to do everything in his power to relieve that pain. Atton's lips translated that into a string of half-coherent obscenities.
"I'm trying to help, Atton," Disciple continued. "Really, I am. As soon as the pain medication kicks in, we can operate."
"Kill you," Atton moaned.
"Yes, yes," Disciple sighed. "You're going to kill me, then kill my mother. The obstetrician's washing up."
Those bastards propped up a white sheet just below Atton's neck like that would make it better. Just because he couldn't see what they were doing, didn't mean they weren't doing it to his body. He ignored Disciple's numerous protests and finally felt someone strap his arms down.
The whir of some kind of saw followed by the smell of his cooking flesh sent Atton into another fit. This time, the Disciple was there with a fresh needle and after it was emptied into Atton's arm, when he closed his eyes, they didn't open again for a long time.
Through the haze of sleep and drugs, the first thing he realized when he blinked his eyes open again was that his arms were free. Atton immediately reached a hand for his belly. A bunch of loose skin stapled together. It was pretty gross when he thought about it.
Kor-Vas was in a chair with a stack of datapads in his lap. He looked old, irritable and very unnatural without a cigarra dangling from his lip.
Atton shifted in the hospital bed. "I want to punch blondie in the back of his head."
Nico shrugged. "What's new about that?"
"It's personal now instead of just principle. I want to pop him really hard." Atton lifted a fist for emphasis. "Think he'd squeal like a little girl?"
"I dunno. He might surprise you and kick your ass." Nico snickered. "I mean, he wasn't the one who got knocked up. Seems to me that you're more girl than he is."
Atton gave his stomach another pat. "Oh yeah, about that. Where's my beer?"
The Exile waved him off and turned his attention back to the stack of datapads on his lap. "Later. I'm doing important shit right now."
"I haven't had a beer in the past nine months," Atton said. "The only breasts I've seen in the past seven were my own. I'm not seeing what's more important, here."
"Our spawn's destiny, you dumbass." Kor-Vas pointed at the call button. "If you want boobs and a beer, send for the nurse."
"Our spawn has a destiny now, huh?" Atton snorted. "Where is it, anyway? It didn't have flippers or something, did it?"
"I have no idea. Disciple took it away pretty quickly. I figure they'll bring it around eventually." He frowned down at the datapad. "We've got bigger problems anyway. Our kid could be destined to rule some planet of amphibious sents called Gungans. That's fracking lame."
Atton laughed. "Are you sure that's a prophesy and not a children's book?"
"There's a picture of one right here." The Exile tossed him the datapad, apparently not caring if it landed on his sutures. He carried on, oblivious to the hiss that escaped Atton. "Tell me if that isn't the dumbest thing you've ever seen."
He wasn't kidding. Ugliest freaking thing Atton'd seen in a long time. Then again, with the whole baby, it wasn't like he had been allowed out to the bar. "That can't be real." He turned the datapad off and shoved it off the bed. "It's got to be a puppet. Made by a spice addict."
"Damn, I hope so. 'Cause otherwise that's just too freaking depressing. I mean, all that work I did to get this kid here and that's the payoff? That's some banthashit right there."
Atton threw his hands behind his head. "Next time you get to incubate the kid inside your gut, honey bunch."
Nico rolled his eyes. "Like it was that hard. You sat on the couch for months, stuffed your face and bitched at the top of your lungs."
"I'm just saying." If Atton tried really hard, he could imagine the other man's head exploding in a cloud of blood. "If there's a next time, it's your turn."
"Please. Like that would ever happen. The Force has more important things for me to do."
"Yeah," Atton snorted. "Like look through datapads of ugly lizards."
"Like saving the galaxy." Kor-Vas started digging through the datapads again. "Which is probably what the spawn will do. I should look for prophecies about that."
"Are there any prophecies about what's up with this?" Atton reached down and jiggled his gut with his hands. "This? Is disgusting. When does this go away?"
Kor-Vas' lips pulled back and exposed his teeth. "When you get a plastic surgeon, jackass. Now quit bugging me. I've got work to do."
"I don't like prophecies, anyway," Atton said. "They're all about twins that get separated at birth only to meet as adults and have sex."
"Or killing your father and marrying your mother." Kor-Vas tossed the datapad to the side and picked up another one. "Dammit, there's got to be a good one in here somewhere."
Maybe it was a reaction to the medication, but Atton was pretty sure he was hit with a wave of panic and paranoia. He gripped at the rails on the side of his hospital bed. "Nico, we need to keep track of this kid. Otherwise, we're going to forget and end up doinking it when it turns eighteen."
Nico pulled a face. "Shit. Good point. Maybe we can put a tracking collar on it one of those ear tags they use to keep track of animals. They have chips for that, right?"
"I'll ask Mira," Atton said. "She'd know."
Nico scowled down at the datapads before shoving them all onto the small table next to him. "Well that sucks. The best I could find was one about a chosen one bringing balance to the Force, whatever the hell that means. Such bullshit."
"I thought that was what the old scow was trying at--"
They were interrupted by a steady three knocks on the door. The Disciple let himself into the room while dry washing his hands.
"May we talk?" he asked.
Atton frowned. "It was born with fangs, wasn't it?"
"No, it's just that, well..."
"Spit it out, blondie," Kor-Vas gruffly cut in. "We haven't got all day, and if I have to wait much longer to have a smoke, I'm going to start cracking heads."
"I do not think your child was conceived by normal means," the Disciple said weakly.
"No shit," Atton drawled.
"We couldn't get a clear look with the baby still inside you." By the way the Disciple's eyes were scanning the room, Atton was willing to bet he was looking for all possible exits. "But we found scar tissue and other signs to suggest that she was... surgically implanted inside you."
