Complications: Obtuse Rustbucket with an Attitude Problem
Obtuse Rustbucket with an Attitude Problem
Iella sat waiting in an examination room in the NRI medical offices, one ankle crossed over her knee, flicking irritably at the hem of her pants. She hated the regular physicals required of all agents.
She’d woken that morning to find herself wrapped around her husband - the exact opposite of the situation that had been irking her for weeks.
Wedge had obviously been awake before her, and was just as obviously delighted by the turnaround. She’d wanted nothing more than to stay lazing in bed - in his arms - all day. But again they had to work, although this time it was Wedge reminding them of their duties.
‘If I’d remembered that I had this rotten physical, I’d have worked harder to convince Wedge to take a day off,’ she thought balefully. Being poked and prodded and peered into - by a droid, no less - had taken her relaxed loose mood, and transformed it into something approaching the snarling beast it had been the day before.
“Agent Wessiri.” The droid had returned. “Your tests are complete. Your status has been updated to Restricted: Datawork and Analysis Only. Duration of Restriction is a minimum of 12 months. Any upcoming fieldwork assignments have been cancelled. You will be reassigned, pending an interview with General Cracken.”
Iella was on her feet. “Whoa, wait a minute!” she demanded, fear making her tense. “Reassigned? Why? What’s wrong with me?”
“You’re suffering from a lack of required dietary components; most significantly, a marked deficiency in iron, which has resulted in moderate anaemia.”
“Anaemia?” Iella was thoroughly confused. “So I take iron supplements and up the red meat intake. How does anaemia warrant a restriction from fieldwork for over a year?”
“Anaemia doesn’t. It’s merely a symptom of the underlying cause.”
She resisted the urge to slam the droid’s head down onto the desk. “What the hell is the underlying cause?” What if there’s something really wrong with me?
“The development of a blastocyte into a viable fetus of approximately ten weeks gestation.”
Iella stared blankly at the droid, desperately trying to make sense of its words and wondering absently why it should be so difficult. Two words managed to register.
“Gestation? Fetus?” She gaped, suddenly breathless. “Pregnant? I’m pregnant?”
“Yes.”
“Son of a Sith,” she breathed.
“I cannot speculate about the fetus’ gender or paternity without further testing - unless you are the Sith in question?”
Iella found herself staring at the droid again. “Were you programmed by the Wraiths, by any chance?”
“Please do not mention those individuals in my presence. Now, common symptoms of your condition include tiredness, fatigue, nausea, vomiting, increased frequency of urination, constipation, changes to mammary tissue, irritability and unpredictable mood swings. Have you experienced any of these?”
“Uh…” Iella was overwhelmed - by the news, by the massive list, by her complete inability to form a coherent thought.
“Do you have any awareness of your own health and body?” Disdain managed to pour through the electronic voice. “It would not surprise me to learn that you didn’t - after all, you seem to be totally oblivious to a condition that you should have been aware of weeks ago.”
Iella was incensed. “You misshapen pile of parts! It’s no surprise you’re not part of a paying medical practice - the patients would pay to use you for target practice!”
“If we have devolved to insults, this meeting has reached the end of its usefulness. Very well. You’ll need to have a consultation with your usual health care provider; assuming you actually have one. Failure on your part to obtain professional prenatal care makes me in no way responsible for the fate of your fetus. Parental leave applications and information can be accessed through the NRI database. General Cracken will see you as soon as he has a free moment. Good day, Agent Wessiri.”
Iella strode across the room, shaking with shock and fury. As the door slid open, she turned back to the insufferable droid. “It’s Agent Antilles, rustbucket,” she said venomously before storming out.
*****
Wedge sighed in relief as he dragged his boots off at the door. After a meeting with various squadron leaders had wrapped up hours later than it should have due to bureaucratic bungling, he’d decided to go home a bit early. There was nothing on his desk that couldn’t wait until morning.
The apartment was cool and dark. Iella wasn’t due home for another hour - perhaps he could get dinner started early; have it ready when she got home. It couldn’t hurt, he decided; whether she’d had a bad day or not, it would still be a nice gesture.
