DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN ANYTHING. Not the characters from Marvel and not that wicked movie Inception. (I would also like to add that I think Leonardo DiCaprio deserves an Oscar, but my opinion doesn't count because I don't own anything and can't put forth a sizable contribution BECAUSE I DON'T OWN ANYTHING.)


Ororo Munroe’s life was officially over at eighteen.

She sat dumbfounded, staring at her failed test. However much time lapsed between taking it and eagerly awaiting the results was gone, and was certainly not comparable to the amount of time she just sat there, staring at it. How could it be conceivable that she failed something so easy? She’d been so prepared! Apparently preparation meant nothing when life got in the way. And no matter how hard she stared, the result remained the same.

Her life was so over. There would be no more fun, no more friends, just punishment and regret. With this new development, she’d never be able to go to NYU or Columbia, she’d be stuck at home going to a city college-- not that there was anything wrong with that, college was still college, but still! She’d never be able to join a sorority, dance with some random people, or puke in bushes while her friends cried drunkenly over a cat fight. Those hard earned scholarships meant nothing now.

Nope. Now she had to plan.

And while she knew she had to plan, she couldn’t do anything but sit and wait and stare.

It couldn’t be true.

Ororo Munroe was smart. She studied hard for everything. She was in advanced classes and nearly all the honor societies (she would never get over the C-plus she got first semester in biology class freshmen year, but still. And besides, who really can name the allele responsible for Turner’s Syndrome? Chromosomes be damned, sometimes things happened!), and the debate team. She wasn’t some stupid twit who did things on a whim.

No. This wasn’t her life. It was a dream. Yes, she’d had some sort of Inception moment, where Leonardo DiCaprio and that smoldering Tom Hardy were doing ninja moves inside her mind. When she’d wake, Ororo would totally be like-- I have to dismantle this company, but obviously not dismantle a company; her reality would be retaking this test and being better prepared.

Too bad there was only one test to take. Even worse that she knew she’d fail again.

Ororo Munroe was not the cursing type-- her boyfriend, Logan, yes, but not her-- but today would be a good day to start. Because she knew people would be cursing at her or around her a lot more in the near future.

“Ro, you coming? You’ve been in there for, like, ever,” Emma called from the other side of the bathroom door.

Ororo Munroe’s life was officially over at eighteen so somebody else’s could begin.

NOTE: I would like to go on record saying I am pro choice: YOUR BODY=YOUR DECISION.

The following week felt like it never happened. Ororo couldn’t help but notice how strange it was watching people be so happy and carefree when she felt like she was suffocating. She wondered if this was how depressed people felt; watching someone else be so content with an illusion when reality was so harsh and knowing their happiness was still attainable with said knowledge of reality was... fucking with her head. And in an even stranger way, she smiled because of it and not in spite of it.

When the initial shock wore off-- “initial” being loosely used-- Ororo relaxed a bit. She had yet to cry and really, all she felt was numb. The worry was completely gone in favor of a total nothingness; Ororo welcomed the nothingness wholeheartedly. Who knew how long she could go without consciously thinking about her pregnancy? She would show soon enough. Or... Maybe. She hadn’t gone to the clinic yet.

The option of abortion was still viable.

Ororo once read in a psychology textbook that one of the symptoms of depression was feeling nothing. So she was depressed, but thinking about having an abortion was... Well, she didn’t think of it often. For now, she was hoping she’d somehow switched pregnancy tests with a ghost, or was in a coma, or was totally going crazy and imagined everything. If she was going crazy, then she would tell Charles that she needed to get some antipsychotics because having The Discussion-- she called it “The Discussion”-- wasn’t going to happen any time soon.

And Logan.

Maybe he would never know.

Maybe nothing was happening and she was having a weird body moment. What if someone peed on her test, packed it, then was chuckling their head off? (Honestly, Ororo considered this option and checked the box for a note. If there was a note, Ororo imagined it would read something like: “You’re not pregnant, but if you’re buying this box, maybe you deserve to be.”)

Maybe she deserved this for not only having unprotected sex, but considering abortion.

“Ro, come on. We’ve got dance practice.”

Ororo smiled, gathered her books, and pushed herself forward. That was all she felt like she was doing nowadays-- pushing herself. Before, Ororo pushed herself because she liked being challenged. Now, Ororo wanted to smack her little head off her shoulders for thinking she was invincible to life.

She resisted the strange urge to rub her stomach.

Two weeks passed since... Then. Ororo stretched her legs and twisted her back, trying to loosen up. Dance required discipline and flexibility, both aspects going hand in hand. One could not perform well will a stiff back and wayward hamstring. Her body had been really tight these past few weeks, weeks before she became... That. A large part of her soreness was due to hunching over desks while studying, but another part was because of Logan.

