Procrastinating studying for a sudden vocabulary quiz the teacher decided that he'd give us tomorrow due to the fact everyone thought there was a quiz. Lovely really. Still, he's an awesome teacher.
>.> Uh in other news this is really the first fic I've written in a long time.
----
In his room, all the lights were turned off, leaving only a faint line of light creeping in under the door from the hallway.
On the bed, he lay on top of the covers, eyes tightly shut, counting each breath he took.
I never should have done this. Another wave of nausea swept over him. I should never have agreed to do this.
Yet he had to see this through to the end, no matter what. There was no way for him to opt out now -- no matter how miserable he felt.
He opened his eyes, moved one hand to his stomach, which was already beginning to swell. As yet he couldn’t feel any motion there, but he knew that the embryo was still alive, and that in perhaps a few weeks’ time he’d begin to feel it kicking, as light fluttering sensations in his stomach.
Well. Intellectually he knew that, just as up until recently he had intellectually known that at some point he was likely to experience nausea.
Right now, with only the slight curve of his stomach and the incessant nausea to testify, it was almost hard to believe that there could really be a child growing inside him. His child -- his daughter.
That almost made feeling this miserable worth it -- almost, but not quite.
He smiled absently at the thought, and spoke aloud in a soft, mildly accented voice.
“You, mein schatz, are the reason I’m so sick.” He sighed at length, then admitted, “I can’t blame you for it, though. And I want very much to meet you.”
He did want to meet this child, and badly, although he knew the odds were against that happening. If for no other reason, he wanted to see her face with his own two eyes -- to be sure that she was alive and healthy.
Part of that, he knew, was his urge to see this experiment, which meant so much to him, come to a successful conclusion. The remainder, though... that was the budding paternal instinct of a father-to-be.
It was almost frightening, this need he felt to protect a child who was as yet unborn -- a child who didn’t even have a name yet.
When he thought about it, though, it did make sense that he’d be protective of her -- he was the one carrying this child, and half of her genes were his. It was only natural for him to feel affectionate towards her.
Of course... half of her genes weren’t his. At the time he created the embryo, he hadn’t been told who had contributed the other half. Some anonymous genetic donor. He hadn’t needed to know, so they hadn’t bothered to tell him.
Once he’d actually been impregnated, they’d decided he suddenly needed to know.
He had to smile, though, thinking of that. It had been wonderful news, in a way -- he couldn’t have wished for a better man to father this child of his.
He spread his fingers wide across his stomach, still not quite able to believe it, even all this time after they’d told him.
Jeb Batchelder is the father of my child.
It was remarkable -- he hadn’t thought much about the issue of parents when he was creating the embryo, even though he’d donated half its genetic material, but now... it seemed he’d come out lucky in the end.
The whole team had decided together, just before he’d gone into surgery, that he’d go to the School to have the child. Doctor Prescott knew what he was doing. He’d be fine. He hadn’t minded -- it would be nice to get a change of scenery, and he did trust Doctor Prescott, even though he’d never met the man.
They’d waited until after he’d woken up to tell him whose child he was now carrying -- it seemed just a bit backwards, he thought.
He’d been glad to find out it was Jeb, though -- he was a good man, and Roland had sensed even then that under the cold exterior he showed so often there was a warm, kind heart.
More and more, too, he found himself falling in love with Jeb, and he felt fairly sure that it wasn’t just rampant hormones making him attached to the man who’d fathered his child. Although that was probably at least a contributing factor.
He moved his hand from side to side over the slight curve of his stomach, mapping its contours by touch. It was... strange to him, that he could feel so much affection for a child that he couldn’t even feel kicking yet.
He closed his eyes, focusing past the nausea on the expansive, elusive joy he found himself feeling more and more lately.
“I don’t know your name yet,” he murmured, “but... know that you’re loved. I love you, and I’m sure Jeb does too.”