#yup the gods made me infertile for a reason

[tweedfrog]

I’ve always said that Aegon I is boring to me becuase hes so swagless but the fact that he managed to be the Uncle Who Stepped Up™ to Aenys (likely not his biological son) while being a deadbeat dad to his probably-biological-via-blood-magic son Maegor may have me rescinding that statement

[blushing-starker]

Anon asked for alpha Peter and omega Tony for a baby announcement. Thank you to the wonderful @vaguekiwi for motivating me and sharing her thoughts on the story. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did, anon.

"Tony, Tony? Are you up? It's 7:30am already, you have a meeting with Miss Potts in forty minutes. Tony?"

Soft hands curl into already silver hair, scratching at the strands in an attempt to wake him up gently. Butterfly kisses on a cold nape, a ridiculously hot nose nuzzling everywhere. Peter knows scenting the billionaire is basically the only way one can ensure a calm morning.

Not today. And not for the next few months either.

He loves his husband, appreciates the nearly romantic demeanor, he does. But "unless you have a cup of coffee for me, there is no way in hell i am gonna leave this bed. your child has kept me up with nausea the entire night. I wanna hurl my guts out more than that time Rhodes found Dad's liquor cabinet. please, tell me you have coffee."

"..." Tony is severely displeased by the fact he can read Peter like a book even with half his mind shut off because fine, he's right and dammit all.

"I want that weird drink you make. The one with milk, cinnamon and chunks of brownie. And French toast with waffles. No jam, not too much butter, as much sugar as possible. Now, go before I scream at you for having the only dick that could get a hormone fucked forty something omega pregnant. "

The kid scrambles from bed, practically face plants with all the covers tangling long legs and yup, this is the person that the universe designated as his soulmate. Because Tony Stark can never have a partner with a reasonable, normal amount of enthusiasm, stamina and a sense of balance.

That sounds like he's ungrateful, he's not. But it turns out being three months pregnant gives him plenty of perspective to peer at life in a whole new way that does not include caffeine, alcohol or sex.

Would he kill and die for this amazing human being that makes Tony's heart race no matter the day, that inspires him to be a better version of himself? Yes, no questions asked. No hesitation and no regret.

Would he clobber Peter for doing the impossible and technically causing Tony incredible discomfort on a daily basis thanks to what his doctors can only assume is a superhuman baby he already loves and adores more than life itself? Also yes.

Things aren't mutually exclusive in this household.

Pep, bless her, has yet to find out about their future mini Parker so there's been no respite on the whole 'running a multi billion dollar industry ' thing. And yeah, while it's not exactly easy, he can focus on other things and not fall into a panicky state of mind — because him? A father? Of a super baby? Tony Stark, infamous playboy with a hedonistic streak, a dad?

Just thinking along those lines makes shame and self doubt slither over a metallic plate. Working, dealing with innovative scientists, crafting the new world of tomorrow, guaranteeing the safety of their planet, shapeshifting into a role model, a mentor (for the interns and school kids he visits, not Peter, of course, thank God they left that dynamic ages ago), loyal friend, reluctant errand boy (fuck the assholes in charge of the Accords), great husband, good man, it all distracts a fearful child from thinking, what if I turn into Howard?

"I couldn't find brownies, so cookies it is! Aunt May had a few boxes sent in when I told her work was keeping you on your feet all the time. Said it'd be a good idea to snack along the day in case you—" Peter freezes, tenses with a not-so-narrow back held ramrod straight. Oh, his husband brought him breakfast in bed.

How could he ever think to clobber such a nice, wonderful—

"Your scent is odd."

"Yeah, well fuck you too then."

Five seconds of silence.

"I'm bringing you one cup of coffee and the hormone pills."

" Yup, that's a great idea. "

---------------------------

Tony’s mumbo jumbo with self loathing is firmly put on the back burner after inhaling a delicious breakfast and chugging that one glorious cup of coffee. Until they go to the bathroom and he sees himself in the mirror.

"We gotta tell them."

"You said you wanted to wait a while before saying anything."

Peter strips, ducks into the warm shower, lets out a pleased little sigh and Tony wants to rip his fingernails off. Is it bad, having sex while pregnant? No! The doctors, every single one of them, said it's a perfectly normal thing to do. It'd be bad if they didn't have sex because Tony, thanks to his crazy hormone production, needs the extra attention for his body to understand this is a happy process that shouldn't include sad pheromones or stressed out moments. Will Peter put him out of his misery and allow a quickie in the mornings? No.