When they first met, Ororo was getting over her ex, T, or T’Challa. She swore she was in love with T’Challa, and maybe she was!- but she was young and confused. It wasn’t until Logan that she knew there was a deeper feel to love. Being with Logan meant smiling at failed attempts of romanticism and feeling proud when something important happened outside of yourself or the relationship. Being in love with Logan meant staying up all night wanting to go to sleep, but forcing yourself to stay awake for a few more minutes because they just wanted to hear your voice.

And that was before they started having sex.

Ororo and Logan didn’t start having sex until she turned eighteen. He wanted to wait, not only for the law-- Logan was twenty three-- but so that she could be sure. She was so young and impressionable, he wanted to know she wanted him as badly as he wanted her. Ororo didn’t see the big deal; she’d had sex with T’Challa a few times and gave her virginity to Forge, but Logan was adamant. He swore he loved her, and love was equivalent to respect for Logan. After all, he’d been in a few really horrible relationships and wanted more this time around.

He called her special. He said she was the only one for him. He said “I love you” first. He got her pregnant.

“Let’s run a few laps. Some of the girls decided to be late... Marie. Seven laps,” snapped their coach. Ororo glanced at Marie who looked sheepish. Everyone knew that her boyfriend, Remy, would meet her before practice. Recently, though, ever since they started having sex, Remy became even grabbier with Marie. It was cute, because for all his flirty looks and slutty ways, Marie was the only one to get the bashful side of Remy to show up; Ororo knew Marie secretly loved it.

“Sorry,” Marie mumbled.

The girls started running on the track. There were eight dancers, but they all made a huge clump in the middle. It was a tactic they often employed to look like they were running when really they were shuffling their feet. Today, however, Ororo was pounding the track, her legs making incredible strides.

She once read in Anatomy that women had miscarriages from strenuous exercise. Well... Maybe if she ran hard enough she could escape this. Maybe at the end of seven laps there would be some sort of... release. Ororo mentally shook her head, scolding herself for thinking “release” was the right word. “Solution” was better, though her actual attempts to miscarry could be considered the solution in action.

An abortion would be easier, but she didn’t know whether or not New York was one of those states that required you to see a sonogram and have consent. Both were out of the question. Ororo suspected she was more than two weeks along, but she couldn’t stomach knowing how far up shit creek she was. And consent? Let’s be serious.

Her father was a well respected man of society. Charles Xavier, business man extraordinaire/Nobel Peace Prize Winner/essayist/novelist/philanthropist give consent to an abortion?! Charles was a peaceful man if his Peace Prize was any indication. He’d taken Ororo on summer trips around the world to spend time working in charities and talking with foreign governments on how to prevent civil unrest; if there was civil unrest already, Charles would spend time mediating with the government on behalf of the people. Him sign for her abortion? That was the most ludicrous idea ever conceived and Ororo had conceived!

And Logan?

Oh.

She pumped her arms in time with her legs. Sweat poured from her brow and dripped from her thighs. It wasn’t the summer heat in fall, but the force and sheer power that came from within. She’d never been able to run this fast before, and Ororo doubted she would ever. Her speed, her grace, her motive-- they would never happen again.

“Great job, Munroe!” her coach shouted as Ororo all but flew by for the fourth lap. “Six minute mile!” Ororo gave a quick nod then picked up the pace. Nothing was happening. Preternaturally, Ororo knew she was still carrying their baby. Something was totally wrong! At this speed, her body should have been breaking down, but it seemed as though Logan’s seed was determined to stay.

The revelation both infuriated her and worried her. If pushing her body to the point of exhaustion didn’t save her, then an abortion probably wouldn’t either. Because she knew she could never bone up enough courage to schedule an appointment and hear she had a perfectly healthy fetus growing within her womb that she was about to abort.

It was foolish, but Ororo ran faster.

It was just the two of them at dinner. Because Charles never married, dinner was a quiet affair, though not uncomfortable. Having it just be the two of them allowed for more personal conversation. Nothing was too taboo for Charles and Ororo, and she appreciated it; Jean often complained she felt like she hardly knew her parents.

Physically, it was just two of them at dinner.

Ororo pushed her salmon about on her plate. She hadn’t done extensive research on what foods were safe to eat, but she was certain she once read fish was not okay for babies. There was no way around eating it, though. Salmon, salad, and potatoes were on the menu with the fish being the main dish. Should she not eat it, Charles would instantly know something was up. And unfortunately, there was something up.

Ororo was biding time.

“And how was your day, Ororo? As I recall, you were painfully excited for homecoming. Are they selling tickets?” Charles chuckled behind his napkin. “Will you be taking a date?”

