"How did I let you talk me into this?"
"Please, just be patient," Hank said, turning the steering wheel and giving her what he probably thought was an appeasing smile, "It'll only take an hour, tops."
Moira folded her arms over her chest as the landscape whizzed by outside.
"Hank, I told Charles I was going to the grocery store," she said, "He's not stupid. He knows I won't need to be there for an hour."
"You were a CIA agent," Hank said, still giving that almost desperate smile, "You...I don't know, ran into a friend, or something."
She gave him a look. Hank shrugged, then immediately looked back to the road.
"That's a terrible lie, given that I don't know anyone here," she said, "And Hank, I don't like lying to my husband, especially not about going to the hospital when everything's fine."
Hank turned, his hands still tightly on the wheel. She didn't know if that was because he was nervous around her because of how irritated she was, or if he wasn't used to driving. Either way, she should've at least been the one driving. He could've given her directions.
Charles, however, had asked that Hank at least drive for her because he thought the brakes and gas pedal might give her pained feet cramps. It was such a sweet thought that she'd relented, but at the moment driving might have calmed her down.
"You could've told him you know," Hank said, "You know you could."
"He'd worry," said Moira, "He's already..."
She put her hands on her stomach, and received an answering kick. The baby kicked often, although she'd noticed that, ever since Kevin's birthday, he'd stopped when she was ill. It was a small thing, and perhaps she was putting too much thought into it. It had been less than 24 hours since the party.
"He's already talking to the baby," she said, "He passes little messages along and..."
Moira shook her head.
"And after everything, he just worries so much," she said, "I don't want to worry him any more if I can help it Hank. Not unless I know something's wrong."
Hank gave her a small smile.
"Look...it's probably nothing," he said, "I mean, the blood pressure machine is a little old, and you were a little on the high side. But I want to be careful, alright? I know I'm kind of...bad at this sort of thing-"
"Dealing with pregnant women?" she asked.
He shrugged, although that slightly desperate smile was back.
"No, I mean taking care of people," he said.
"Hank, you're a doctor," she said.
"Trust me, I know," he said, "I just...inside the operating room, I know I can fix people. I know that I can make them better. But...outside of stitching up the wounds, assigning therapy, making things like Scott's goggles..."
He sighed, taking another turn.
"Not so great," Hank said, "Last time I tried to deal with someone going through depression...it didn't go so well."
She shifted her hands on her stomach, feeling a small kick again. Charles had told her about a period of his life where he'd been sunk in bottles and the ability to walk. He'd mourned the loss of Raven, of Erik, of her, and she knew he regretted dragging Hank down with him.
Charles had even, one night, told her his thoughts about suicide. But thinking about Hank, alone in the house, calling the police, having to plod through funeral arrangements, had been too much. She'd held him close that night, unable to picture a world where he remained forgotten, the love of her life lost to the mists of time and death.
The fact that Hank saw it the opposite way did hurt, but it said something very strong about the two men. Tentatively, she reached out and touched his arm.
"You did the best you could," she said, "And you...you stayed. No one else did. He held on because of you. Try to remember that."
Hank cleared his throat. One of his hands briefly left his face before he reached up and adjusted his glasses.
"Charles is talking to the baby?"
Moira took her hand away, hoping she'd made an impact. In a way they were all damaged, every surviving member of the First Class. Moira's wounds had been healed by a distance she'd never known existed, and a life forced apart from the people she could've clung to. Her pain had been forgotten, and remembered when it was too far away to scar her life. All in all, those wounds weren't that deep, not compared to the ones that had come after.
But they had healed for her, she recognized that. She might hold scar tissue from what had happened with Joe, but she had her son, soon to be sons. She had Charles, and she was doing what she wanted to do ever since she first realized evolution was shifting. Whether at the CIA or Westchester, she was helping mutants.
Hank's wounds, Erik's, Raven's, and, as painful as it was to realize, Charles's wounds ran far deeper than hers. They'd faced more persecution, more tragedy as they traveled their paths. Moira wished she could have traveled it with Charles, easing his burdens and Hank's too. They could have struggled together in Westchester.
She tried to keep her mind in the present now, and to enjoy the good things that were happening in the future. It was time Hank tried that too, but she knew it wasn't something that could be rushed. So she nodded.
"He felt the baby's mind for the first time when he started moving," she said, "And then...as time went on, they started talking. Not in words exactly. Charles said he uses words, and gets feelings back."
"Feelings?" asked Hank.
She smoothed the maternity shirt covering the bump of her stomach.
"The baby switches feelings fairly quickly, but it's a lot of love," said Moira, "He loves me, loves Charles. He's very excited. I think he wants to see us, meet the world."
Hank managed a smile as they turned into the hospital.
"Sounds like your kid," he said.
Hank sat down in the wait room, nervously fiddling with a magazine. Because of the intimacy of the examination, he'd decided to stay in the waiting room without even being asked. Once it was over, he'd go back in. He wasn't sure if that was necessary, or if any of that would even happen, but he wanted to respect her privacy.