"Take more than five minutes in that shower and I'm joining you."

Listen, he grew up in the 80's and 90's, Tony wasn't immune to peer pressure. Did he cave and eventually do so many squat competitions with Rhodey his butt turned into a duck's butt? There's no evidence, he's made sure, but yes. And Starks have always turned out to be beautiful, doesn't matter your gender or age. Finding a companion for the night has never been a problem for anyone in his family tree.

That, and his work as Iron Man has kept him — well, not ripped like Cap, certainly not as lean and (God help him) athletic as Peter, but fit. Sturdy. Firm. Solid. (Peter once muttered the words 'daddy-like' in regards to his body and he nearly choked on water.)

The passage of time has made him a bit slower, dusted once black hair with, as his husband says, stardust and the corners of his eyes now show how much time Tony spends laughing or frowning. All in all, he looks fucking spectacular for his age and experience as a villain-punching-bag. Thing is, he has a belly. A bump. A curve where it was once, well. Less curvy. Is it a problem for Peter? Nope, as acknowledged every time his alpha tackles him if he so much as looks oddly in the mirror. Is it a problem for him? He'll get back to you on that.

The point is, there's a belly when just a few months ago there wasn't such a pronounced belly. It's great, of course. Proof their child is growing steadily and Tony's body is adjusting to it accordingly. A small part of him, the omega part he actually lets live, is fascinated and proud. He's doing that, Tony's the one growing a human being, creating life out of nothing in his own body. That child, although not the only physical embodiment of their relationship, is a result of his love for Peter. Of how much his husband loves him. They love each other so much they're gonna start another family together. That chokes him up a bit, reminds him how grateful he is for Peter and for the other Avengers. If they hadn't been so accepting of his status, would he have ever considered going through with this?

Anyway, he's not gonna start sobbing this early in the morning when there's no alcohol involved. It's fantastic seeing his child develop, good, warm and fuzzy feelings, yada yada yada, it's also not very easy to hide. And Tony...Tony wanted to hide it from his family because.

Because Peter hasn't been the only partner in all his life that has wondered about a future with a white picket fence. Because when he was Peter's age, in his goddamn prime, a doctor, ten doctors, all the doctors told him the same thing, smashed his dream into a million pieces. Tony was nearly infertile. There was a one in a million chances of him getting pregnant. If he did, they couldn't be sure his body would be able to maintain two hearts. And then the cave happened.

So yeah. It happened to his cousins, his aunt, a few uncles, his grandmother. Tony would do a baby announcement, but only the second that baby was outside of him and safely in his arms. Now there are still several months left and nothing certain. But time is a bitch and beginning to show the world, maybe those extra pounds aren't from eating the Parker's amazing breakfasts.

"Tony, you know I don't wanna risk-" Losing control of my strength. They've been together long enough that Tony can see quite clearly between the lines.

"Hurting us, yeah, I know, I understand. I'm getting too wide, we're gonna have to tell them or Natasha will take one look at me and whoops, impromptu announcement from someone else. It's a miracle she was out on those missions when we found out." Thank God for renegade troops.

He's still looking at himself in the mirror when Peter comes out, barely dries up and slides behind him. His husband is slightly taller now, can easily hook a curved jaw on Tony's shoulder to peer at the image they make. Contrasts, he supposes, have always enthralled Tony. The study of light and shadow. Variations of the same basic components. Where his body is aging, showing signs of wear and tear, Peter's is evolving into something beautiful, majestic. Silver hair, chestnut brown. Scarred canvas, silky smooth and sunkissed skin. Soft, fragile curves, chiseled lines that deserve to be revered more than Michelangelo’s David. But their eyes, their eyes are equally tired.

“We can tell them if you want, have dinner together and just, just say it. Like that -”

“No. It's our kid, we're not gonna act like it's ripping off a band aid. This is special, unique. Dinner is good. Fantastic, actually. Wait for dessert, and announce it. “ Peter comes ever closer, wraps arms that could carry the world around him and how did he get so lucky?