Technically, Ororo had been single for a year and a half, only going on “dates with boys from school” sporadically. Charles was sympathetic, finding the breakup between Ororo and T’Challa particularly messy and confusing; he sided with her completely and was supportive the entire time. Charles wanted her to date, wanted her to be happy. And she was eighteen. Ororo was eighteen and there was nothing wrong with dating Logan.

Except for the fact that they started talking when she was sixteen, dating when she was seventeen, and having a baby at eighteen. It was... a delicate situation.

“My day was fine. No, they’re not selling tickets, yet, though they should soon.” She stabbed a potato and dragged it around her plate. “I don’t think I want to go to homecoming.”

Charles straightened up. “What’s wrong? You were so excited. You were even looking at dresses with Jean and Kitty this past weekend.”

Ororo cringed. It wasn’t a total lie that she’d been looking at dresses, but that was after she and spent all morning looking stuffing her face with food. She found that she craved chocolate but couldn’t keep the sweet confection down. And when she was well enough to meet with Kitty, they had to cancel early because the smell of the mall’s fast food places made her stomach turn.

“Ororo? Is everything all right? You look... Tired.” His brows furrowed, concentrating on his most prized possession. “Do you want me to call a doctor?”

“No!” she said suddenly, looking nervous. Ororo wilted, realizing how nervous she appeared. Scratching the inside of her wrist and biting her lower lip, she shook her head. “N-no... I am tired, but I don’t need a doctor.” Not yet, at least. She dropped her hands to her lap and looked at her plate. “May I be excused? I’m not particularly hungry; I’d just like to sleep.” And never wake up.

Charles sighed. Something was up. “I suppose so. I’ll save your plate of food, but I’m waking you up earlier so you can eat a big breakfast. Skipping meals isn’t healthy for a growing girl,” he said sagely.

And if it’s a boy? The question never made it past her throat. Instead, Ororo placed her napkin on her plate and slowly rose to her feet. Her heart felt heavy, too heavy to bear. She needed to talk to someone. Someone had to know, but the people who needed to know weren’t getting informed. Ororo knew she was making the situation harder on herself, and possibly worse for her baby, but she was helpless to stop it.

She was already pregnant. It wasn’t like she could magically become un-pregnant.

She bent low to press a kiss to Charles’ shiny forehead. Sudden and intense feelings of love, guilt, fear, and joy overwhelmed her and she wrapped her arms around Charles’ neck. It took him a second to react, but he eventually hugged her close. It was nice, reminding Ororo that there was such a thing as unconditional love.

Maybe one day she would have it for her baby, but something told her she already did.

The hug was nice, but it somehow was wrong.

Ororo wanted to be held.

Logan held Ororo. He pulled her close and whispered things that weren’t always sexual in nature but made her feel like a woman.

Recent turn of events made Ororo question what being a woman really entailed. She was certain she wasn’t a woman now. Now, she was just a scared little girl facing a very real situation.

Dimly, she realized the situation would be easier if everyone knew.

“What was that for?” Charles asked, a small smile on his face.

For not killing me. For picking me over everyone else at the orphanage. It was an apology. She squandered a gift selfishly and unintentionally.

“Just because.”

NOTE: This is longish but I didn't want to prolong her NOT telling everyone because it would get to a point where it would become redundant to even me. OH! Thank you Beautiful Storm and W6C for reviewing; much appreciated.


He called her, pissed off.

Ororo wasn’t answering his calls, responding to his texts, and was acting so differently around him. She didn’t say “I love you.” But what else could she do? Her stomach was starting to pooch. It wasn’t noticeable, just a slight bump. Anyone who saw it probably thought she was getting a little fat. Thankfully, it was fall and sweaters and loose shirts made sure nobody saw it.

When she listened to the message, Ororo burst out in tears.

--“Why won’t ya fucking call me back? I miss ya so much an’ yer acting like I don’t even exist! I’m tryin’ ta not be overbearing, but this is ridiculous. What did I do wrong, Ro? Is this you breaking up with me? I-- I need ya, Ro. Whatever I did wrong, just tell me; I’ll do better next time. I--I gotta go. Call me. Please. I love you.”--

This was getting out of hand and she hadn’t done anything yet. That was her problem. Inaction. She felt like Hamlet, always worrying, forever questioning, and being so rude to the ones she once held dearest to her heart. It took a while for her to answer the call, and even longer to muster up the courage to see him face to face. But nary a doubt, today was the day. Too much time had elapsed. For all her fears of having a baby, she was even more afraid of losing Logan.

So while she sat in her parked car in the park’s parking lot-- she found the sentence hilarious, as well-- she wondered if her priorities were in order.

