Orphan Black - What to Expect When You're (Un)Expecting
Title: What to Expect When You're (Un)Expecting
Genre: Gen
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~1,500 words
Spoilers: Through episode 2.10
Synopsis: Sarah was going to have his balls if she ever discovered his role in this.
Author's Notes: For the "difficult/unexpected pregnancy" square at
hc_bingo.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and am making no profit from this.
Also available on AO3.
“Sir, we have a problem.”
Paul’s first thoughts upon hearing those words were that of course they did, why wouldn’t they? From the moment he was first recruited for this particular assignment right up until his most recent promotion, there had been nothing but “problems” and “situations” and “complications.” At this point, he would be more surprised if anything actually went smoothly. Project Leda was cursed, as was anything and everything associated with it, and that included the offshoot of Project Castor.
“What is it, Lieutenant?” he asked, proud that he kept the sigh out of his tone.
“It’s the prisoner.” Of course it was. Though he did rather hate to call her that. Then again, the alternative was to call her a subject, and that wasn’t much better. He knew, on an intellectual level, that it was an accurate description but to apply the terminology to her would be to apply the terminology to all, and he wasn’t sure he was comfortable with that quite yet.
“And…?” he prompted. He couldn’t see the man attempting to speak to him, and that was quite the annoyance. Everything was relayed through radios and comms as he was to be out of sight on the off chance he was recognized.
“Please review the video feed, sir.” A click signaled the end of the communique.
He flipped the feed on to find the subject - Helena as she deserved a name - crouched in the corner of the small room she had been afforded. Her hair was still a mess of blonde knots and she still wore the rough and filthy dress she had been wearing when first obtained. The dress from the last time she was held and experimented on without her full and informed consent. He could only hope this time ended with less literal flames.
The scientists had been ordered to keep her comfortable, and that no tests more invasive than a blood draw were to be carried out without higher approval and that he himself was intermediary between them and the Brass. X-rays were to be set up, including a full MRI series, as was standard, but those were minimal and would cause no lasting damage. They wanted an undamaged, whole, example of their counterpart’s experiment. While it the undamaged portion was debatable given her known history, she was healthy and whole, at least by their standards. More so than the version they had exchanged her for.
The fact that the scientists were standing around Helena in a semi-circle looking as though they had been slapped gave him pause. He squinted at the feed and verified that, no, she was still unarmed and anything of potential use as a weapon was unavailable, nothing more sharp than the fold her the sheets on the bed was to stay in the room, and the scientists were escorted by guards trained to disable with minimal damage. Yet they still stayed back and she still rocked in her corner, mouth moving rhythmically as if repeating the same words or phrases, arms wrapped almost protectively around herself despite the direct threat. Given that this was the woman who infamously single-handedly offed the majority of Leda’s successes, this pinged as odd in his mind.
He was once again reminded that this was a human being they were dealing with. Yes, she was created via unusual and admittedly artificial means, but she was also damn near indistinguishable from nearly every other person on the planet, and that was quite literal for a small subset of those people. She had wants, she had needs, and she most definitely had fears. So had Sarah. So had Beth. He barely knew Alison and knew practically nothing of Cosima, but was willing to bet they were just the same, and not just from the cloning process. She was not an animal, not some chimera that existed solely in a lab or on scratched out reports. She was as human as those crowded around her, and needed to be awarded some dignity if they were to make any progress in any of this.
Major Hartling stood beside him in the observation room and flipped another switch. Soon enough the walls echoed with frightened, begging words: “Do not harm my babies. Do not harm my babies. I give what I can, keep them safe. Do not harm my babies…”
“Johansson,” Hartling guessed, eyes wide in surprise. Good ol’ Henrik’s propensity for fertilization apparently lived on, despite her very short time there. It made a sick sort of sense, in a way. He almost preferred it didn’t as the implications as to the hows and whys were less than pleasant to contemplate. “We have word that his own daughter is carrying, and that it may be a Leda offshoot. We never suspected he could impregnate this one as well, not with the complications documented for a standard clone, let alone the mirror effect.”
“It might explain why she burnt the place down,” Paul mused, and got a noncommittal hum in agreement. He was tempted to go back and salt the ashes.
“The Brass are going to love this,” Hartling said, pleased as though he personally had arranged such a thing. “Not only do we get one of ‘em after so long, we get one of the unbroken ones? Her kid could be the trick to making more of these things.”
Some small part of Paul had to agree. Project Castor was at a standstill; they could create rough copies, but they were plagued with problems and abject failure based upon impurities in the genetic sequences. They hadn’t even been able to impregnate surrogates with potential offspring as the few embryos created proved unviable. If they could discover what made Helena tick, what made her and her twin whole when the others were missing pieces, they might be able to save their own program.