They've lied to each other in the past. Mostly in the beginning, when they were too worried about hurting their new relationship to show their desires and wants. Tony didn't explain the Training Wheels Protocol. Peter tried to fight high level crime on his own. Things got hard to understand, like being in the right place at the wrong time. Puzzle pieces that didn't quite fit together, an extra inch of space prohibiting them from seeing all the possibilities that the truth could bring. They were walking the same path, just in parallel lines that never crossed.

But then he'd been rejected, thrown away and able to realize how fucking stupid it was to let Peter go when being near the kid, it felt like finally breathing after residing in the deep end of a pool for a thousand years. So Tony ran after him one day, crashed into his AP English class, half assed an excuse for the baffled teacher, yanked Peter out of the room and proceeded to have the best make out session of his life with his back against the kid's locker. And now they don't lie, ever.

Which is why it's so hard to accept Peter's, “You're beautiful, Tony. The handsomest man I've ever seen in my life. I loved you before, I love you now, I'll love you forever, Anthony Stark. You carrying our kid doesn't change that, how could it, Tony? It's going to be ok. The three of us will be ok and I won't stop thanking whoever decided I'd get to marry my wet dream.”

Scorching kisses trace his pulse point slowly, sharp nails start dragging against a too thin shirt, but it's the fact that Peter hasn't looked away from him, is confidently holding his gaze through the glass, that makes Tony shudder and stop breathing.

The bathroom is flooded with pheromones, cinnamon and honey assaulting an unprepared billionaire, and he'll die if they stay like this, can't function properly, brain switching gears, trying valiantly to remember baseball stats, past wounds, May's cooking because Peter's gonna wreck his sanity if those hands keep winding down, if those lips don't stop unraveling him like a Christmas present.

“If I'd known you'd get this handsy and romantic, I would have complained about how I look earlier." It's a gasp, half murmur, half plea as Peter grins at him shamelessly. “I know it's rude and wrong and sexist, but I like comforting my omega, acting like a stereotypical alpha. Makes me feel like I'm doing my job of making you happy. “

He quirks an eyebrow, is glad Peter can be comfortable enough to take the reins every once in a while. “You're telling me that assuring me I'm still drop dead gorgeous, “ his husband snorts, nips at Tony's shoulder for that quip, “ makes you horny because you feel like an alpha comforting, and I quote, ‘your omega’? “

Peter reverts back to the shy teenager who could barely ask a girl out to the homecoming dance, ducks his head into Tony’s neck with a blush quickly spreading over damp skin. “Well, I've got news for you, sweetheart. Your wet dream also thoroughly enjoys it so you better break tradition and have sex with me to remind me I'm the hottest man you've ever seen. "

He's actually serious about this, his self esteem hasn't exactly been, you know, the best and Tony's mood always improves significantly after playing around in bed with Peter. Besides, it's a sign of trust. Peter won't hurt him or their child, will be able to hold back his strength. He always does.

Listen, it's not exactly moral, but he has more than enough problems to go ahead and analyze his attraction and dependency on Peter while pregnant.

“So, I can distract you from your bad thoughts by acting sort of possessive and taking you to bed? " Oh, he adores when his husband is afraid of showing a new side of himself and asks for permission ever so sweetly.

“Babe, if you don't, I'll kick you out of the apartment. Give me possessive Peter Parker any day you want, like I'm gonna complain about a gorgeous, brilliant twenty something year old all over me. Now what's it gonna be, alpha dear, bathroom or bedroom? I wouldn't mind the tile but, oh God, I forgot you could pick me up." Tony clings to broad shoulders, can't help but laugh because aren't they a pair?

-------------------------

After having what he's sure was the best sex of his life, Tony stumbles out of the bedroom with torn clothes, a dazed look in his eyes and several bruises blossoming around his neck. Peter's halfway out the doorway when Tony whistles, makes sure all their family is paying attention, blurts out, “Peter and I are having a kid. I'm pregnant, woohoo, it's great, it's amazing, save your congratulations for later. We'll do a proper thing soon, if anyone interrupts and they're not dying, I'll kill you myself. See you in a few hours, " and yanks him back in while Friday activates Sock on the Doorknob Protocol.

Rhodey and Nat clink glasses while waiting on the others to pay up on their bets regarding Tony and Peter's odd behavior.

--------------------------

Later, much later, like, two days later, they have a proper dinner with their family in the tower. There are balloons and streamers, cake and ice cream, warm hugs and gentle cheek kisses, subtle tears and full on weeping (Happy had to borrow a box of Kleenex), pictures and videos and a pile of gifts taller than Tony.