Ten minutes later, Logan pulled up in his beat up white truck. They’d shared many a fond memory in that truck. One night, Logan and Ororo spent the night in the bed of the truck, making love, talking, cuddling, and star gazing. At one point, Logan mentioned how he wanted to stay with her for forever, that they were made for each other. Ororo smiled demurely, loving the cuteness of his serious statement.

Apparently, he got his wish.

He knocked on her window, looking nervous, sweaty, and happy to see her. Ororo couldn’t help but find his gruff look sexy; her pregnancy was making her so horny! It was six, so Logan had just gotten off work. She was the one to suggest the park, saying it was close to his mechanic job.

Ororo climbed out of her car and hugged him, trying to make a space between them. It was to send a message like her clothes, an outfit she meticulously planned. She wore skinny jeans to look normal, but an oversized grey sweater to hide her stomach. Ororo didn’t want to look sexually appealing, so she wore her long, white hair in a messy ponytail. No makeup. No sex. All business.

“You look beautiful,” he said shyly, pulling her into a hug. How uncharacteristic of Logan. He was brash, confident, and self assured. But with her, it was like he was always uncertain. When they first met, he was working a part-time job fixing up part of the mansion. The first time Ororo saw Logan, she thought he was a total pervert. Wherever she went, he watched her. She was a kid and he was an adult-- a total babe with a cute ass-- but an adult nonetheless.

“Thanks,” she mumbled. She scraped her nails and refused to look up at Logan. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth. “Do you mind if we sit in your truck? We have to talk about something.”

The calloused hands on Ororo’s waist dropped, but only after they tightened their grip ever so slightly. He stepped away from her, as if burned. Ororo did as well, but her hand went to her back pocket. Not for her phone-- Logan would never do anything stupid to her-- but for her positive test. She needed to show him proof.

“Yeah.”

Logan turned from her, yanking his door open. The door was old and required some force to get it open, but the aggression in his action was visible. The white door scraped and creaked, lamenting its old age and asking what it did to deserve such harsh treatment. Ororo locked eyes with Logan for a second, willing back the tears. He looked angry. Sad. Nervous. It’s not what you think. “Thank you.”

“Yeah,” he grunted. Logan climbed in on his side of the truck. When he slammed the door shut, Logan tapped his steering wheel nervously, then scratched at his knuckles. There were strange scars from a past he hated talking about, but always did when Ororo asked. Logan was an open book with Ororo, saying “I don’t want any secrets. People who love each other don’t keep secrets. I don’t want to be like my fucking family, all lies and shit. We’re gonna be open.”

Open.

Curious, because everything was safest on the inside.

Taking a deep breath, Ororo squeezed her eyes shut. Tears were stinging to fall, but she wouldn’t let them. She’d gone all this time without crying, she could handle the moment of truth without crying as well. “Logan, I,” her voice cracked. She was crying. “This is so hard,” she whined. Ororo buried her face in her hands, unable to see Logan’s heaving chest, white knuckles, and despondent stare. “I can’t do this. I can’t--”

“Then don’t,” he argued, his voice tight to his own ears. “Whatever I did, we can work it out. I don’t wanna fuckin’ lose ya, darlin’. We’re s’posed ta be together. I’ll do anything to keep ya. Anything. Just tell me what ta do. I’ll do it!” he pleaded.


Why did he have to be so perfect? Ororo’s shoulders shook with the force of her tears. His admission was making this worse. He was making her feel worse.

Gently reaching for a sobbing Ororo, he stroked her back. “I know I can be a little possessive and... Shit, well I’m not tha greatest guy, but with you I wanna be,” he admitted. “I love ya, Ororo. I want--”

“I’m pregnant.” The hand on her back paused. Ororo sat up, tears still falling down her face. They locked eyes, her cerulean eyes on his dark browns. She searched his face, looking for some sort of recognition or understandable expression and found nothing. Logan was just staring at her. If there was such a thing as being frozen in time, they were it. The space between breaths elongated and the car became quiet.

It was sinking in.

She was pregnant.

Ororo started bawling again. Or... For the first time.

She bent over, her face in her hands, her elbows resting on her thighs.

Everything was over. She wouldn’t go to school at a big university, she wouldn’t have any friends, she wouldn’t have her father, and she wouldn’t have Logan. He didn’t need this shit on him, not something else. On the darkest and quietest nights, he would sometimes voluntarily tell her stories of how he was beaten by his father, his uncle, and his mother. He would tell her how he went to live with a religious foster family and how the foster father beat the hell out of him for just being alive. He would tell her stories about running away and being a homeless youth in Canada.

He was just getting over all that. He was getting his life together, got his GED, got a job, was taking courses at the community college, and was getting over his childhood abuse.

