Work Text:
This isn’t real. This isn’t happening.
You curl your hands around the back of your neck, hunching in on yourself as you stare at the two little lines that may as well be cuts on your heart for all they make you ache.
You’d woken up sick, spent the morning worshipping the porcelain throne, and considering the lack of hangover to accompany it, had figured it was a stomach bug and resigned yourself to a week of eating only healthy, bland food until your gut put itself back in order.
Until you did the math, realized your menstrual cycle was a couple days late –and while the bitch has never been spectacularly regular for you, you’d figured eh, what the hell , and taken a pregnancy test.
Right now it’s the only positive thing in this fucking house, chiefly because you’re on the verge of a mental breakdown.
Of course, this happens now, you think, laughing quietly to yourself. Of course this happens while Piotr’s gone.
Gone for the next three months, no less. Piotr, along with a few select X-Men, is on the lecture circuit until July, giving presentations on mutant culture and social issues faced by mutants not otherwise shared by the rest of humanity. The goal is to bring more awareness to mutant oppression, the work done by the Institute, and attract new funders to the school; your husband’s been working on the presentations, the informational packets and other educational “merchandise,” and the logistics of the trip for the past year, and you couldn’t be prouder of him and everyone else that’s put their blood, sweat, and tears into the shebang…
But why now!
You’ve been through this before. This isn’t the first time you’ve gotten pregnant –the caveat being that within a few weeks, you miscarry. It’s a tragic pattern you’ve practically come to expect.
And now you have to wait for the ticking, bloody time bomb in your uterus to explode without your husband’s steadfast, soothing presence to ballast you through the storm of hormones and mental spiralling.
You let out a broken, wet sob, then angrily chuck the positive pregnancy test in the waste bin next to the toilet. Fuck you.
You wait a week. Then two. Then three. You go through the cycle of aches, pains, and puking your guts up, and count each day that passes like a prisoner awaiting their execution.
By the end of May, every twinge of your gut –no matter how small—has you panicking. This is it , is your constant refrain. This is when it happens. This time, it’ll happen for real.
Halfway into June, you start daring to hope that this time just might be different.
You’re sitting on the couch, watching a documentary on hurricanes, when the thought hits you. I haven’t lost the baby yet.
It’s a legitimate record for you. Your body –due to all the trauma you went through in your childhood, according to Hank—is notoriously flaky about sustaining pregnancies. It’s practically like clockwork; in the past, three weeks was your limit, and the blood that flowed mere days after the twenty-first was a testament to that.
You smile –and then you panic.
You’re curled up into a fetal position on the couch, bawling while you curl your arms protectively around your stomach. What the fuck do I do?
You know you should go see Hank –get an ultrasound, check the baby’s growth, figure out how to go off your meds since you’re in the first trimester—but you can’t. You can’t do it. You can’t get your hopes up, can’t put in all the work of changing your life for the baby, and then miscarry all over again.
Please… I don’t want to lose another one.
God, you miss Piotr. You need him right now, and he’s halfway across the country, tied up with the noble task of educating people on mutant issues and rights, and you need him here .
I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t do this . You gulp down air, sob again, then snatch your phone off the coffee table. Okay, call Dad. He can help.
Nate answers on the second ring. “What’s up, kid?”
You weep into the phone receiver. “Dad –I-I’m pregnant, and Piotr’s not –not here, and I don’t know w-what to do, and I need to go off my meds, but I-I don’t wanna lose another baby, and I –I can’t do this, I don’t wanna lose a-another one—”
How Nathan makes any sense of your crying, panic attack induced gibberish is beyond you, but fortunately he’s calm where you can’t be. “Okay, sweetheart, calm down. Deep breaths, come on. Breathe with me.”
You do your best to breathe with him, then sob again when another wave of panic crests over you. “I n-need to see Ha-Hank, but I can’t –I can’t lose another baby, Dad, I can’t— ”
“Okay, okay,” he interjects, voice calm and measured. “It’s okay. Wade and I are going to bodyslide over; we’ll be there in two minutes. Okay?”
“O-okay,” you whimper, sniffing. You wipe some tears off your cheeks, then try to breathe as best you can. “I don’t know what to do, Dad. Piotr’s n-not here.”
“It’s okay, kid. Wade and I will help you figure everything out. It’s all going to be okay.”