The tests would be far more invasive than currently authorized, of that he had no doubt. He was silently pleased for the language he had been able to slip into the agreement that kept Sarah safe and sound and completely out of negotiations far beyond the foreseeable future. The child, of course, if it reached full-term, would also be the subject of further experiments to make certain the viability carried through to the next generation. They wouldn’t be Dyad-level invasive, not for mother nor child, but they would be far more intense than would even be publicly known and far more than most decent people would even be comfortable with. But it wouldn’t be Sarah and it wouldn’t be Kira. That was a promise he had made without even knowing the potential Helena currently held.
One thing was certain, however: Sarah was going to have his balls if she ever discovered his role in this.
He cleared his throat, assumed the persona of authority once more. “Tell them to back off and to keep her comfortable. Anything she needs, she gets. If she’s the future of this program, she’s not to be harmed in any way,” he ordered. Given what he had heard of Helena in the past, he had a feeling they may need to request a budget increase for food alone, but he was willing to risk that if it prevented far more substantial risks from being taken.
Hartling nodded and saw to it. Helena would be safe, for now. No slicing, no radiation exposure via X-rays, no testing beyond standard prenatal care. They wouldn’t risk the child, which meant they wouldn’t risk her. Not yet. The further experiments that he knew were shoved aside earlier might be shelved entirely now, if he played this correctly. It would involve a lot of careful wording and subtle suggestions, but it was possible. He hadn’t gotten this far by being stupid.
He could work this so that the military kept Helena and any potential offspring out of the hands of the Dyad Institute, if nothing else. She would be hidden and safe at least up until the time the child was born. That gave him approximately nine months to work on a way to get her out of there and back to her sisters. He trusted, given their recent pasts, that the clones would keep one of their own safe if they knew what was at stake. He also trusted that every single one of them would turn on him if he played this wrong.
He looked at the feed, at the way the doctors and scientists retreated, at the way the rocking slowly came to a stop, at the way Helena slowly uncurled from herself. Hartling now gone, Paul stood alone in the room. He watched as her eyes cast about her new home, and came to rest almost immediately on the camera hidden in the light fixture, the same camera he was watching her through now. “Thank you,” she said, and he knew beyond a doubt just who she was talking to.
He only hoped he lived up to her expectations.
End.
Feedback is always welcomed.
This entry was originally posted at http://cat-77.dreamwidth.org/468567.html. Current comments
Genre: Gen
Rating: PG-13
Length: ~1,500 words
Spoilers: Through episode 2.10
Synopsis: Sarah was going to have his balls if she ever discovered his role in this.
Author's Notes: For the "difficult/unexpected pregnancy" square at
hc_bingo.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and am making no profit from this.
Also available on AO3.
“Sir, we have a problem.”
Paul’s first thoughts upon hearing those words were that of course they did, why wouldn’t they? From the moment he was first recruited for this particular assignment right up until his most recent promotion, there had been nothing but “problems” and “situations” and “complications.” At this point, he would be more surprised if anything actually went smoothly. Project Leda was cursed, as was anything and everything associated with it, and that included the offshoot of Project Castor.
“What is it, Lieutenant?” he asked, proud that he kept the sigh out of his tone.
“It’s the prisoner.” Of course it was. Though he did rather hate to call her that. Then again, the alternative was to call her a subject, and that wasn’t much better. He knew, on an intellectual level, that it was an accurate description but to apply the terminology to her would be to apply the terminology to all, and he wasn’t sure he was comfortable with that quite yet.
“And…?” he prompted. He couldn’t see the man attempting to speak to him, and that was quite the annoyance. Everything was relayed through radios and comms as he was to be out of sight on the off chance he was recognized.
“Please review the video feed, sir.” A click signaled the end of the communique.
He flipped the feed on to find the subject - Helena as she deserved a name - crouched in the corner of the small room she had been afforded. Her hair was still a mess of blonde knots and she still wore the rough and filthy dress she had been wearing when first obtained. The dress from the last time she was held and experimented on without her full and informed consent. He could only hope this time ended with less literal flames.
The scientists had been ordered to keep her comfortable, and that no tests more invasive than a blood draw were to be carried out without higher approval and that he himself was intermediary between them and the Brass. X-rays were to be set up, including a full MRI series, as was standard, but those were minimal and would cause no lasting damage. They wanted an undamaged, whole, example of their counterpart’s experiment. While it the undamaged portion was debatable given her known history, she was healthy and whole, at least by their standards. More so than the version they had exchanged her for.