And now she just saddled him with a baby even she didn’t want. Not yet, at least.

A few seconds turned into a few minutes and she could hear Logan’s steady breathing. When had he even stopped? Ororo wasn’t sure. Everything still felt like an episode MTV thought up. If that was the case, then maybe none of this was really happening.



Unofficially, Ororo was spending the night at Jean’s. Officially, she was wrapped in Logan’s embrace, crying into his burly chest, waiting on their Chinese food to arrive. He hadn’t said much to her, remaining stoically calm. He offered to drive her to his apartment, but she said she couldn’t leave her car in a parking lot all night. After that, his sentences became less complex and a bit quieter. He shushed her a lot.

Kissed her forehead even more.

When they got to his apartment, he asked if he could take a quick shower and order Chinese; he hadn’t had time to shop for groceries. After placing a quick order for their favorite foods, he took a quick shower-- all of six minutes. When he returned, dressed, he gathered Ororo into his arms and sat them on the couch, murmuring into her ear.

It was so nice and exactly what she wanted. It made her feel safe and secure.

She really hated it.

Eventually the doorbell rang and it occurred to Ororo that Logan hadn’t said anything about their precarious condition. In the shows, the guy either questioned the validity of the pregnancy or lied and said they were excited. He just became silent and comforted her. While she wanted to give him some word of encouragement, she knew she would feel like a total hypocrite. There would be no blind leaders here.

“Get the drinks?” he asked as he reached into his wallet. Ororo nodded, grabbing him a beer and her a water bottle. As a bonus, she grabbed some napkins and forks. Logan paid the man, took the food, and walked to his coffee table. She joined him, admiring how he was somehow acting like normal Logan in the face of life altering news. She handed him his beer and fork. “Thanks, darlin.”

“No problem,” she mumbled, swallowing the thick lump in her throat. Her heart felt warm and she swore she felt bubbles in her stomach. Maybe it was just the hunger she felt at smelling the Chinese. She sat down beside him, said a quick prayer, then attacked the food. It wasn’t so much the silence that was making her feel awkward as much as the stares she was getting from Logan. Unable to stop feeling so nervous, she put her fork down and looked down at her lap. “Why’re you looking at me?” she asked, her voice almost inaudible.

Logan slurped down some noodles, chewed slowly, then put his carton of shrimp lo mein down. “Lift up yer shirt,” he ordered. With shaking hands, she lifted the grey sweater up to her stomach. “Yer shirt, not your sweater.” Ororo blushed, embarrassed that she couldn’t have some respite. “Like that,” he encouraged. Higher and higher the sweater went, past her bump to her lacy demi bra. It was the only bra that fit comfortably; her nipples hurt all the time and her breasts felt sore and heavy no matter what she did. She once made the mistake of wearing a sports bra. Never. Again. “Like that,” he repeated calmly.

The horrible feeling of being exposed came. Logan stared hard at her face for a few seconds, then lowered his gaze to her breasts. His eyes lingered, taking in the ample swells. Ororo was a C cup, but she had a bad feeling she was going to be a D cup in the very near future if she wasn’t already. He scooted closer to Ororo and swallowed whatever was in his mouth. Spit and apprehension, most likely.

His calloused hands touched her stomach. Recently, Ororo always felt warm. She wasn’t sure if it was the baby of just the sweaters she was wearing, but she was always warm. But when Logan touched her stomach like that, she felt warmed. His fingertips skittered across the slightly distended middle, then settled on the sides of her belly. She watched him thumb her tummy, listened to his even breaths deepen, and felt his thick hands grab her waist and pull her towards him. (Ororo sometimes forgot how strong Logan truly was.)

An arm wrapped around her waist while one free hand rested on the exposed skin.

She wasn’t sure how long they sat like that, but it wasn’t for long.

He eventually disengaged his arm and hand from her and resumed eating. Ororo leaned slightly over Logan for her water and resumed eating her fried dumplings. In silence, she watched him wolf down beef and broccoli, shrimp lo mein, fried rice, curry chicken, and some of her fried dumplings. Ororo wondered where he put everything, but watching him eat so voraciously put her at ease. It was like they were on a regular date in a regular year from their regular life. When she opened her chop suey and he reached for it, she busted out laughing.

Logan fixed her with a mock glare. “What?” he mumbled, his mouth full of food. “Something in my teeth?” Ororo could only laugh harder. She doubled over, tears falling from her eyes at the entire thing. His stupid face. His horrible table manners. The lame joke-- really, who pulled a stunt from second grade in their twenties?

His kindness.

Her fears.

Her pregnancy.

The laughter became more hysteric and the tears more real.