“But –but if I l-lose another—”
“That’s not what you’re going to think about right now,” Nathan interjects, voice loving but firm. “Right now, you’re going to think about breathing, and you’re going to count down from two minutes until Wade and I are there. Okay?”
You nod, inhaling shakily. “O-okay.”
“Alright. Two minutes from when we hang up. You got that?”
“Yeah.”
“Alright, kid. I love you.”
“Love you, too.” You hang up with another choked sob, then start counting down. One twenty, one nineteen, one eighteen…
True to his word, Nathan and Wade show up right as you make it to ten.
You stagger off the couch, arms outstretched as you run over to Nathan.
“Hey, hey.” He hugs you close against his chest, swaying you back and forth gently. He shushes you and presses a paternal kiss against the crown of your head. “It’s okay, kid. Deep breaths, it’s okay.”
Wade steps behind you, circling his arms around you and Nate both. “We’ve got you, sis. It’s gonna be okay.”
You whimper, legs buckling, but the two of them hold you up. “But –but if I lose— ”
“Nope,” Nathan murmurs. “We’re not going there right now. We’re just taking deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth.”
“I can’t,” you mutter as your tears soak into the collar of his shirt. “My nose is full of snot.”
“Hey, better than Skittles,” Wade chirps, patting your shoulder. “In other news, ask me how my Friday night went.”
You let out a wet laugh at the absurdity of it all, then focus on taking big, deep breaths while Nathan holds and rocks you and Wade yammers on about an experiment with candy-to-nostril-circumference-ratio gone wrong to distract you.
It’s not okay, insomuch as the panic and trauma from your past miscarriages isn’t okay, and having to go through it all over again isn’t okay.
But you’re not alone. You’ve got Wade and Nate, both of whom love and care about you.
And that, in and of itself, is its own type of okay.
In a true testament to Nate’s patience and Wade’s relentlessness, the two men talk you into going to the mansion so Hank can give you an ultrasound.
(Even if it does take two hours to do so.)
“I can’t ,” you seethe, body shaking from sheer terror. You curl in on yourself, fingers digging into your hair. “I can’t –I can’t lose this one —”
“You don’t know that you will,” Nathan says, gently untangling your fingers from your hair. He takes your hands in his so you don’t hurt yourself, then ducks his head to catch your gaze. “I know what you’ve been through is terrible, but you don’t actually know if this time’s going to be the same.”
“I can’t,” you insist, teeth clenched, “go through this again .” You laugh, high-pitched and hysterical. “I mean –fuck , do you even know how happy Piotr and I were the first time? We got an ultrasound, and we were over the fucking moon, and not three days later I was bleeding— ”
“Okay, okay.” Wade shifts closer to you and puts his arms around your shoulders as you start crying again. “It’s okay, sis. Just let it out.”
(You dig in your heels –and it’s understandable.
Some traumas never fully heal.)
“Call Alyssa,” Nate says for the umpteenth time, voice every bit as kind and as calm as the first time he’d suggested it. “Ask if she can be there to help counsel you.”
You whimper, arms curled around your knees, and shake your head. “I don’t wanna bother her—”
“You’re her patient, and you’re going through a triggering event. You won’t be bothering her.”
(Maybe it’s a testament to your medication and the therapy work you’ve done, too, that you can even be talked around.
Piotr would probably say so, just to make sure you credit yourself with your own recovery.)
And in the end, you let Nathan and Wade walk you over to the mansion, where Alyssa and Hank are waiting for you.
And if you cry the entire way over, that’s okay, too.
“Sweetheart, you need to breathe.”
You inhale through your nose –if only because you’d actually stopped breathing while waiting for Hank to finish setting everything up.
You’re staring vacantly up at the ceiling of the room that houses all the X-Ray and ultrasound equipment. Neither Nate or Wade can come in with you –Nate because of his metal arm, Wade because of something about a bullet that hasn’t come out yet—so Alyssa volunteered to sit with you during the procedure.
Her hand is wrapped around yours, but you can barely feel the pressure or warmth right now. You feel like you’re floating, sounds and sights of the regular world blurring away as you drift. Your whole body feels numb, empty—
Alyssa says your name. “Breathe.”
You inhale again, then let out a juddering sigh. Your eyes start to sting –for the thousandth time to today—and you murmur, “I miss Piotr.”
“I know, honey.” Alyssa squeezes your hand sympathetically. “Do you want to call him?”
