Fic: "Hormones, And The Pregnant Ensign" ST:XI, McCoy/Girl!Chekov, NC-17
Why do I have so many 98% finished stories on my hard drive? And why do they want to be finished when I have prompt fic on my plate?
This needed half an hour of work and now, it's done. If only I could say the same for my ST:XI/Doom Xover.
Hormones, And The Pregnant Ensign
Author: _beetle_
Fandom: ST:XI
Pairing: McCoy/Girl!Chekov
Rating: Hard R or possibly soft NC-17
Notes/Warnings: Girl!Chekov, six months pregnant. The 'verse starts in Good Enough To Be Going On With, which was written for a prompt from devo. But can be read as a standalone.
Summary: Lina is tired, Leonard is tongue-tied, and sex is had.
Small, cool fingers card through Leonard's hair.
“You think is normal that I am so beeg so soon? And that baby keecks so much?”
“Hmm.” Leonard doesn't answer immediately. His head is on Lina's breast, his hand on her stomach, and he knows that, ornery as his child probably already is, she's bound to kick again, even if it’s in her own sweet little time. "You're carrying a McCoy, so, yes."
In the dim lighting of their quarters-though he prefers the lights at seventy-three percent, Lina prefers them at thirty-seven percent, and unless he's reading, Leonard's not inclined to start an argument over it-every bit of furniture has taken on softer, rounded edges. Between their bed and Lina's desk is a fancy, hi-tech, Vulcan-style crib; it's a wedding gift from Spock, of all people, and Lina had burst into tears and launched herself at the pointy-eared bastard, hugging him until his face turned an interesting shade of green.
“Ai!” Lina gasps and Leonard grins. Can't help it. The kid's really getting up a game of soccer under his hand.
“Hey there, li'l darlin',” he whispers, attempting to soothe the visibly turbulent area with his hand. “We know you're in there, sweetheart, but ya gotta stop kickin' so hard. Your mama ain't a soccer ball.”
“No, she is not. Ai,” Lina adds tiredly, still running her fingers through Leonard's hair.
True to her contrary, McCoy genetics, the baby doesn't listen at all-keeps putting her foot to Lina's stomach with gusto.
Leonard sits up a little and smiles apologetically at Lina. In her nest of pillows, she looks . . . beautiful, tired, small, and far too young to be six months pregnant. “Sorry, baby. I tried.”
“I know. Thank you, s'olnyshko.” Lina smiles-it's lovely, but exhausted. The pregnancy hasn't been easy on her. It spends her energy faster than she can make more. But she insists that she can still perform all her duties and does so, though she's drained at the end of every shift. This past shift was no different, only instead of pretending to a vigor she no longer has, Lina had simply collapsed onto their bed and started crying.
“Is your fault!” she'd accused when Leonard looked up from his monitor and PADD. She'd been as unhappy as he'd ever seen her, her hair a curly, frizzy halo around her head, her eyes widened in misery. “Your baby is doing this to me!”
And then she'd started ranting in Russian-Leonard had understood maybe two words out of every twenty, and they weren't nice words, not at all-till her voice faltered and hitched, and her shoulders slumped, and she just . . . stopped, looking more than a little startled and embarrassed.
Then she'd started crying again. Not big, loud sobs, just quiet tears and a crumpled face, and Leonard, who'd been frozen in his chair by the increasingly familiar display of hysterics, had been quick to go to her, sweep her up into his arms for some intensive hugging, then he'd laid her down carefully when she’d stopped shaking.
“I am sorry. Is hormones,” she'd said in miserable, water-logged tones while Leonard untied her boots and pulled them off. Then laughed when he chucked them over his shoulder. When he'd crawled into bed with her and pulled her close, she sighed. “Stoopid, stoopid hormones! And the baby wouldn't stop keecking me all sheeft, and . . . ai, I am so tired, Leonard.”
“Hush,” Leonard'd said quietly, kissing her forehead, and putting his hand on her stomach. Just in time to catch the tail-end of a flurry of kicks that hadn't stopped for almost ten minutes.
Now, noting the faint dark circles around her eyes, and that her face seems a little too wan and gaunt, Leonard is tempted to pull rank and order her to start maternity leave. Both Jim's been asking him why he hasn't done it (“I feel like a mean, old monster, making a tiny, pregnant ensign-my best friend's tiny, pregnant ensign-do stuff for eight hours when she looks like she's ready to go into labor,” he'd grumbled) and M'Benga has been hinting around that if Leonard doesn't talk Lina into starting maternity leave soon, as her doctor, he will order a fairly restrictive bed-rest.