He wandered towards the kitchen, but paused as he passed the living room. Was that movement? He flicked on the lights and was surprised to see Iella curled up in a blanket on the couch, fast asleep.
He came quietly to her, kneeling by her side and carefully moving locks of her glorious hair away from her face. She slept peacefully, but he could see that she’d been crying again.
“Oh, my sweetheart,” he whispered, heart aching, as he traced tear tracks down her cheek with a gentle finger.
Gold eyelashes fluttered as Iella turned her face into his touch. “Wedge?”
He kissed her forehead. “Hello, lovely.” Iella leaned into him and he held her close, resting his cheek against her hair. “I’m early - so when did you get home?”
“Oh… earlier.” Iella rubbed her eyes, yawning. “Cracken gave me the afternoon.”
Wedge frowned. “Why?”
“Might’ve had something to do with my bursting into tears in his office.” She looked scared and worried as she sat back from him.
“Iella?”
“I had a physical this morning,” she blurted, her fingernails worrying at each other. Wedge felt his guts freeze and his dread must have shown in his expression, because Iella hastily added, “I’m alright, mostly, just a minor dietary detail that’s no big deal to fix. But - I now know exactly why I’ve been such a beast lately.” She bit her thumbnail, a sure sign of her anxiety.
He rested his hands on her knees, not much reassured. “And why’s that, love?”
“I - I am - oh kriff, Wedge - I’m pregnant.”
“Pregnant?” he breathed. He could feel an almost unbelieving delight run through him. “A baby?”
“That’s usually what being pregnant means.”
Wedge laughed, cupping her face in his hands and kissing her swiftly. “A baby. We’re having a baby!”
Iella was suddenly sobbing into his shoulder, confusing him completely. “’Ella?”
“Sorry, I’m sorry.” She sat back, wiping her eyes. “I keep doing that, I can’t stop doing that, I’m sick to death of doing that! Cracken’s office; on the way to the doctor’s; the doctor’s office; on the way home; waiting for you to get home…”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“I was going to, but I decided to get it confirmed by a real doctor, not some obtuse rustbucket with faulty programming and an attitude problem.” Wedge raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment. “Then after Dr Banefre confirmed it and I’d stopped crying again, I came home and I was going to call, but I remembered you said something about a meeting, and I didn’t want to drag you out of it, and - and if I told you - when I told you, I knew it’d become real, really real, and -” She cut off her rambling words, swallowing. “Wedge, I’m pregnant.”
“You mentioned that.” She sniffled and he rubbed her shoulders. “Sweetheart, isn’t this good news?”
“I don’t think I can do this!”
Wedge pulled back to look into her eyes, a little frightened. “Iella, you do want children, right?”
“Of course I do… It’s just that we agreed to talk about it at our third anniversary, and that’s still weeks away, and -”
“We’ll work it out,” he whispered.
“But there’s been no mission briefing!”
He had to chuckle. “How does that make it any different from most of the missions we’ve found ourselves together on? We almost always end up winging it.”
Iella grabbed his collar. “Wedge, I don’t think I can handle this!”
“Oh, ‘Ella. Of course you can!”
“I’m ten weeks pregnant and I’m already so much of a Kath hound that you should be taking your X-wing on extended test flights around the solar system. How am I going to handle another 30 weeks of this?”
“Sweetheart, you are going to be so amazing.” He sat beside her on the couch, sliding an arm around her. “Now that we know why you’re feeling so bad, we can work through it. You’ll have things to make you feel better, and this stage only lasts so long. And I promise to be just as understanding as I possibly can.” He kissed her cheek. “There is nothing I want more than to help you while you carry this child,” he whispered in her ear as he placed a gentle hand on her belly, wondering at the thought of the life within her.
“Oh Wedge.” She wrapped her arms around him, crying again. “I love you.”
“I love you, my lady.” A thought occurred to him. “Have you seen the baby yet?”
“No; I didn’t get the scans - I want you to be there. So we can see our baby together.” She smiled shakily. “Our baby.”
“Yes, our baby. She’s going to be so gorgeous - like her mother.” He leaned in for a kiss, but she jerked away.
“’She’? Who says this baby’s a girl?”