“ No .” You jerk your head to the side, eyes wide and wild as you stare at her. “No –I can’t… I can’t get his hopes up like this, only to have to call him again to tell him—”
Alyssa says your name with a loving but “you know better than this” type of smile. “You don’t know if you’ll miscarry or not.”
You scoff, and look up at the ceiling once more. “Isn’t ‘coming to terms with death’ supposed to be a good thing? Y’know, letting go of what we can’t control and all that shit? Isn’t that a thing for patients who’re losing loved ones?”
She sighs, and pats your arm with her other hand. “We do counsel patients on coping with grief and loss, yes, but we also teach them to stay in the present moment. To appreciate the time they have with their loved ones, rather than focusing on the inevitable. And, right now, losing your baby –no matter how high risk your pregnancy is—isn’t inevitable.”
You purse your lips, then sigh. “I don’t want to call Piotr,” you murmur after a moment. “I… I can’t go through telling him again.” You clench your teeth as tears make your eyes burn, then look over at her again. “Is that… is that bad? Am I being selfish?”
Alyssa considers, then shakes her head, her coily curls brushing against her shoulders as she does so. “No, I don’t think so. You’re in trauma recovery. It’s an understandable response.”
“But… doesn’t Piotr have a right to know?”
“Absolutely not,” Alyssa says, shaking her head again. “This is your body and your medical treatment. Even though Piotr’s your husband, that does not mean he has a right to know anything you don’t want –or aren’t ready—to share with him.”
You relax a little against the bed, guilt ebbing—
“Alright,” Hank announces, “I think we’re ready.”
--and then you tense right back up.
The ultrasound gel is chilly against your stomach. You flinch, and your free hand curls into a fist as you resume your thousand-yard stare up at the ceiling tiles. You inhale deeply through your nose, and do your best not to think as Hank gently presses the transducer against your stomach.
“Okay,” Hank mutters under his breath. “Let’s just take a look…”
Bile rises in your throat. You grit your teeth and choke it down, then start counting the ceiling tiles. Two, four, six, eight…
Whump, whump, whump, whump —
You blink as a tinny thumping sound fills the room. On impulse, you look over at the ultrasound machine screen.
It’s grainy –as most ultrasounds are—but there, in black and white, is an impossibly tiny lump.
Your impossibly tiny lump.
“Look at that,” Alyssa coos, cheeks dimpling as she smiles.
“Very strong, very healthy heartbeat,” Hank agrees. “Though the fetus size and development are a bit larger than what’d we expect for five weeks. You may be closer to seven or eight.”
All you can do is stare at the ultrasound screen –at the impossibly tiny lump that, according to the doctor, is around the size of a raspberry.
Your impossibly tiny raspberry lump.
You blink, and it sends tears trickling down your cheeks once more… and then you beam.
Afterwards, you, Hank, and Alyssa talk about a pregnancy care plan –one that involves taking more vitamins, eating more healthy foods, and going to more doctor’s visits than you’d like.
“It’s largely precautionary,” Hank assures you when you grimace, “but considering your history with miscarriages, I’d like to refer you to a high risk specialist in the area. Her name’s Doctor Reid. She has experience working with mutants as well, so I think she’d be a good fit.”
You sigh –it’s been one afternoon, and you’re already exhausted from all the work that goes into being pregnant—but tamp down your “I’m going to lose the baby” reflex and nod. “Yeah, okay. That’s fine. Should I taper off my meds?”
“At this point, no,” Hanks says. He catches your look of shock –wide eyes, raised brows—and adds, “They have to put the warnings on the bottles for legal reasons, but most studies point to antidepressants not being a factor in the development of fetal defects. And, given your history with mental illness, I’d argue we’d be putting your baby at greater risk if we added the stress of drug withdrawals and unmanaged anxiety and depression to your plate right now. Obviously, you’ll want to check with Dr. Reid, but I think she’d be inclined to agree that your being medicated is in the best interests of both yours and the baby’s well-being.”
You consider, then shrug. “Fine by me.” You give a weak fist pump. “Hooray for drugs.”
Both Hank and Alyssa laugh.
“Yes, the world of pharmaceuticals is indeed wonderful,” Hank chuckles. He makes a few notes on your chart –reminders to write a prescription for certain prenatal vitamins and a mild anti-emetic, a few details about scheduling future ultrasounds, then looks back up at you. “Would you like a printout of the sonogram?”