Kor-Vas was completely nonplussed. "Who their right mind would implant a baby inside of him?"
"I'm glad to see that we both have the same exact question." The Disciple cleared his throat.
"I need to kill someone," Atton said. "Where's the kid?"
"She's fine." Disciple appeared to be turning a little green.
Kor-Vas clapped his hands. "Well bring her out, then. I want to see the chosen one."
The Disciple's eyes immediately went to the available exits and he began to edge towards the door. "I don't think that would be a good idea..."
Atton slapped a hand across his forehead. "Oh man, she does have fangs, doesn't she?"
"No, it's not--"
"Scales, then? Two heads? Webbed feet? Flippers? Come on!"
"She is quite normal," the Disciple insisted.
The Exile rose from his chair. "Then what the hell is making you so damn twitchy? You look like you're about to wet your pants, kid, and it's starting to piss me off."
"Well, it's not a big deal, really. It's just that the," Disciple cleared his throat, "uh, mother's blood type is A, but the child's is O."
"Mother?" The Exile shot a look over at Atton. "You mean, him right?"
"Well, yes. I wasn't exactly sure what to call him."
"How about 'Atton?'" Atton snapped.
"Perhaps surrogate would be a better term considering," Disciple continued to ramble on. "Because someone with type A just can't give birth to someone with type O."
"What are you talking about?" Kor-Vas was getting more irritable by the second. The rapid, hard taps of his fingers against the table only compounded the Disciple's nervous twitches. "I thought that's what he just did."
The Disciple's mouth opened and closed like a fish a few times. "He gave birth, yes. But it's not his, genetically speaking. You can't make a human embryo with only two sperm cells."
"Where is that hot nurse with my beer?" Atton asked.
The Exile's eyes narrowed. "So you're saying this kid isn't ours?"
"It's not his," Disciple repeated. "Did you want to submit a paternity test?"
"Wait." Kor-Vas frowned. "You think this kid isn't his, but it might be mine?"
The Disciple got this indignant look as he turned up his nose. "We know it's not his, but we haven't compared DNA from any other potential mother or father yet."
The Exile shrugged. "Yeah, sure blondie. Take your sample."
"Well this is great," Atton muttered as the Disciple jabbed Kor-Vas in the pinky with a needle. "I'm going to change my name to Force Bitch."
Nico doubled over laughing, which sent the Disciple fumbling for the fresh blood sample. "Damn, Rand. You should since I think the Force just took a big shit on you."
"I still want her to have my last name," Atton said. "Because I need a little more than a couple stretch marks to show for this."
The Exile still hadn't stopped laughing. His face had turned a patchy red and he looked on the verge of tears or wetting himself. Maybe both. "That kid is so freaking lucky not to have you as a father."
"You know what? Screw it. Name her Angel." Atton glowered. "Sticking with the Corellian gutter trash convention of naming your kid something lofty that they'll never aspire to. Angel Mira Rand. I won't even go into what my ma named me."
That stopped Nico's laughter. "Wait. Why does Mira get this kid named after her but not me? I'm the one who's put up with your ass the whole damn time."
Atton shrugged. "I don't know, she told me to. It'd be kind of lame to name a chick Nico, anyway."
"Yeah, but we can at least name her after a chick that can actually stand me," Kor-Vas said.
Frack it. It was too much. Atton kicked the bedsheets off. "And here you go getting all invested in this, again. You're going to be so pissed if she turns out to not be yours either."
Nico stood up and began to pat his pockets down until he found his pack of cigarras. "That's because I like her better now that I know she doesn't share your DNA."
Atton stared at the Disciple. "Angel Mira Rand. Accept no alternatives."
Disciple just backed out of the room, turned and left.
Kor-Vas already had a cigarra perched between his lips as he stood up and followed suit. Atton watched the other man huff it down the hospital's corridor, smoke drifting from his nose before he even reached the door to the outside.
Atton sighed and held the back of his gown in a wadded knot as he trailed out of the room after the Disciple. Blondie, for his part, tried like hell to pretend that Atton wasn't there. The kid had to acknowledge him when Atton put his free hand on the other man's shoulder.
"I'd like to see her at least," he said.
"You would?" Disciple had this twitchy, nervous look about him that Atton didn't appreciate in the least.
"I would," Atton said through a strained smile. "That's not a problem, is it?"
"Not exactly—"
"Well, then, let's go see her, then." Atton threw his arm around the other man's shoulder. Just a casual, friendly gesture. One that could easily turn into a headlock or worse if the bastard tried to run.
The two men walked in awkward silence through the Labor and Delivery ward of the hospital until they reached the nursery. Dozens of little plasteel baby prisons lined the room from wall to wall. Atton hedged his way through infants sleeping, squalling and fidgeting, his grip on the Disciple's shoulder tightening.
"Right there." Blondie nodded his chin towards a container.
Atton had hoped something would change. Love, hate, relief, despair, something. The kid's black, almond-shaped Kor-Vas eyes opened at him and he stared back at her skin darker than his, darker than Nico's. Disciple hadn't been kidding.
That snug pink skullcap she was wearing was probably the size of his fist if that. Tiny and helpless and he felt nothing. Well, that wasn't true. Atton was angry. Very angry. Fortunately, it wasn't at the infant.
"You caused me a lot of trouble, kiddo." He ran his thumb across her forearm gently and sighed. "I think I'm ready for that beer now. Thanks, blondie."
The Disciple blinked. "That's it? That's all you wanted?"
"Yeah." Atton nodded. "I'm good." And with that, he turned and walked away.