Wedge grinned cockily. “I do.”
“Well, I say ’he’,” Iella retorted, but her eyes were sparkling. “I want a little boy just like the one I’ve seen in old holos of you.”
Wedge blushed. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see, won’t we?” He smirked. “20 credits on a girl.”
“Our baby is not a betting pool.”
“She will be just as soon as the Rogues find out.”
“He.” Iella bit her lip. “How are we going to tell everyone?”
“Well, I was thinking of broadcasting it over the Holonet -“ He laughed when Iella smacked his arm.
“Palooka. Who do we tell first?”
Wedge smiled. “That’s easy. Mirax and Corran.”
“To make up for my appalling behaviour.” Iella nodded. “Then Winter and Tycho?”
“And Booster. Leia, Han and Luke. Beyond that - I imagine osmosis, word of mouth and those blasted holoshills will take care of the rest of the galaxy.”
Iella leaned into his arms, smiling. “I wonder if Mirax suspected - she’s been there twice. And Corran the Jedi…”
“I don’t really give a damn,” Wedge said with perfect complacency. “The only thing I care about right now is you; and our girl.” He kissed her, deep and slow, and she responded; and he knew he could never contain all of his love for her.
“Our boy,” she murmured against his lips, and he laughed, nuzzling her hair.
“Are you hungry?”
“Starving.” She nipped his jaw and he jumped, thrilling at the huskiness of her voice. “But I need food first.”
“Devil.” He stood while she grinned evilly. “Very well - what is my lady’s desire?”
“I told you, I have to eat first.” She shrieked when he bent down and bit her neck, before pulling her to her feet. “Fine. A nerf steak, preferably somewhat close to ‘still bleeding’.”
“O…kay.” Iella usually preferred her meat well-done, but he wasn’t about to argue. “Mostly dead nerf, coming right up. Usual sides?”
“Mm-hmm.” Before he could move, another searing kiss had his head spinning.
“A-wing,” he muttered breathlessly.
“Get used to it flyboy.” They stayed locked together for several more minutes before Iella pushed him away abruptly. “Dinner.”
“A-wing!”
Iella sat waiting in an examination room in the NRI medical offices, one ankle crossed over her knee, flicking irritably at the hem of her pants. She hated the regular physicals required of all agents.
She’d woken that morning to find herself wrapped around her husband - the exact opposite of the situation that had been irking her for weeks.
Wedge had obviously been awake before her, and was just as obviously delighted by the turnaround. She’d wanted nothing more than to stay lazing in bed - in his arms - all day. But again they had to work, although this time it was Wedge reminding them of their duties.
‘If I’d remembered that I had this rotten physical, I’d have worked harder to convince Wedge to take a day off,’ she thought balefully. Being poked and prodded and peered into - by a droid, no less - had taken her relaxed loose mood, and transformed it into something approaching the snarling beast it had been the day before.
“Agent Wessiri.” The droid had returned. “Your tests are complete. Your status has been updated to Restricted: Datawork and Analysis Only. Duration of Restriction is a minimum of 12 months. Any upcoming fieldwork assignments have been cancelled. You will be reassigned, pending an interview with General Cracken.”
Iella was on her feet. “Whoa, wait a minute!” she demanded, fear making her tense. “Reassigned? Why? What’s wrong with me?”
“You’re suffering from a lack of required dietary components; most significantly, a marked deficiency in iron, which has resulted in moderate anaemia.”
“Anaemia?” Iella was thoroughly confused. “So I take iron supplements and up the red meat intake. How does anaemia warrant a restriction from fieldwork for over a year?”
“Anaemia doesn’t. It’s merely a symptom of the underlying cause.”
She resisted the urge to slam the droid’s head down onto the desk. “What the hell is the underlying cause?” What if there’s something really wrong with me?
“The development of a blastocyte into a viable fetus of approximately ten weeks gestation.”
Iella stared blankly at the droid, desperately trying to make sense of its words and wondering absently why it should be so difficult. Two words managed to register.
“Gestation? Fetus?” She gaped, suddenly breathless. “Pregnant? I’m pregnant?”