You hesitate –but at Alyssa’s encouraging smile, you nod. “Yeah. Please.”
When you step outside of the ultrasound room, you find Russell, Ellie, and Yukio waiting for you alongside Nate and Wade.
You blink, somewhat surprised. “Hey, guys. What’s up?”
“We heard you were sick,” Russell explains. “We wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
You can’t help but smile at that. “Thanks. I’m… I’m alright…”
The three teens make varying expressions of disbelief and concern –and then, as if on cue, three sets of eyes zero in on the sonogram picture in your hands.
The hall goes dead silent. The three of them know about your past pregnancy issues –albeit just not all the gory details—so there’s no doubt that they know what this means for you (both good and bad).
Yukio’s the one, ultimately, to address the elephant in the room. “Are you pregnant again?”
“Yeah,” you answer with a nod before offering up the sonogram picture. “Do… do you guys want to see?”
They each take turns examining the grainy picture of your impossibly tiny raspberry lump; not much praise or commentary is offered. Instead, each of them seems torn between showing surprise, elation, and concern.
(The myriad of expressions on their faces, at least, is entertaining.)
Ellie hands the photo off to Wade, then furrows her brow as she looks back up at you. “Are you… like, okay?”
You sigh, then nod. “I’m a lot better than I was earlier.”
“That’s good,” Yukio says with an affirmative bob of her head. Then, with a tentative smile, she asks, “Would you like a hug?”
A rush of tension leaves your body. You smile and nod. “A hug would be wonderful .” You extend your arms and let the three teens crowd in around you.
“I’m really happy for you,” Yukio murmurs as she squeezes your shoulders gently.
Ellie and Russell echo her sentiment with murmurs of their own.
“Thanks, guys,” you eke out as your eyes threaten to deluge your cheeks for the billionth time today.
This time, at least, they’re tears of joy.
The first thing Nathan and Wade do –after returning you back home and making sure you’re not on the verge of spiraling again—is ply you with groceries.
Specifically, a lot of lemonade and fresh fruit.
“Water can make the nausea worse,” Wade explains when you squint at the double liter bottles of lemonade he’s shoving in your fridge. “A lot of OBGYNs actually recommend lemonade for hydrating since it settles in the stomach better.”
“…And you know this how ?”
“YouTube recommended algorithm.”
You nod and shrug. “That tracks. And the fresh fruit…”
“Lots of fruits have high water concentration,” Nate says. “They’re good for hydration if you can’t handle liquids –or if you get bored of the lemonade.”
You sigh, then start stacking containers of strawberries on top of each other. “Well, at least I got pregnant during the height of fruit season.”
So. Being pregnant sucks .
Or, rather, the side effects of being pregnant suck .
You knew about morning sickness, and constipation, and needing to pee all the time, but apparently there’s a whole host of symptoms that nobody thought to warn you about.
Say, like, your boobs hurting to hell and back. Or running a mild fever during the early gestation stages. Or heartburn that would rival most acid-based cleaners.
You’re really gonna put me through the ringer, huh, baby , you think as you gently pat your upset stomach.
You don’t have a bulge yet. According to Hank, it’ll be a couple months before your belly starts visibly growing.
If I can make it that long. You close your eyes, then take a deep breath and hold it before letting it out through your nose. Not going there. Not giving in to destructive thoughts. We’re going to stay in the present and enjoy the moment . You open your eyes again, then pop another grape into your mouth.
Your stomach groans, then churns to show it’s disapproval of grape number seventeen.
You gag, then bolt towards the bathroom as fast as you can. So much for the moment .
The next morning, about an hour before noon, there’s a knock on your front door.
You frown. You’re not expecting anyone, and you haven’t ordered any delivery. Whomst the fuck…
And then you hear it. The quiet hisses of young adult squabbling.
“I have a key; we should just go in.”
“But what if she’s sleeping! We don’t want to wake her up!”
“Pretty sure Y/N said it was always fine to come in—”
“Yeah, but it’s rude not to knock!”
You grin faintly –this morning’s bout of nausea has dampened your spirits somewhat—and amble over to the front door and open it. “What are you three doing here?”
Ellie, Russell, and Yukio all jump, startled by your sudden appearance.
Russell recovers fastest. “Uh… hey. We… thought we’d swing by and… see if you needed help with anything.”