So, he's tempted . . . but doesn't. Can't. He's never been able to deny Lina anything, and if work is what she wants-needs, then . . . work she will, till M'Benga decides it's detrimental to her physical well-being. For now, her mental well-being seems to be in more jeopardy. For now. . . .
. . . he kisses her forehead, the tip of her nose, her lips. She sighs and kisses him back, her cool hands coming up to cup his face. She tastes like fruit juice (the latest pregnancy craving) and faintly of almonds (the first and longest-lasting pregnancy craving, after slightly burnt toast).
It's not long before the kiss stops being sweet and starts being dirty. Before Lina's dragging the hand that'd been on her stomach down lower.
“See? Not all the hormones are bad,” Leonard says, pushing up the skirt of her (very) altered uniform. His hand slides up the quivering muscles of her thigh to pluck at the hem of her panties and stroke her through them.
“No, not all,” she agrees, smiling wryly. As the pregnancy progresses, Lina's sex drive has been increasing. A lot. Before the third trimester, Leonard would wake up in the middle of the night sometimes (after, they'd had sex in the evening) to Lina astride him, bouncing on and off his cock like a woman possessed.
At first he'd tried to get himself awake and aware enough to . . . help out, but he soon discovered all she seemed to require of him was that he stay hard for as long as he could.
When he came, she'd come right after, and they'd kiss, until they fell asleep.
It'd been . . . damned nice.
Lately, sex has to be rather more premeditated than that. The pre-show has become the main event, foreplay taking the place of actual sex. It's been something of a shock to both their systems, and some days, Leonard's certain Lina's taking the change worse than he is. As much as she likes getting fingered, and eaten out-as much as she praises Leonard for his skill at both-she simply loves it more when Leonard fucks her. The harder and faster, the better.
But the third trimester started ten days ago. Which means it's at least another four months (at least) till they can do that again. Foreplay may not quite be enough for either of them, but it's a far cry from no sex at all.
“Leonard,” she moans softly, and spreads her legs. Her breathing turns quick and light and her eyes flutter shut. She's so beautiful, Leonard has to kiss her again, pushing aside thin cotton to find that yes, she's wet. Wet enough that when she bucks up a little, two fingers slide right into her.
She's swearing in Russian again, but in a completely different way than before. At least till Leonard removes his fingers to remove her underwear. But once she realizes what he's doing, she lifts her hips, telling him to hurry. So he does-probably hurries a little harder than he should, this late in the pregnancy; but Lina's moaning again, her head thrown back, curls all over the pillow.
Leonard's almost surprised to discover that he, himself, is hard, focused as he was on Lina. But now that he's remembered that yes, he has a cock-and it, too, is something Lina loves even more than his fingers-he wants to be inside her so badly, it's like acid in his veins.
“Oh, Leonard . . . I wish you were inside me.”
“If wishes were horses, baby.” Leonard sighs wistfully and adds a third finger. Mouths Lina's nipples through her uniform and thumbs her clit slow and hard till she comes with a breathless, high-pitched squeak.
Afterwards, she lays there, breathing so deeply, face so peaceful, he thinks she's fallen asleep. She looks like an angel (an exhausted one), and Leonard leans down to kiss her tenderly. Gets the surprise of his life when she smiles on his lips and grabs his erection through his trousers.
“God, yeah, baby,” Leonard groans, and shudders when she unzips him one-handed and navigates her way past his boxers. She strokes and squeezes and holds him just the way he likes, till he grunts and pushes in and out of her fist carefully.
“Leonard,” she chides huskily. “I am not made of glass. Pretend you are fucking me, and fuck me.”
“God, baby . . . you don't have to do this.” Leonard grunts when she swipes her thumb across the head of his cock. Her hand, though small, is strong, and she's got a grip like nobody's business but Leonard's.
“I want to do this,” she murmurs, her blue, blue eyes direct and unabashedly open. There've never been any secrets in them, and there aren't now. If she has defenses and subterfuges, Leonard has yet to see sign of them. “If I could, I vould have you inside me. If you'd let me, I'd have you above me, while I suck your cock.”
“Oh, fuck me,” Leonard groans. He likes dirty-talk, and though Lina's talk isn't especially dirty, it's always very candid, and that, it seems, is more than enough to turn his crank at warp-factor seven.