“Yes.”
“Son of a Sith,” she breathed.
“I cannot speculate about the fetus’ gender or paternity without further testing - unless you are the Sith in question?”
Iella found herself staring at the droid again. “Were you programmed by the Wraiths, by any chance?”
“Please do not mention those individuals in my presence. Now, common symptoms of your condition include tiredness, fatigue, nausea, vomiting, increased frequency of urination, constipation, changes to mammary tissue, irritability and unpredictable mood swings. Have you experienced any of these?”
“Uh…” Iella was overwhelmed - by the news, by the massive list, by her complete inability to form a coherent thought.
“Do you have any awareness of your own health and body?” Disdain managed to pour through the electronic voice. “It would not surprise me to learn that you didn’t - after all, you seem to be totally oblivious to a condition that you should have been aware of weeks ago.”
Iella was incensed. “You misshapen pile of parts! It’s no surprise you’re not part of a paying medical practice - the patients would pay to use you for target practice!”
“If we have devolved to insults, this meeting has reached the end of its usefulness. Very well. You’ll need to have a consultation with your usual health care provider; assuming you actually have one. Failure on your part to obtain professional prenatal care makes me in no way responsible for the fate of your fetus. Parental leave applications and information can be accessed through the NRI database. General Cracken will see you as soon as he has a free moment. Good day, Agent Wessiri.”
Iella strode across the room, shaking with shock and fury. As the door slid open, she turned back to the insufferable droid. “It’s Agent Antilles, rustbucket,” she said venomously before storming out.
*****
Wedge sighed in relief as he dragged his boots off at the door. After a meeting with various squadron leaders had wrapped up hours later than it should have due to bureaucratic bungling, he’d decided to go home a bit early. There was nothing on his desk that couldn’t wait until morning.
The apartment was cool and dark. Iella wasn’t due home for another hour - perhaps he could get dinner started early; have it ready when she got home. It couldn’t hurt, he decided; whether she’d had a bad day or not, it would still be a nice gesture.
He wandered towards the kitchen, but paused as he passed the living room. Was that movement? He flicked on the lights and was surprised to see Iella curled up in a blanket on the couch, fast asleep.
He came quietly to her, kneeling by her side and carefully moving locks of her glorious hair away from her face. She slept peacefully, but he could see that she’d been crying again.
“Oh, my sweetheart,” he whispered, heart aching, as he traced tear tracks down her cheek with a gentle finger.
Gold eyelashes fluttered as Iella turned her face into his touch. “Wedge?”
He kissed her forehead. “Hello, lovely.” Iella leaned into him and he held her close, resting his cheek against her hair. “I’m early - so when did you get home?”
“Oh… earlier.” Iella rubbed her eyes, yawning. “Cracken gave me the afternoon.”
Wedge frowned. “Why?”
“Might’ve had something to do with my bursting into tears in his office.” She looked scared and worried as she sat back from him.
“Iella?”
“I had a physical this morning,” she blurted, her fingernails worrying at each other. Wedge felt his guts freeze and his dread must have shown in his expression, because Iella hastily added, “I’m alright, mostly, just a minor dietary detail that’s no big deal to fix. But - I now know exactly why I’ve been such a beast lately.” She bit her thumbnail, a sure sign of her anxiety.
He rested his hands on her knees, not much reassured. “And why’s that, love?”
“I - I am - oh kriff, Wedge - I’m pregnant.”
“Pregnant?” he breathed. He could feel an almost unbelieving delight run through him. “A baby?”
“That’s usually what being pregnant means.”
Wedge laughed, cupping her face in his hands and kissing her swiftly. “A baby. We’re having a baby!”
Iella was suddenly sobbing into his shoulder, confusing him completely. “’Ella?”
“Sorry, I’m sorry.” She sat back, wiping her eyes. “I keep doing that, I can’t stop doing that, I’m sick to death of doing that! Cracken’s office; on the way to the doctor’s; the doctor’s office; on the way home; waiting for you to get home…”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“I was going to, but I decided to get it confirmed by a real doctor, not some obtuse rustbucket with faulty programming and an attitude problem.” Wedge raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment. “Then after Dr Banefre confirmed it and I’d stopped crying again, I came home and I was going to call, but I remembered you said something about a meeting, and I didn’t want to drag you out of it, and - and if I told you - when I told you, I knew it’d become real, really real, and -” She cut off her rambling words, swallowing. “Wedge, I’m pregnant.”