Your heart melts –and you do grin, properly this time. “Thanks, guys. I’m really just chilling this morning, though.”
“That’s fine.” Ellie holds up a few Wii game packages. “I brought Mario Kart.”
You laugh, then extend one arm to usher them inside. “Mario Kart sounds good. It’s been a while since I had my ass handed to me.”
Mario Kart, as it turns out, is not good. The motion of the camera following the drivers makes you dizzy, which makes you nauseous, and you wind up throwing up all over again.
The four of you settle on watching a movie and having lunch instead –a cheesy parody film called The Velocipastor , which is glorious in all it’s shit-tier quality.
“They at least should’ve sprung for some magic girl transformation effects,” you comment as the scene of the priest –not a pastor, a Catholic priest—transforming into a dinosaur for the first time plays on screen. You’re picking at a chicken salad sandwich Ellie ordered for you (and, so far, it’s sitting well enough). “That would’ve been better.”
“Absolutely not,” Ellie argues around a mouthful of her burger. “Do not sully the sanctity of the magic girl transformation sequence with this trash.”
You laugh, then take another bite of your sandwich.
A few days later, Neena texts with an invite to go out for the evening.
Lady Luck: Wanna hit up BARCADE tonight? I’m buying.
You groan and lament the bad timing of it all. You love BARCADE –a bar-arcade fusion with the best game themed drinks—but, y’know. Pregnancy and alcohol are a forbidden combo.
You: Can’t. I’m off alcohol for a bit.
You set your phone down and go back to cuddling your pillow (you’ve found it’s helped with the nausea) and deem that the end of it.
…Until Neena calls five minutes later.
“What’s up?” you ask upon picking up the call.
“Are you pregnant?”
You blink, gaping. “How… how did you figure that out from one text ?”
“Lucky guess,” she says, nonchalant. “How far along are you?”
“Uh…” You do the math in your head. It’s nearly July now, and you took the first test back in May, so… “About two months.”
Neena lets out an elated gasp. “Holy shit! That’s awesome! Congratulations! How did Piotr react?”
You grimace. “I… haven’t told him?”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line, then a sigh. “Why not?”
“I just…” You gulp against the lump rising in your throat and pick at a loose thread on the bedspread. “I don’t want to tell him, then lose the baby and have to break the bad news.”
Neena hums, understanding. “Okay, yeah. That’s understandable.” Another pause, then, “Are you up for company for the night?”
“Uh…” You consider, then shrug. “Sure. I mean, I might not be the most fun—”
“Don’t worry about that,” Neena says. “I’ll be fun enough for the both of us.”
She shows up twenty minutes later –with an overnight bag in hand, no less.
“Thought I’d stay the night, if that’s cool with you,” she explains. “Maybe we could do something fun for breakfast.”
“Assuming I can make it ten feet away from a toilet, sure,” you half-joke, half-gripe.
Neena grins, shrugs, then pulls you into a gentle hug. “That’s what Doordash is for.” She strides towards the family room. “Figured I’d crash on the couch, if that’s cool with you.”
“Wherever you’re comfortable.” You follow along, then frown when you realize she’s unpacking a lot of skin care and spa stuff –face masks, different lotions and serums, the whole shebang. “What…”
“I knew you probably weren’t feeling too hot,” she explains, gesturing at her stash, “so I thought we’d have a spa night and watch movies. Get you feeling human again.”
“Aw.” You smile, then sniffle as tears start welling up in your eyes. “ Thank you !”
Neena chuckles, then holds her arms out to you. “Come here.” She hugs you close, still laughing. “Pregnancy hormones have already made you a sap.”
“You’re telling me,” you laugh wetly. “I can’t eat raspberries anymore.”
Neena pauses, then cranes her head back to look down at you. “Raspberries?”
You sigh, then explain Hank’s comparison of the fetus’s size to that of a raspberry. “I tried to eat one afterwards –and I started crying because I felt like I was eating my own baby.”
She laughs again, then pats you on the back. “Eh, you’ll get used to it. It’ll be okay.”
And, for the first time since you took that damn pregnancy test, you find yourself agreeing.
Despite the side effects and morning sickness and not being able to have wine or coffee anymore, things are okay. Good, even.
Nate and Wade check in every single day, even if it’s just a text –Nate—or a Snapchat of whatever absurd new thing doom scrolling on Twitter has yielded –Wade.