“I would like to do that, too. I have toys-”
“Lina!” he gasps, turned on, appalled, and amused all at once. She blinks at him innocently, and smiles that sly, cat-that-got-the-cream smile.
“Would you like that?” she asks with an guilelessness that's so seamless, it has to be put on. Has to be. “There's one that is made of glass-alloy, with three subtle curves, like so-” she makes a squiggle in the air with her other hand. “I think, with proper preparation and lubrication, you would take it wery easily, in time-”
“Lina-what're you sayin'?”
Lina's straight brows lift up, but that smile doesn't go anywhere. “But that would be in time. For now, I think a finger up your ass while I suck your cock is adventuresome enough, yes?”
And even if Leonard had an answer to that, he'd have lost it to an orgasm as hard and merciless as any he's ever experienced. Would've lost it to Lina's mouth on his own, and her tongue darting into his mouth with calculated and meaningful force.
As he rides out the last tremors, he has just enough presence of mind to collapse next to Lina, not on her. She immediately curls up on his chest, unmindful of his panting. He hugs her close and kisses the crown of her head, and they lay there in silence, listening to each other breathe for a little while.
“Your daughter has finally stopped keeking me. I think she is asleep,” Lina murmurs, and Leonard snorts. Shivers as she marches her fingers up his chest. He catches them and kisses them, tasting himself on them.
“Well, that's something.”
“She's already like her father: orgasms put her to sleep straight away.”
“Hey! Not always-and being a CMO is a stressful, taxin’ job!” Leonard sputters, only for Lina to giggle and trace his left nipple with her fingertip. “So's keeping up with a wife who's half my age. I'm an old man, Polina.”
“You are my old man, and I am your old lady.”
“You've been hanging around Jim too much.”
“So is it normal, Leonard?” Lina asks, blinking big blue eyes up at him. Leonard brushes curls off her face and neck and looks into her eyes. Wonders if the baby will inherit that pale, fragile blue, or his own unremarkable brown. Or something in between. “I mean that I am so beeg so fast.”
“Sweetheart, we've discussed this. Each pregnancy effects each woman differently, and-”
“Ai! I am vhale!” Lina groans, her eyes filling with tears again as she hides her face against Leonard's chest. He could kick himself. When Jocelyn was pregnant, he'd somehow known all the right things to say, but now . . . now, everything is different. The same in a lot of ways, but so very different.
“Sweetheart, you ain't a-a vhale, you're beautiful,” he says, cuddling her close and kissing her forehead. “You're lovely, and on top of havin' a very petite frame, you've got a McCoy growin' in you. We tend to make big babies. Damned big, actually. So add all that together and you're gonna seem larger than you really are.”
Lina sniffles. “How beeg is beeg?” she mumbles into his chest. Leonard lets out a breath. Disaster? Narrowly averted.
“Well, now, let's see . . . Joanna was nine pounds six ounces when she was born. I was nine pounds two ounces, and my older sister was ten pounds even-hah! Dad and Aunt Linda were ten and a half pound twins-”
Lina gapes up at him with round, almost terrified eyes (Leonard knows that if the baby does get her eyes, he'll be wrapped around her finger from day one). “So . . . is likely baby will be at least nine pounds? Possibly eleven?” When Leonard nods, pleased with himself at managing, finally, to do something right, Lina turns away from him, starting to weep in earnest, and nothing Leonard says makes her stop. Though he can just barely make out the words chronic lower back problems and broken wagina.
“Now, darlin’, there ain’t such a thing as a . . . broken wagina. . . .”
“What would you know about it? Is it your wagina? No. Is mine. Baby will break my wagina and you do not ewen care!” Lina’s sobbing and shaking, and Leonard’s really put his foot in it, this time.
He tries to turn her toward him, kisses the back of her head and hugs her tight. “Ah, sugar-dumplin'-“
“Do not call me that! This is all your fault!” Lina shrugs him off and rolls awkwardly to her feet. She shoots him one resentful glance over her shoulder, calls him a very impolite name in Russian then stalks off to the bathroom. If it were possible for an automatic door to slam, this one would’ve been knocked off its hinges.
In the sudden silence of their quarters, Leonard huffs, crosses his arms and lays there.
“Goddamn women and their goddamn moods," he mutters, knowing that, sooner or later she'll come out, contrite and sweet, and his Lina once more. Then maybe they'll cuddle till she falls asleep, and then Leonard can get back to his work for a few hours. . . .