“You mentioned that.” She sniffled and he rubbed her shoulders. “Sweetheart, isn’t this good news?”
“I don’t think I can do this!”
Wedge pulled back to look into her eyes, a little frightened. “Iella, you do want children, right?”
“Of course I do… It’s just that we agreed to talk about it at our third anniversary, and that’s still weeks away, and -”
“We’ll work it out,” he whispered.
“But there’s been no mission briefing!”
He had to chuckle. “How does that make it any different from most of the missions we’ve found ourselves together on? We almost always end up winging it.”
Iella grabbed his collar. “Wedge, I don’t think I can handle this!”
“Oh, ‘Ella. Of course you can!”
“I’m ten weeks pregnant and I’m already so much of a Kath hound that you should be taking your X-wing on extended test flights around the solar system. How am I going to handle another 30 weeks of this?”
“Sweetheart, you are going to be so amazing.” He sat beside her on the couch, sliding an arm around her. “Now that we know why you’re feeling so bad, we can work through it. You’ll have things to make you feel better, and this stage only lasts so long. And I promise to be just as understanding as I possibly can.” He kissed her cheek. “There is nothing I want more than to help you while you carry this child,” he whispered in her ear as he placed a gentle hand on her belly, wondering at the thought of the life within her.
“Oh Wedge.” She wrapped her arms around him, crying again. “I love you.”
“I love you, my lady.” A thought occurred to him. “Have you seen the baby yet?”
“No; I didn’t get the scans - I want you to be there. So we can see our baby together.” She smiled shakily. “Our baby.”
“Yes, our baby. She’s going to be so gorgeous - like her mother.” He leaned in for a kiss, but she jerked away.
“’She’? Who says this baby’s a girl?”
Wedge grinned cockily. “I do.”
“Well, I say ’he’,” Iella retorted, but her eyes were sparkling. “I want a little boy just like the one I’ve seen in old holos of you.”
Wedge blushed. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see, won’t we?” He smirked. “20 credits on a girl.”
“Our baby is not a betting pool.”
“She will be just as soon as the Rogues find out.”
“He.” Iella bit her lip. “How are we going to tell everyone?”
“Well, I was thinking of broadcasting it over the Holonet -“ He laughed when Iella smacked his arm.
“Palooka. Who do we tell first?”
Wedge smiled. “That’s easy. Mirax and Corran.”
“To make up for my appalling behaviour.” Iella nodded. “Then Winter and Tycho?”
“And Booster. Leia, Han and Luke. Beyond that - I imagine osmosis, word of mouth and those blasted holoshills will take care of the rest of the galaxy.”
Iella leaned into his arms, smiling. “I wonder if Mirax suspected - she’s been there twice. And Corran the Jedi…”
“I don’t really give a damn,” Wedge said with perfect complacency. “The only thing I care about right now is you; and our girl.” He kissed her, deep and slow, and she responded; and he knew he could never contain all of his love for her.
“Our boy,” she murmured against his lips, and he laughed, nuzzling her hair.
“Are you hungry?”
“Starving.” She nipped his jaw and he jumped, thrilling at the huskiness of her voice. “But I need food first.”
“Devil.” He stood while she grinned evilly. “Very well - what is my lady’s desire?”
“I told you, I have to eat first.” She shrieked when he bent down and bit her neck, before pulling her to her feet. “Fine. A nerf steak, preferably somewhat close to ‘still bleeding’.”
“O…kay.” Iella usually preferred her meat well-done, but he wasn’t about to argue. “Mostly dead nerf, coming right up. Usual sides?”
“Mm-hmm.” Before he could move, another searing kiss had his head spinning.
“A-wing,” he muttered breathlessly.
“Get used to it flyboy.” They stayed locked together for several more minutes before Iella pushed him away abruptly. “Dinner.”
“A-wing!”