The most important thing, though, is that the A.I recorded the reaction after Clint asked about baby names. He's grateful they went to the doctor before tonight. The visit revealed a treasure Tony thought he'd never have. Now it's time to reveal it to their pack.

His husband snuggles up to him, is so ecstatic the whole dining room smells like cinnamon and honey, like joyous love he'll never get enough of. Tony grins at him, curls their hands together and repeats the same thing over and over again in his head.

It'll be ok. They'll be ok. If the universe keeps giving Tony the greatest gifts he could ever want, maybe it's time he stopped looking at the horse's mouth. That's how it goes, right? Right.

He turns to look at Peter, loves him so much it aches, feels tiny feet pressing against his stomach. Guesses he's not the only one smitten with this incredible human being.

“We were thinking Marie,” Peter smiles at him, eyes lit up and lovely.

Tony is never going to forget this moment, this warmth in his chest.

“And Benjamin Parker-Stark.”

Their family loses their shit and both Friday and Karen have ample proof.

(@puppypeter look, omega tones! @tonystarkisaslut thank you so much for allowing me to use the prompt board! I am still accepting prompts! Although I can't guarantee getting them ready within a few days, I'll try to finish them on the one week mark depending on how long the fic is!)

[lia-jones]

Growing Stronger - Chapter One - Andrea’s Breakup Recovery Guide

Author’s note: Yay, part two! Posting chapters as fast as I can, because stuff is coming and you don’t want to miss (I hope so!).

In pretty much every magazine for women or teenagers, one is destined to come across something along the subject of breakups and how to recover from them. A paraphernalia of advice on what you should do, like reinvent yourself, cut communication, get hammered. I used to laugh when I read such articles, I felt so above it. Well, it turns out, I wasn’t. I was just never so broken-hearted before.

Breaking up with Victor was one of the hardest things I had done in my life, to be honest. The pain I felt could easily compare with the pain of being a victim of domestic abuse, if not worse. By the time things ended with Daniel, I wasn’t in love with him. It was a huge relief to get rid of him. But I was still very much in love with Victor. And losing him was like losing a lung, it made it so much harder to breathe.

I looked at my phone countless times, hoping he would text, or wanting to call him. I imagined myself meeting him by accident on the street, or the supermarket, the window for reconciliation opening, us together again, and hopefully, happily ever after. I ran all these scenarios in my mind, painfully remembering how good it felt to have his hands on my skin, his lips, his warmth. I laughed again at all the jokes he told me, because Victor could look cold and mechanic, but he was actually very witty and funny when he felt more at ease. And I recalled every single line of our fight, and always came to the same conclusion: our relationship was the perfect storm, and we were better apart than together.

We didn’t break up for no reason, and even though I was obviously wearing breakup rose-colored glasses, the truth was painstakingly evident. We had problems. Lots of them. Thanks to his fame I would never have a private life again, and despite our best efforts to keep the media quiet, God only knew when they would remember to revisit my abuse, or interview someone in my family, and how that would affect my work. And despite his apparent wish in wanting me in his life, I had to conclude I never was truly in his life. He hid things from me. Important things. There were years of Victor I did not know, and he was not willing to share. Huge red flag. Apart from that, I didn’t seem to be a good fit in his life either. His father disapproved of our relationship and was very clear about it. Victor’s relationship with his father wasn’t very good to begin with, sure, and it seemed that nothing that Victor ever did was good enough for his father, but still… His father was his family. People we would have to have some connection to over the years, and starting on a sour note was very dangerous, and a prelude for more problems.

And then there was another seldomly discussed but extremely painful reason: I was infertile. I was able to overcome every single thing Daniel had done to me but this. And this was huge. Should Victor be with me, I would be depriving him of something that could mean a lot to him. Even if he accepted it at first, he would eventually want a child of his own, with his features, his DNA… and he wouldn’t be able to do it with me. He wouldn’t leave me for that, he was a “thick and thin” kind of guy, so he would slowly start to resent me instead. We would end up an unhappy bitter couple. I didn’t want to do that to myself, but most of all, Victor did not deserve it. I didn’t want to be the one making him go through so much hardship.