Ellie, Russell, and Yukio make a point to stop by every couple of days, too. They bring along video games that don’t involve a lot of motion, or various snacks and movie suggestions, and generally keep you company to make sure you don’t spiral in isolation.
Neena’s more hit and miss –she keeps a busy schedule—but she makes sure to call you every night and drops off little self care packs whenever she’s around, even if she can’t hang out to use them with you.
Even with Piotr out of the state, you’re not alone. You’ve got your family –the one you’ve built for yourself. The one who loves you just as you are.
Which is what you tell Piotr when the two of you do a phone call on a Friday evening.
“Yeah,” you say, reflecting on how fortunate you are in life. “I’ve been doing good.”
“I am so glad, myshka ,” your husband says on the other end of the line. “What happened to make you so upset in first place, though?”
You freeze. Stare blankly at the bedspread. “Uh…”
You could tell him. In fact, maybe you should tell him. Stick the middle finger to negative thoughts and anxiety and all that. After all, it’s been…
It’s almost his birthday, you realize when you do the math in your head. He’ll be coming home just in time for his birthday.
Well, now you don’t want to tell him for an entirely different reason.
“ Myshka ? Are you there?”
Your husband’s voice startles you out of your reverie. “I’m here. Sorry –I spaced out.” You blink a few times, then say, “Yeah, I’ve just been dealing with a stomach bug. It knocked me on my ass, just… made me not feel good, physically and mentally.”
Piotr hums, understanding and sympathetic. “I am sorry, lyublyu . But I am glad you are doing better.”
You rub one hand over your stomach and smile softly. “Yeah, I am.”
You go shopping –mostly because you need more lemonade and fruit.
One shopper raises a speculative eyebrow at your collection of two-liter lemonade bottles and watermelon, so you merely stick your tongue at the back of their head when they aren’t looking. Fuck you. Rasp-baby tolerates watermelon, so I’ll buy three watermelons if I want to.
You stock back up on Piotr’s favorite protein bars, too; he’ll be home in less than two weeks, so you want to have some on hand to surprise him.
Into your cart also goes a few boxes of cake mix, a few cans of pre-made frosting, and three ten-count packs of candles so you have enough.
You’re pregnant. You’re allowed to take the easy way out with cake.
The thought makes you smile as you add a few other party staples to your cart (disposable plates and silverware, a few other favorite foods of Piotr’s, and so on). Just ten days left.
You have a spring in your stride as you push your cart towards the Baby section of the store.
You meet Piotr on the porch the day he finally comes home.
You make sure to wear an oversized shirt to hide how bloated your stomach looks (you’re still a couple months away from proper baby bump, but you don’t want to give anything away before the grand reveal you’ve planned), and wrap your arms around your husband as soon as he’s in reach –though the latter has less to do with concealing your pregnant stomach and more to do with how much you’ve missed him. “Welcome home.”
Piotr sighs, arms encircling your body with ease, and presses his lips against your hair. “It is good to be home, dorogoy .”
You squeeze him for emphasis, then roll up on the balls of your feet and tip your head back for a kiss. “I’ve missed you.”
“And I, you,” he murmurs against your lips.
You kiss him, then again, and again, before finally pulling away. You clasp your hands together with a sheepish smile. “Okay, so don’t be mad at me…” You laugh when Piotr’s brows draw together in bafflement, then continue. “But I kinda planned a small birthday party for you today.”
Piotr sighs, rocking back on his feet. “ Myshka— ”
“It’s nothing big!” you assure him quickly. “Just lunch, family only, and some cake and a few presents. I know you’re tired, but you’re going to be prepping for the school year soon, and I don’t want your birthday to be forgotten in all the crazy.”
He sighs again, tired, but relents with a smile. “That is doable. Spasibo, moya lyubov’ .”
You accept his kiss with a grin, then usher him inside. “You’ve got plenty of time to rest and freshen up before everyone gets here. I got food and everything else covered.” You trail after him, then stop by the kitchen and point to a basket on the counter with a grin. “Oh –and I stocked up.”
Piotr turns his head, then busts out laughing when he sees the overflowing basket of protein bars on the counter. He picks a couple up, then kisses your forehead. “ Spasibo, myshka .”