Two hours later, the bathroom door still hasn't opened, Leonard's work and eight fingers of aged scotch are done. His bladder is full and he feels in dire need of a shower.
Lina's never locked herself in the bathroom for quite this long.
Starting to get worried, he’s on his feet and at the bathroom door, finger on the comm-pad, apologizing and pleading for her to come out.
Nothing.
After ten minutes of heartfelt, fumbling apologies, Leonard's about to use his security override, when the door whooshes open, letting out floral-scented steam and a smiling, bathrobed Lina.
"Seelly, you act as if I have never taken a bath before," she tsks, bouncing up on her toes to kiss Leonard on the chin. "Did you miss me? I missed you."
"You did?" Leonard asks, completely puzzled and very wary. Lina laughs her pretty, tinkly laugh, her eyes sparkling with happiness.
"Of course I did! I always miss you when we're apart. So take your shower and hurry to bed." Another bouncy kiss and Lina's strolling off to bed, looking tiny and defenseless in Leonard's terrycloth robe.
She makes herself comfortable and smiles over at Leonard like he hung the moon.
Relieved, he shakes his head and leans against the lintel, unable to stop himself from returning that sweet, lovely smile.
"Seelly," she says again, blowing him a kiss and curling onto her side. She yawns, and sleepily tells him she loves hims "wery, wery much." Then she closes her eyes and is, almost immediately, sound asleep, one hand under her head, the other on her stomach.
Leonard watches her for awhile, letting his love for her fill him like air fills a sail. It's what's been carrying him through even his worst days, what buoys him against failure and magnifies his successes.
Even at her most hormonal, he'd rather be here, now, with Lina, than be anywhere else in the whole wide universe. And soon, the baby will make three.
His family, though small and new, is everything to him. Lina knows that, and knows that, no matter what, this will never change. That no matter how temperamental and difficult she can be-which is very, even before the pregnancy-he loves her in spite of it. Maybe even because of it. And just when he thinks he couldn't possibly love her more, he's proven wrong. . . .
Leonard laughs quietly at himself and his own sappy, drunken hormones. "I love you, too, Lina McCoy. More and more, every day."
Shaking his head again, he goes into the bathroom, still laughing.
*
And in other news, I love "The Big Gay Sketch Show":
This needed half an hour of work and now, it's done. If only I could say the same for my ST:XI/Doom Xover.
Hormones, And The Pregnant Ensign
Author: _beetle_
Fandom: ST:XI
Pairing: McCoy/Girl!Chekov
Rating: Hard R or possibly soft NC-17
Notes/Warnings: Girl!Chekov, six months pregnant. The 'verse starts in Good Enough To Be Going On With, which was written for a prompt from devo. But can be read as a standalone.
Summary: Lina is tired, Leonard is tongue-tied, and sex is had.
Small, cool fingers card through Leonard's hair.
“You think is normal that I am so beeg so soon? And that baby keecks so much?”
“Hmm.” Leonard doesn't answer immediately. His head is on Lina's breast, his hand on her stomach, and he knows that, ornery as his child probably already is, she's bound to kick again, even if it’s in her own sweet little time. "You're carrying a McCoy, so, yes."
In the dim lighting of their quarters-though he prefers the lights at seventy-three percent, Lina prefers them at thirty-seven percent, and unless he's reading, Leonard's not inclined to start an argument over it-every bit of furniture has taken on softer, rounded edges. Between their bed and Lina's desk is a fancy, hi-tech, Vulcan-style crib; it's a wedding gift from Spock, of all people, and Lina had burst into tears and launched herself at the pointy-eared bastard, hugging him until his face turned an interesting shade of green.
“Ai!” Lina gasps and Leonard grins. Can't help it. The kid's really getting up a game of soccer under his hand.
“Hey there, li'l darlin',” he whispers, attempting to soothe the visibly turbulent area with his hand. “We know you're in there, sweetheart, but ya gotta stop kickin' so hard. Your mama ain't a soccer ball.”
“No, she is not. Ai,” Lina adds tiredly, still running her fingers through Leonard's hair.
True to her contrary, McCoy genetics, the baby doesn't listen at all-keeps putting her foot to Lina's stomach with gusto.
Leonard sits up a little and smiles apologetically at Lina. In her nest of pillows, she looks . . . beautiful, tired, small, and far too young to be six months pregnant. “Sorry, baby. I tried.”