The fact that the scientists were standing around Helena in a semi-circle looking as though they had been slapped gave him pause. He squinted at the feed and verified that, no, she was still unarmed and anything of potential use as a weapon was unavailable, nothing more sharp than the fold her the sheets on the bed was to stay in the room, and the scientists were escorted by guards trained to disable with minimal damage. Yet they still stayed back and she still rocked in her corner, mouth moving rhythmically as if repeating the same words or phrases, arms wrapped almost protectively around herself despite the direct threat. Given that this was the woman who infamously single-handedly offed the majority of Leda’s successes, this pinged as odd in his mind.
He was once again reminded that this was a human being they were dealing with. Yes, she was created via unusual and admittedly artificial means, but she was also damn near indistinguishable from nearly every other person on the planet, and that was quite literal for a small subset of those people. She had wants, she had needs, and she most definitely had fears. So had Sarah. So had Beth. He barely knew Alison and knew practically nothing of Cosima, but was willing to bet they were just the same, and not just from the cloning process. She was not an animal, not some chimera that existed solely in a lab or on scratched out reports. She was as human as those crowded around her, and needed to be awarded some dignity if they were to make any progress in any of this.
Major Hartling stood beside him in the observation room and flipped another switch. Soon enough the walls echoed with frightened, begging words: “Do not harm my babies. Do not harm my babies. I give what I can, keep them safe. Do not harm my babies…”
“Johansson,” Hartling guessed, eyes wide in surprise. Good ol’ Henrik’s propensity for fertilization apparently lived on, despite her very short time there. It made a sick sort of sense, in a way. He almost preferred it didn’t as the implications as to the hows and whys were less than pleasant to contemplate. “We have word that his own daughter is carrying, and that it may be a Leda offshoot. We never suspected he could impregnate this one as well, not with the complications documented for a standard clone, let alone the mirror effect.”
“It might explain why she burnt the place down,” Paul mused, and got a noncommittal hum in agreement. He was tempted to go back and salt the ashes.
“The Brass are going to love this,” Hartling said, pleased as though he personally had arranged such a thing. “Not only do we get one of ‘em after so long, we get one of the unbroken ones? Her kid could be the trick to making more of these things.”
Some small part of Paul had to agree. Project Castor was at a standstill; they could create rough copies, but they were plagued with problems and abject failure based upon impurities in the genetic sequences. They hadn’t even been able to impregnate surrogates with potential offspring as the few embryos created proved unviable. If they could discover what made Helena tick, what made her and her twin whole when the others were missing pieces, they might be able to save their own program.
The tests would be far more invasive than currently authorized, of that he had no doubt. He was silently pleased for the language he had been able to slip into the agreement that kept Sarah safe and sound and completely out of negotiations far beyond the foreseeable future. The child, of course, if it reached full-term, would also be the subject of further experiments to make certain the viability carried through to the next generation. They wouldn’t be Dyad-level invasive, not for mother nor child, but they would be far more intense than would even be publicly known and far more than most decent people would even be comfortable with. But it wouldn’t be Sarah and it wouldn’t be Kira. That was a promise he had made without even knowing the potential Helena currently held.
One thing was certain, however: Sarah was going to have his balls if she ever discovered his role in this.
He cleared his throat, assumed the persona of authority once more. “Tell them to back off and to keep her comfortable. Anything she needs, she gets. If she’s the future of this program, she’s not to be harmed in any way,” he ordered. Given what he had heard of Helena in the past, he had a feeling they may need to request a budget increase for food alone, but he was willing to risk that if it prevented far more substantial risks from being taken.
Hartling nodded and saw to it. Helena would be safe, for now. No slicing, no radiation exposure via X-rays, no testing beyond standard prenatal care. They wouldn’t risk the child, which meant they wouldn’t risk her. Not yet. The further experiments that he knew were shoved aside earlier might be shelved entirely now, if he played this correctly. It would involve a lot of careful wording and subtle suggestions, but it was possible. He hadn’t gotten this far by being stupid.
He could work this so that the military kept Helena and any potential offspring out of the hands of the Dyad Institute, if nothing else. She would be hidden and safe at least up until the time the child was born. That gave him approximately nine months to work on a way to get her out of there and back to her sisters. He trusted, given their recent pasts, that the clones would keep one of their own safe if they knew what was at stake. He also trusted that every single one of them would turn on him if he played this wrong.
He looked at the feed, at the way the doctors and scientists retreated, at the way the rocking slowly came to a stop, at the way Helena slowly uncurled from herself. Hartling now gone, Paul stood alone in the room. He watched as her eyes cast about her new home, and came to rest almost immediately on the camera hidden in the light fixture, the same camera he was watching her through now. “Thank you,” she said, and he knew beyond a doubt just who she was talking to.
He only hoped he lived up to her expectations.
End.
Feedback is always welcomed.
This entry was originally posted at http://cat-77.dreamwidth.org/468567.html. Current comments