It was all very logical and courteous, but he was still worried, not knowing. The words were running together on the page, not that he'd thought he'd be able to read anything. He'd called the hospital immediately after taking her blood pressure and started to describe the symptoms. They'd told him that, while there was a chance it was just a coincidence, she should come in as soon as possible.
And he might be wrong after all. He wasn't, when everything was said and done, a gynecologist. He'd been taught to set bones and stitch skin, not deliver babies. The only reason he knew this was because of some reading he'd done when first discovering Moira was pregnant. Even then it was only a faint memory, and he could've misread the signs.
He took off his glasses and rubbed his forehead. It was almost impossible to see without them in this form, but their weight did get to him at times. Feeling restless, he shifted once or twice before making his decision.
Hank put the magazine back and headed towards the bathrooms and, more importantly, the water fountain. He put his glasses back on as he did so. It'd be a few more minutes until the news came in or he would be called into the room. He wanted some water before then.
He leaned over and turned on the water fountain. He closed his eyes, letting the cool water flow down his throat. He felt parched, although that was probably a very silly feeling. Making a face he turned off the water. His face was close to the cool metal, and it felt good.
Turning the fountain back on and taking another drink, he got up, his eyes still closed. There was no point in stalling anymore. Steeling himself, Hank backed away from the fountain, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. As he did he felt someone bump into him.
Hank's eyes flew open, and he saw a woman start to fall, papers scattering, folders, and something else. He couldn't make it out, since his glasses had fallen from his face in the torrent. He could still see her shape though.
Flushing red, he grabbed her arm, jerking her to her feet before she hit the ground. The papers scattered everywhere, and she looked a little surprised, but at least she hadn't fallen and broken anything. That was the only thing that could make this more embarrassing, and, knowing his luck, it would happen.
"I am so sorry," he said, "I didn't...I ugh, I wasn't looking where I was going, I am so, so sorry."
The woman cocked her head, although he couldn't make out her expression. Too much of her was a brown and cream blur. He sank down on his knees, searching for his glasses, and hoping he didn't look like he was too much of an idiot.
She moved down with him, her movements careful as she began to pick up her papers. He shuffled some her way as he sought fruitlessly for his glasses.
"Thank you," she said, "For catching me, I mean."
"Least I could do," Hank mumbled, "I ran into you."
"It was probably partly my fault too," she said, "I'm pretty new here, and I keep forgetting there's a water fountain there. You're the first crash I've had, but I've had some close calls."
Finally, his hand found his glasses. He put them on, and blinked once. Soft brown hair fell down the woman's shoulders, framing a lovely oval face. Her lips were forming into a half smile, shining with gloss. Her skin wasn't flushed. Everything was projecting a serene countenance only tinged with embarrassment.
She was also wearing dark glasses and, now that Hank could see better, he realized that one of the things that had fallen was a cane. He'd just bumped into a blind woman and almost knocked her to the ground.
Although he'd thought it impossible, his face grew even hotter.
"Yeah, but it was my fault more," he said.
"Because I'm blind?" she asked.
The question was frank, without an edge, but he could almost hear the accompanying sigh. But, while her blindness did add another shade of embarrassment to the situation, that wasn't the reason.
"I backed away from the water fountain," he said, "I was thinking about...well...things."
She paused for a moment then smiled.
"I'll bet," she said brightly, "Expectant father?"
"Huh?" he spluttered.
"We're in the maternity ward, right?" she asked.
"Oh, yeah, of course," said Hank, "But not me. No. I'm not, she's not, we're not."
He was stammering, and he looked down, trying not to look at the kind smile she was giving him. Instead, he gathered the last papers and tried to calm down.
"But I'm not, my friend, she's pregnant. I gave her a ride," he said, "She wasn't feeling well, and you know. She's around eight months."
"I understand," the woman said.
He handed her the papers, and she grasped her cane. Her other hand was thumbing through the papers.
"That's all of them, right?" she asked.
"Yes," Hank said.
He got up and, although he hesitated, ultimately he swallowed down his nervousness in favor of doing the polite thing.
"Lemme help you up," he said, "I knocked you down in the first place."
She laughed, but held out her hand anyway. Hank felt her small, twig-like fingers twist with his, and he started blushing again. It was a quick moment though, since she was up so fast. Everything about her seemed graceful, and he knew that, if he hadn't bumped into her, she would've never bumped into him.
Hank let go of her hand quickly.
"Sorry again, uh..." he said.
He looked at her name tag.
"Miss Crocker?" he said.
"You can use the first name you know," she said, "Everyone just calls me Carly."
"Hank," he said before he could think, "Hank McCoy."
She smiled again.
"Now we're properly introduced," she said.
He smiled nervously and licked his lips. God, after drinking that much water he'd have thought his throat wouldn't be this dry. A door opened, and footsteps entered the hall. A doctor looked around, finally spying him.
"Hank?" he asked.
"That's me," said Hank.
"You can come in now. The results should be back soon."
"Right," said Hank.
He looked back at Carly, quickly dipping his head.
"Nice meeting you," he said.
"Same," Carly replied.
He dipped his head again before turning around and following the doctor out of the waiting room.