“I know. Thank you, s'olnyshko.” Lina smiles-it's lovely, but exhausted. The pregnancy hasn't been easy on her. It spends her energy faster than she can make more. But she insists that she can still perform all her duties and does so, though she's drained at the end of every shift. This past shift was no different, only instead of pretending to a vigor she no longer has, Lina had simply collapsed onto their bed and started crying.
“Is your fault!” she'd accused when Leonard looked up from his monitor and PADD. She'd been as unhappy as he'd ever seen her, her hair a curly, frizzy halo around her head, her eyes widened in misery. “Your baby is doing this to me!”
And then she'd started ranting in Russian-Leonard had understood maybe two words out of every twenty, and they weren't nice words, not at all-till her voice faltered and hitched, and her shoulders slumped, and she just . . . stopped, looking more than a little startled and embarrassed.
Then she'd started crying again. Not big, loud sobs, just quiet tears and a crumpled face, and Leonard, who'd been frozen in his chair by the increasingly familiar display of hysterics, had been quick to go to her, sweep her up into his arms for some intensive hugging, then he'd laid her down carefully when she’d stopped shaking.
“I am sorry. Is hormones,” she'd said in miserable, water-logged tones while Leonard untied her boots and pulled them off. Then laughed when he chucked them over his shoulder. When he'd crawled into bed with her and pulled her close, she sighed. “Stoopid, stoopid hormones! And the baby wouldn't stop keecking me all sheeft, and . . . ai, I am so tired, Leonard.”
“Hush,” Leonard'd said quietly, kissing her forehead, and putting his hand on her stomach. Just in time to catch the tail-end of a flurry of kicks that hadn't stopped for almost ten minutes.
Now, noting the faint dark circles around her eyes, and that her face seems a little too wan and gaunt, Leonard is tempted to pull rank and order her to start maternity leave. Both Jim's been asking him why he hasn't done it (“I feel like a mean, old monster, making a tiny, pregnant ensign-my best friend's tiny, pregnant ensign-do stuff for eight hours when she looks like she's ready to go into labor,” he'd grumbled) and M'Benga has been hinting around that if Leonard doesn't talk Lina into starting maternity leave soon, as her doctor, he will order a fairly restrictive bed-rest.
So, he's tempted . . . but doesn't. Can't. He's never been able to deny Lina anything, and if work is what she wants-needs, then . . . work she will, till M'Benga decides it's detrimental to her physical well-being. For now, her mental well-being seems to be in more jeopardy. For now. . . .
. . . he kisses her forehead, the tip of her nose, her lips. She sighs and kisses him back, her cool hands coming up to cup his face. She tastes like fruit juice (the latest pregnancy craving) and faintly of almonds (the first and longest-lasting pregnancy craving, after slightly burnt toast).
It's not long before the kiss stops being sweet and starts being dirty. Before Lina's dragging the hand that'd been on her stomach down lower.
“See? Not all the hormones are bad,” Leonard says, pushing up the skirt of her (very) altered uniform. His hand slides up the quivering muscles of her thigh to pluck at the hem of her panties and stroke her through them.
“No, not all,” she agrees, smiling wryly. As the pregnancy progresses, Lina's sex drive has been increasing. A lot. Before the third trimester, Leonard would wake up in the middle of the night sometimes (after, they'd had sex in the evening) to Lina astride him, bouncing on and off his cock like a woman possessed.
At first he'd tried to get himself awake and aware enough to . . . help out, but he soon discovered all she seemed to require of him was that he stay hard for as long as he could.
When he came, she'd come right after, and they'd kiss, until they fell asleep.
It'd been . . . damned nice.
Lately, sex has to be rather more premeditated than that. The pre-show has become the main event, foreplay taking the place of actual sex. It's been something of a shock to both their systems, and some days, Leonard's certain Lina's taking the change worse than he is. As much as she likes getting fingered, and eaten out-as much as she praises Leonard for his skill at both-she simply loves it more when Leonard fucks her. The harder and faster, the better.
But the third trimester started ten days ago. Which means it's at least another four months (at least) till they can do that again. Foreplay may not quite be enough for either of them, but it's a far cry from no sex at all.
“Leonard,” she moans softly, and spreads her legs. Her breathing turns quick and light and her eyes flutter shut. She's so beautiful, Leonard has to kiss her again, pushing aside thin cotton to find that yes, she's wet. Wet enough that when she bucks up a little, two fingers slide right into her.