It was so funny! They were so young and so in love. Brief minutes of shared passion and sweaty skin turned into a lifetime of commitment. Ororo once stopped heavy traffic to let a squirrel family run by and she actually considered forcing herself to miscarry. Logan barely had a penny to his name. He didn’t know how to be a father. She didn’t know how to be a mother.

“I love you, Ororo.”

NOTE: THANKS TO Storm and angel24buffy. (I'm sorry I haven't reviewed any of your stories, Storm-- I'm dealing with uni and it SUCKS.)

They weren’t sleeping. Logan gave Ororo a worn flannel shirt and some panties she left over at his house. After her shower, Ororo called Jean and begged her to not say anything. The big mystery would be revealed soon enough, but she had to do her this one solid. Jean said yes, but Ororo was going to spill the beans big time; Jean knew it would be juicy.

They laid in his bed, close and unmoving. Her head was buried in his chest, breathing Irish Spring body soap, laundry detergent, and musk. Ororo used to think the most wonderful smell in the world was the ground after rain-- Logan said she smelled like that-- and then she met Logan. Sweaty or dirty, he somehow always managed to smell like heaven.

His hand lazily traced up her back, feeling the delicate pearls of her back, while the other hand was tucked behind his head. Logan and Ororo often spent hours lying in this very position-- her resting slightly atop his, her leg tangled in his, their arms wrapped possessively over the other-- talking in hushed tones. Their words were only meant for the other, not even the walls could hear their lovely words.

It was the silence that was killing her. If the knowledge was sinking in, she wanted to know what he thought about it. It was painful not knowing, but she wondered if he was pained because he hadn’t known immediately or because he wished he never knew. Open books. There was a metaphoric bridge building between them; the water underneath came from her saline tears.

Closing her eyes, she wondered what it would be like to tell Charles. To tell Jean. Her friends. Her coach. The school. Would they treat her like girls said they did in movies and TV? Would she become a Juno with less witty lines? There were no cameras following her, no script helping her speak. She felt like a raw wound. Open and exposed.

It was unlike her to be so unprepared. Being prepared saved her from the awkward pause between a failed punchline and an Oxford comma.

“I thought ya were gonna break up with me.”

Ororo’s eyes fluttered open. “I thought the same thing,” she said sadly.

Logan shifted to face her. Even in the dark, she could see the intensity of his stare. “Never. I told ya, Ro, you’re the only one. Always.”

Ororo gently cupped his whiskered cheek and ran her thumb over his lower lip. “I’m scared, Logan. What happens now?”

Logan took the hand on his cheek and pressed a kiss to the soft skin, cherishing and brief. “We get you to a doctor. Tell yer dad. Plan.” Logan took a deep breath then exhaled nasally. “I think we should seriously consider you coming to live with me.”
“What?” Ororo’s body stiffened. “Why?” she asked obtusely.

Logan’s eyes dropped to her lips, watching the words be formed and pronounced. He put a hand over Ororo’s and brought his dark eyes back up to her light ones. “I take care of my own. You’re carrying the baby, but it’s still mine. I should have some say in what happens to, and in, their life.” His thick fingertips traced her willowy fingers. “I want ta get married.”

“Out of obligation?” she accused.

“I’d be a liar if I said that didn’t come into play fer my reasoning.” Ororo looked at their hands. “I want ta marry you because I know we’re meant fer each other. I know there’ll be hardships, but I can’t lose you.”

Ororo shifted closer to Logan. Why? she wanted to ask. But once again, the question was caught in her throat and her tongue felt too thick. Whatever needed to be said wasn’t coming out and Ororo felt like she missed an important opportunity. “I don’t know if I can, Logan,” she admitted. “I don’t even know if I want...” she trailed off, unable to finish her sentence.

“Course you do,” he said, his soft voice fierce. “You’re already in love with him.”

“Or her,” she shot back.

Logan smiled in the dark. “Or her.” He pressed his palm onto her stomach, searching for a sign of life. He knew she was too early in her pregnancy for visible kicks, but when he saw that tiny bump, he swore he would be there for the first movement and all the other movements their baby made. “I love ya, Ro.”

Ororo shifted closer to Logan. Fear still lived in her heart; it would be foolish to think his admission of love would solve everything, but it was substantially less. The only space between them were their quiet breaths. Their clothing created an invisible and tangible barrier they could break, but wouldn’t. A moment like this wasn’t meant for sex. People always confused sex with intimacy. Ororo was able to differentiate.

In this moment, she’d never felt closer to anyone in her life.

Maybe, just maybe, they could do this.

Maybe they’d be okay.

Maybe this fucked up situation was meant to happen. Maybe they were meant to be together

“I love you, too, Logan.”