Lunch –much to Piotr’s preference—is a relaxed affair. His family drives over to partake, along with Neena, Wade, and Nate, and Ellie’s aunt drops off Ellie and Yukio, while Russell walks over from the mansion.
“Your side of the family,” as you and Piotr have dubbed it, know about your planned reveal. They keep quiet, but continually shoot you excited, supportive looks and subtle thumbs ups through the meal.
Piotr’s family, however, is none the wiser –mostly because you haven’t had an opportunity to tell them.
…At least, most of them are none the wiser. When the time comes to light the birthday candles, Illyana offers to help you, then surreptitiously leans over to whisper in your ear once the two of you are in the kitchen and out of the scope of everyone’s attention. “Are you pregnant?”
You nod, pretending to be talking about the cake instead, then glance over her and make a subtle “keep it quiet” gesture.
She nods back, then smiles and whispers, “Congratulations,” before tearing open a pack of candles.
Cake and presents go well –though you do insist that Piotr opens yours last.
(It just doesn’t seem fair to make someone else go after your big shebang.)
Piotr thanks his sister again for her gift –a new sketchbook and an informative guide on traditional animation—then turns to you. “May I open your gift now, dorogoy ?”
“Didn’t realize you were into voyeurism, Silver Bullet –ow!”
You and Piotr –and several others in the room—shoot Wade admonishing looks while he rubs his side where Ellie had dug her elbow into it.
“You may,” you say before leaning over to kiss his cheek. “Thank you for being patient, baby.”
Piotr smiles, then takes the tissue paper out of your gift bag. He peers down inside, then pulls out a card in a green envelope—
“Card last,” you interject. When Piotr arches an eyebrow at you, you say, “It’s how I designed it.”
He smirks, chuckles, but drops the card back into the bag and pulls out a small bundle wrapped in more tissue paper. “Is this fine?”
You nod. “Yes.”
He gently unwraps the bundle… then frowns when a newborn’s diaper (unused, obviously ) tumbles out. He plucks it off his lap with one hand, staring at it. Then, he looks over at you, brows deeply furrowed. “What…”
“There’s a note on the back,” Alex points out, ever observant.
Piotr flips the diaper over, then lets out a huff of laughter and rolls his eyes. “For next time Wade loses lower half.”
Everyone laughs, and Wade waggles his fingers at your husband.
Piotr sighs, good natured, then sets the diaper down on the coffee table and pulls out the next bundle. He unwraps it, then lifts out a baby’s onesie and reads the note on the front. “In case Wade loses more than just lower half.”
Another round of laughter goes up.
Piotr nods in agreement, chuckling, then pulls out the final bundle –which contains a pacifier. “Can be used on Wade at any size.”
“Does this mean I get to call you Daddy?” Wade asks while everyone else laughs.
Piotr glares at the merc –albeit mildly—then opens the envelope and pulls out the card. He admires the cover for a moment –a cute picture of a pug wearing a birthday hat—then opens it and reads your message. “I am very sorry for pranking you on your birthday. I love you. Signed, ‘your myshka .’”
Everyone makes various “aaw”-ing noises, then applauds your clever prank.
You grin impishly, shrugging. Here it comes. “Your real present’s in the envelope.”
He checks the envelope again, then pulls out a folded piece of paper and a picture—
Which you know is a copy of the lab results confirming your pregnancy and a picture of your latest sonogram.
Piotr unfolds the paper, then frowns as he starts reading it. His gaze flits between the technical language of the lab report and the sonogram picture. Understanding dawns in his eyes, and he looks over at you with a shocked expression. “Really?”
You nod, beaming, and you feel your eyes well up with tears of joy. “Really.”
In the kitchen –where he’d been helping himself to a second slice of cake—Mikhail frowns and gestures to the two of you. “ Chto ?”
Piotr stares back down at the test results and the sonogram picture, slack-jawed. “…She’s pregnant.”
The Rasputins (save for Illyana, of course) all suck in startled breaths.
“What?” Alex asks, looking from you, to Piotr, to you, then back to Piotr with wide eyes. “ What !”
Nikolai beams. “ Zamechatel’nyy ! Wonderful news!”
Mikhail merely pumps his fist, whoops, then shoves another bite of cake in his mouth.
Piotr simply stares at you. A slow grin stretches across his face. “You are sure?”
“I mean, obviously,” you laugh, gesturing to the test results and the sonogram. “Hank thinks I’m almost three months along now.”