She's swearing in Russian again, but in a completely different way than before. At least till Leonard removes his fingers to remove her underwear. But once she realizes what he's doing, she lifts her hips, telling him to hurry. So he does-probably hurries a little harder than he should, this late in the pregnancy; but Lina's moaning again, her head thrown back, curls all over the pillow.
Leonard's almost surprised to discover that he, himself, is hard, focused as he was on Lina. But now that he's remembered that yes, he has a cock-and it, too, is something Lina loves even more than his fingers-he wants to be inside her so badly, it's like acid in his veins.
“Oh, Leonard . . . I wish you were inside me.”
“If wishes were horses, baby.” Leonard sighs wistfully and adds a third finger. Mouths Lina's nipples through her uniform and thumbs her clit slow and hard till she comes with a breathless, high-pitched squeak.
Afterwards, she lays there, breathing so deeply, face so peaceful, he thinks she's fallen asleep. She looks like an angel (an exhausted one), and Leonard leans down to kiss her tenderly. Gets the surprise of his life when she smiles on his lips and grabs his erection through his trousers.
“God, yeah, baby,” Leonard groans, and shudders when she unzips him one-handed and navigates her way past his boxers. She strokes and squeezes and holds him just the way he likes, till he grunts and pushes in and out of her fist carefully.
“Leonard,” she chides huskily. “I am not made of glass. Pretend you are fucking me, and fuck me.”
“God, baby . . . you don't have to do this.” Leonard grunts when she swipes her thumb across the head of his cock. Her hand, though small, is strong, and she's got a grip like nobody's business but Leonard's.
“I want to do this,” she murmurs, her blue, blue eyes direct and unabashedly open. There've never been any secrets in them, and there aren't now. If she has defenses and subterfuges, Leonard has yet to see sign of them. “If I could, I vould have you inside me. If you'd let me, I'd have you above me, while I suck your cock.”
“Oh, fuck me,” Leonard groans. He likes dirty-talk, and though Lina's talk isn't especially dirty, it's always very candid, and that, it seems, is more than enough to turn his crank at warp-factor seven.
“I would like to do that, too. I have toys-”
“Lina!” he gasps, turned on, appalled, and amused all at once. She blinks at him innocently, and smiles that sly, cat-that-got-the-cream smile.
“Would you like that?” she asks with an guilelessness that's so seamless, it has to be put on. Has to be. “There's one that is made of glass-alloy, with three subtle curves, like so-” she makes a squiggle in the air with her other hand. “I think, with proper preparation and lubrication, you would take it wery easily, in time-”
“Lina-what're you sayin'?”
Lina's straight brows lift up, but that smile doesn't go anywhere. “But that would be in time. For now, I think a finger up your ass while I suck your cock is adventuresome enough, yes?”
And even if Leonard had an answer to that, he'd have lost it to an orgasm as hard and merciless as any he's ever experienced. Would've lost it to Lina's mouth on his own, and her tongue darting into his mouth with calculated and meaningful force.
As he rides out the last tremors, he has just enough presence of mind to collapse next to Lina, not on her. She immediately curls up on his chest, unmindful of his panting. He hugs her close and kisses the crown of her head, and they lay there in silence, listening to each other breathe for a little while.
“Your daughter has finally stopped keeking me. I think she is asleep,” Lina murmurs, and Leonard snorts. Shivers as she marches her fingers up his chest. He catches them and kisses them, tasting himself on them.
“Well, that's something.”
“She's already like her father: orgasms put her to sleep straight away.”
“Hey! Not always-and being a CMO is a stressful, taxin’ job!” Leonard sputters, only for Lina to giggle and trace his left nipple with her fingertip. “So's keeping up with a wife who's half my age. I'm an old man, Polina.”
“You are my old man, and I am your old lady.”
“You've been hanging around Jim too much.”
“So is it normal, Leonard?” Lina asks, blinking big blue eyes up at him. Leonard brushes curls off her face and neck and looks into her eyes. Wonders if the baby will inherit that pale, fragile blue, or his own unremarkable brown. Or something in between. “I mean that I am so beeg so fast.”
“Sweetheart, we've discussed this. Each pregnancy effects each woman differently, and-”
“Ai! I am vhale!” Lina groans, her eyes filling with tears again as she hides her face against Leonard's chest. He could kick himself. When Jocelyn was pregnant, he'd somehow known all the right things to say, but now . . . now, everything is different. The same in a lot of ways, but so very different.