Author's Note: Before you read this-- I like Jean, but you've got to accept her reaction as realistic. You can't seriously be all smiles and accepting once you hear your best friend is pregnant.

“At least tell me what your date looks like,” Jean whined, watching Ro send a text to her beau.

Logan called her every day. It wasn’t new, he called her daily anyways, but he texted her more often. They didn’t really talk about the baby, but talked like they normally would. Ororo knew it was expected of her to get angry, but she knew they couldn’t talk the subject to death. Thinking about it made her worry and trust Logan even less. He made her swear that she would spend less time thinking about it and spend more time accepting it. After all, he had.

It confused her, knowing how easily the idea of her carrying his seed came to him. It was like the option of her not getting pregnant by him was an impossibility. He told her as much but in different words. Logan was going to be a dad and Ororo was going to be a mom. The idea was fantastical and heart breaking and real.

“Here we are. One rose tea without boba and one with. Have a nice day.”

“Thanks,” Jean smiled. Ororo copied the move whilst sipping her boba-free tea. So much heaven. Ororo’d been craving the sweet tea recently, often making pit stops after practice to buy the delicious drink. That was how Ororo and Jean ended up in the small cafe. They’d just come from dance practice, their clothes slightly sticky. When Logan heard Ororo still went to practice, he raised hell, but backed down when she said she was quitting the team in a few weeks.

Once they exited the cafe, Ororo tapped Jean’s arm. “Could you sit in my car with me for a few minutes? I have something to tell you.”

Jean furrowed her red brows. “Sure,” she said, suspicion in her voice.

Ororo and Jean climbed in, sipping their tea quietly for a few minutes. It was tense, but Ororo refused to acknowledge it. “You’re my best friend, Jean. You’ve been there for me since we were six and in the sandbox.”

“Sandbox buddies never die.”

“Very true.” Though I think you might after hearing this. “I’m pregnant.” There. Like a bandaid.

Jean rolled her eyes. “Dramatic, much? If you don’t want to tell me the name of your homecoming date, then don’t. I’ll know when we go to the dance anyways.”

“No, really. I’m pregnant.”

Jean sighed and put her tea in Ororo’s cup holder. “Yeah? By who? Dr. McCoy? Might as well be, you spend so much time talking with him.”

“Ew! Jean! That’s my teacher.”

“You’re getting grossed out by me saying you’ve boinked your teacher and you’re trying to tell me you’re pregnant?” Jean rolled her emerald eyes. “You’re whacked out of your head.” She crossed her arms under her breasts. “It’s not funny, Ro. So stop it.”

“I’m not joking,” Ororo deadpanned.

Jean narrowed her eyes at Ororo one more time. “Fine then. Show me the test.”

“I gave the test to Logan.”

“And who’s Logan, huh? The baby’s father?” Jean mocked.

Ororo grit her teeth. “Yes.”

Jean smirked. “And does Charles know? I bet he’s thrilled. Right? Just like the daddy? Did Logan ask to marry you? Is Charles going to give you away?” Jean giggled. “Am I going to be your maid of honor? Are you going to wear a white dress? Too late for that, don’t you think, Mrs. Logan?” Jean let out a bark of laughter. “And then you will ride away on a horse drawn carriage while we throw rice and release the doves!” Jean shrieked with laughter, doubling over.

Every word cut into Ororo. Don’t think about it. Accept it. She wanted to call Logan and tell him the entire thing. She wanted to be strong. She wanted to stop crying.

Oh, shit. When did she start crying?

The hazy feeling of deja vu edged at the back of her mind, letting her know the situation was becoming all too predictable and wasn’t getting any easier. But that’s what she expected, right? Who would possibly believe perfect Ororo would get herself knocked up? Apparently not her best friend.

Thick sobs stopped Jean. “Ro?” she said softly. “Ro?” she repeated. “Oh, my God. You really are, aren’t you?” she asked softly.

Ororo nodded, unable to lift her head from the steering wheel. “Yes,” she whispered.

“I don’t know what to say, Ro.” Jean’s eyes widened. “Shit.”

“You described my mood perfectly.”

Jean wrapped her arms around Ororo. “I’m so sorry, babes. I had no idea. I thought you were joking. I didn’t even know you were dating someone.” Jean paused. “I had an idea there might’ve been someone, but wasn’t...” Jean licked her lips. “How long?”

“Have I been pregnant? Been with Logan?”

“Both. Either.”

Ororo wiped her eyes. “Going by my estimate, I’ve been dating Logan for a year. He would say we’ve been together for two.”

“Two years and you’re just mentioning him now?” Jean asked, incredulous. Ororo started crying harder. She should’ve been able to handle Jean’s reaction, but it was the damned hormones. Ororo was always steady and levelheaded. “I’m sorry, Ro. Calm down. I’m not angry, just shocked.”