Piotr gapes, then beams when he reaches the same realization you had a few days ago –that this is the longest you’ve ever been pregnant, that maybe things will work this time. “ Really ?”
“Yeah, really,” you giggle. You stand, then pull your shirt taut against your body to show off your –albeit slight—baby bump. “I’m pregnant.”
Piotr stares at your stomach, expression awestruck. He reaches up slowly, almost reverently, and places his hand against your stomach. Then, he presses his lips together –almost like he’s going to cry—and stands so he can pull you into a passionate kiss. “ Ya tebya lyublyu .”
“I love you, too,” you breathe against his lips before winding your arms around his neck.
Another round of “aaw”-ing noises go up, along with applause.
“Wait.” Piotr breaks the kiss, then reaches down and grabs the card. “What was prank, then?”
“Making you think that I got all that for Wade,” you laugh. “And, in my defense, it worked!”
Piotr sighs, shakes his head, but grins all the same. “ Da , it did.”
You giggle, then face the room. “So, ‘my side’ of the family already knew,” you explain, gesturing to Wade, Nate, Neena, Ellie, Russell, and Yukio, “and Illyana figured it out when we went to prep the cake,” you add, pointing to the young goth, “so, for the other three of you” –you gesture to Alex, Nick, and Mikhail—“uh… Surprise!”
“Very good surprise,” Nikolai says with a smile of approval. He stands, then steps around the coffee table to hug you and his son. “Congratulations, both of you.”
Alex follows, wiping away tears. She hugs you close –albeit it carefully—and kisses the top of your head. “Congratulations, malen'kaya ptitsa .”
You hug her back, and your own tears finally fall. “Thank you.”
“So… your stomach bug…”
“Was morning sickness,” you confirm, laughing softly.
The party’s long since cleared out. After a round of questions about you, the pregnancy thus far, and the due date and letting everyone take time to admire the sonogram, your guests had left to let you and Piotr rest.
The two of you had tidied up –enough that the kitchen didn’t look like a disaster—then retreated upstairs to rest and catch up.
You’re in your bed, curled up next to Piotr while you catch him up on your pregnancy.
Piotr has one arm around you, and his free hand is pressed gently against your stomach. His fingers trace across your skin, making whimsical designs interspersed with little hearts.
“Wade turned me onto a trick with lemonade, though,” you continue. “And the rasp-baby really likes watermelon, so I stay hydrated with that, too.”
Piotr lets out a confused laugh, then shoots you a quizzical look. “Rasp… baby?”
You duck your head, cheeks warming. “Hank said during the first sonogram that they were the size of a raspberry, and it stuck,” you mutter. “Don’t judge me.”
“I am not judging,” he assures you quickly. “I thought I misheard. Is very cute nickname.” He presses a kiss against your stomach, then murmurs “Rasp-baby,” before giggling.
You beam. “Okay, that’s too fucking cute to handle –even if I didn’t have baby hormones.”
Piotr grins, then kisses you.
You sigh, and melt into his touch. He’s been gone for months , and now he’s finally home , and you can touch him, and be in his arms, and hear his voice without the distortion of your phone’s speaker—
He ends the kiss with a sigh, then fixes you with a gentle look before asking the question you’ve been dreading. “Why did you not tell me sooner?”
You grimace, and stare down at his chest instead. “I… I was scared. I didn’t –I didn’t want to tell you the great news, then miscarry and have to tell you while you were still gone. I just… I couldn’t handle it.”
Piotr makes a soft, sympathetic noise, then wraps his arms around you and draws you against his chest. “I am so sorry, moya lyubov’ .”
“It’s okay,” you murmur, nestling your head against his shoulder. “I had Dad, and Wade, and Neena, and Ellie, Russell, and Yukio to all help me. And I had Alyssa and Hank, too. I wasn’t alone.”
“For that, I am glad,” he murmurs, kissing the top of your head.
You sigh and relax against him –then chuckle. “Plus, I realized you were coming home close to your birthday, and I wanted to surprise you.”
Piotr laughs softly, then kisses your temple. “That’s my myshka .”
“It wouldn’t be me if I didn’t poke a little fun at you.” You grin when he chuckles in agreement, then tip your head back so you can kiss him. “I love you.”
He kisses you back, and draws one hand back down your body to rest on your stomach. “And I, you.”
(It’s all really, truly okay.)