“Sweetheart, you ain't a-a vhale, you're beautiful,” he says, cuddling her close and kissing her forehead. “You're lovely, and on top of havin' a very petite frame, you've got a McCoy growin' in you. We tend to make big babies. Damned big, actually. So add all that together and you're gonna seem larger than you really are.”
Lina sniffles. “How beeg is beeg?” she mumbles into his chest. Leonard lets out a breath. Disaster? Narrowly averted.
“Well, now, let's see . . . Joanna was nine pounds six ounces when she was born. I was nine pounds two ounces, and my older sister was ten pounds even-hah! Dad and Aunt Linda were ten and a half pound twins-”
Lina gapes up at him with round, almost terrified eyes (Leonard knows that if the baby does get her eyes, he'll be wrapped around her finger from day one). “So . . . is likely baby will be at least nine pounds? Possibly eleven?” When Leonard nods, pleased with himself at managing, finally, to do something right, Lina turns away from him, starting to weep in earnest, and nothing Leonard says makes her stop. Though he can just barely make out the words chronic lower back problems and broken wagina.
“Now, darlin’, there ain’t such a thing as a . . . broken wagina. . . .”
“What would you know about it? Is it your wagina? No. Is mine. Baby will break my wagina and you do not ewen care!” Lina’s sobbing and shaking, and Leonard’s really put his foot in it, this time.
He tries to turn her toward him, kisses the back of her head and hugs her tight. “Ah, sugar-dumplin'-“
“Do not call me that! This is all your fault!” Lina shrugs him off and rolls awkwardly to her feet. She shoots him one resentful glance over her shoulder, calls him a very impolite name in Russian then stalks off to the bathroom. If it were possible for an automatic door to slam, this one would’ve been knocked off its hinges.
In the sudden silence of their quarters, Leonard huffs, crosses his arms and lays there.
“Goddamn women and their goddamn moods," he mutters, knowing that, sooner or later she'll come out, contrite and sweet, and his Lina once more. Then maybe they'll cuddle till she falls asleep, and then Leonard can get back to his work for a few hours. . . .
Two hours later, the bathroom door still hasn't opened, Leonard's work and eight fingers of aged scotch are done. His bladder is full and he feels in dire need of a shower.
Lina's never locked herself in the bathroom for quite this long.
Starting to get worried, he’s on his feet and at the bathroom door, finger on the comm-pad, apologizing and pleading for her to come out.
Nothing.
After ten minutes of heartfelt, fumbling apologies, Leonard's about to use his security override, when the door whooshes open, letting out floral-scented steam and a smiling, bathrobed Lina.
"Seelly, you act as if I have never taken a bath before," she tsks, bouncing up on her toes to kiss Leonard on the chin. "Did you miss me? I missed you."
"You did?" Leonard asks, completely puzzled and very wary. Lina laughs her pretty, tinkly laugh, her eyes sparkling with happiness.
"Of course I did! I always miss you when we're apart. So take your shower and hurry to bed." Another bouncy kiss and Lina's strolling off to bed, looking tiny and defenseless in Leonard's terrycloth robe.
She makes herself comfortable and smiles over at Leonard like he hung the moon.
Relieved, he shakes his head and leans against the lintel, unable to stop himself from returning that sweet, lovely smile.
"Seelly," she says again, blowing him a kiss and curling onto her side. She yawns, and sleepily tells him she loves hims "wery, wery much." Then she closes her eyes and is, almost immediately, sound asleep, one hand under her head, the other on her stomach.
Leonard watches her for awhile, letting his love for her fill him like air fills a sail. It's what's been carrying him through even his worst days, what buoys him against failure and magnifies his successes.
Even at her most hormonal, he'd rather be here, now, with Lina, than be anywhere else in the whole wide universe. And soon, the baby will make three.
His family, though small and new, is everything to him. Lina knows that, and knows that, no matter what, this will never change. That no matter how temperamental and difficult she can be-which is very, even before the pregnancy-he loves her in spite of it. Maybe even because of it. And just when he thinks he couldn't possibly love her more, he's proven wrong. . . .
Leonard laughs quietly at himself and his own sappy, drunken hormones. "I love you, too, Lina McCoy. More and more, every day."
Shaking his head again, he goes into the bathroom, still laughing.
*
And in other news, I love "The Big Gay Sketch Show":
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