“He’s older than me. When we met I was only sixteen and he was already in his twenties. When we really started dating, I was seventeen. We started having sex when I turned eighteen.” Ororo licked her dry lips. The rose tea was totally forgotten at this point. Once she started talking, she couldn’t stop.

“How old is Logan...”

“Howlett. His real name is James.” Ororo wiped her eyes. “He’s twenty three as of last March.”

“Fuck, Ro.”

“Yeah,” she mumbled. Fat tears rolled down her eyes and Ororo chuckled. “And now we’re going to be parents.”

Jean sat back and brushed her bangs from her forehead. “This is crazy, Ro. How could you hide something like this for so long?” Jean glanced at Ororo’s stomach. “How far along are you?”

“Don’t know. But honestly?” Ororo looked down and fiddled with a strand of white hair. She needed a trim soon; the white mane was touching her waist. Logan loved her white hair, he said it was what caught his eye about her first. Second was her bright smile. “More than a month. Maybe two.”

“Two? Jesus Christ, Ro!”

“I panicked, okay? The first missed period was bad enough, but imagine being me and missing another? I can’t even tell my best friend about Logan, how do you think I’m managing keeping this fucking secret from my father? He’ll disown me!” Ororo wrought her hands, tired of thinking about the next step before the next few months. Acceptance. Acceptance.

The tiny feeling of bubbles came back.

Ororo wished it would stop.

Gripping her steering wheel, Ororo stared ahead. “I have to get going. Logan wanted to meet me--”

“To talk?” Jean said flatly.

“What else can we do, Jean?” Ororo hissed, not the least bit remorseful. “I’m late,” Ororo said, glancing at her car’s clock.

“No shit,” scoffed Jean.

Ororo glared at Jean. “Get. Out. Of my car. Now.”

Jean scoffed. “Fine.” In a huff, Jean unsnapped the buckle and threw the door open. When the slam of metal against metal came, Ororo peeled out.

Friends were fickle.

She had Logan and she still had her wits.

It was just as she expected.

Author's Note: jeepers... this has taken some time to get out. sorry! I hate awkwardly timed updates and I go and do the same thing! if this is confusing I swear I'll fix it.


Another few days passed. Ororo was hardly speaking to Charles or Jean, but her calls to Logan became more frequent. She hated how needy she was becoming. In the back of her mind, Ororo knew she had no reason to worry; Logan said he wanted to be there for her not matter what. It was just... She was afraid she’d become too pushy. Too sad. She was afraid he’d leave her. And honestly, if Logan left her, Ororo wasn’t sure what she’d do.

She sat on the wooden rocking chair on her back porch, watching the sun set. For a while, her mind was focused and distracted. It was amazing, how vibrant the sky could get. When Ororo was a little girl, she would stop whatever she was doing to watch the sun sink into the earth. As a child, she truly believed the Earth stopped its rotation to watch the sunset. How could she not? It was always beautiful and never the same.

When she was eight, she had a specific memory of dragging Charles out onto the back porch on one particular afternoon. It was cold and she was missing her shoes, but she wrapped her tiny fingers around his and pulled him towards the snow covered clearing. He was busy and she was getting sick, but she climbed into his lap and snuggled her little body into his jacket. In perfect silence, they watched the sun go to bed.

When the sky stopped being blue and the violets were melding with the midnight blues, Charles kissed Ororo’s forehead and smiled. “And now it’s time for our bed, too.” Of course she would protest, but Charles would be insistent. He told her there was no more sun and that meant there was no other reason for her to be awake. With a pout, she looked her wide eyes up at Charles and frowned.

“I just want to spend time with you for a little longer.” would always be her response

Maybe one day she would catch her child saying the same thing to Logan.

“The sun has set, little one,” Charles said softly.

Ororo wasn’t surprised. She’d heard the door open and close, the wheels on his chair, and the metal gears whirring. “Just a while longer,” she said softly, moving from her perch to sit on his lap. She was no longer thirty pounds, but there wasn’t much time left for her to sit on his lap. Soon, she would be swollen with two people’s weight.

“A while longer,” Charles agreed, stroking Ororo’s hair. They sat in silence watching the inky blues overtake the violets and deep reds in the sky. The moon inched forward, not as bright as the sun, but noticeable all the same. Ororo buried her head in Charles’ lapels, breathing in the scent of old books. “What’s wrong, Ororo? You’ve been so sad lately.”

She started tearing up. Not because of what she had to say, but because he noticed. Because he cared. For how much longer, she didn’t know. But she had to let him know now. The sun had already set.