So I decided to keep looking at my phone, put my breakup in my It’s for the best mental drawer, and focus on learning to live without him. I must confess, if my endless nights crying while gulping Ben&Jerry’s were any indicator, I didn’t start my healing process very well. I was still sad and starting to gain some weight, and none of that was helpful. So, remembering the articles I used to read about breakups, and that concluding steps like getting myself hammered and writing bitter letters were as helpful to me as crying and ice cream, I decided to create a list of my own.

Working hard was always a good distraction, so I decided I would start with that. The less time I had left to think about Victor, the better, so I took as much work as I could, leaving only a few hours out for sleep and socializing. I restarted my Krav Maga lessons and actually added some more exercise to burn the ice cream calories off. Levi immediately offered himself to be my exercise buddy, so I wouldn’t even have the time to think about Victor when I ran, which would also be a very good thing.

Those magazine articles always spoke of some kind of reinvention, and although I didn’t want to be drastic, I could use a haircut. I cut my curls in a shoulder-length angled bob, and did some blond ombre highlights to compliment my hair color. I decided to get some new clothes as well. Since my position at the university didn’t require business clothes, I decided it wouldn’t hurt to add some casual clothes, like jeans and more flowy tops. Maybe those cute sneakers I saw at that shop that day.

Bottling up my emotions was not a good idea, so I figured I should find some kind of outlet for them. Writing bitter letters was not a viable option, and Victor did not deserve them, so I settled for music instead. I missed my piano, and always thought about buying one if I truly settled in Loveland. Now I could afford it, I was working at the University and making good money. After thoughtful consideration and what I considered a true real-life Tetris experience, I finally managed to rearrange my furniture and make space for a digital piano. I would express my feelings through playing, maybe write a few songs of my own.

Needless to say, none of my friends or family took the news of the breakup very well, although I never shared the details of it with anyone. My mom, of course, tried to find out more and offer me some unwarranted therapy, but just ended up saying that, despite thinking I had made a big mistake, she wished me well and only wanted me to be happy. My father, my brother and Cristina were disappointed too. Apparently, Victor had made a bigger impression than I thought.

I remained close to Diane and Goldman, although I couldn’t discuss the breakup with them either. Diane was adamant on us meeting at least once a week for lunch, and clearly was not accepting the breakup, always hinting we would end up together again. I tried my best to steer clear off the topic, talking about her and Goldman instead, or something work-related. Surprisingly, in one of those mandatory outings, she seemed to have no intention to mention Victor.

“You are a terrible friend, you know.” Diane declared, sipping on her orange juice.

“I would ask why, but I’m pretty sure you are going to tell me.” I teased her.

“Well, I’ve been waving my hand like crazy for the last 30 minutes and you didn’t even notice what I have on my finger!” She almost yelled, excited. “I mean, it’s no use wearing an engagement ring if it doesn’t make your friends jealous!”

Yup. There it was. A lovely golden band with a considerably sized diamond in it. I gasped.

“Goldman proposed?!?!? When?”

“Last weekend.” She smiled, dreamily. “He took us to the restaurant we went to on our very first date, that Italian cute one? He hid the ring in the tiramisu.”

“That sounds really dangerous.” I laughed. “One of you would’ve had a surprise that night. Maybe a trip to the hospital.”

“Oh, just say it, you’re jealous.” She gave me a sly smile. “All you have to do is to stop that breakup nonsense, so we can pick wedding dresses together!”

“Whoa, Bridezilla! Hold your horses!” I laughed, starting to get a bit tense. “Even if Victor and I were together, which you know we are not, there would be no guarantee of him popping the question any time soon.”

“I feel so sad to hear that.” Diane almost pouted. “Was the breakup that bad? No going back? At all? You never say anything!”

“First of all, your fiancé works with my ex, so… And besides, how rude would it be of me to go around trashing my ex after breaking up with him? Victor doesn’t deserve it, he is a great guy. It’s not right to just go out disclosing facts about our intimacy because I was part of it.”

“Most girls would just badmouth the ex.” Diane frowned.

“Most girls didn’t date Victor Lee.” I shrugged.

“The upside is, if you are adamant in protecting him, it may be salvageable after all. He’s been really moody these days.” Diane continued to push the issue, sounding worried. I quickly brushed it off.

“When is he not?” I shrugged. “It’s Victor.”

“When he was with you.” Diane smiled. “Andrea, he’s hurting. He’s been sad, and reclusive, burying himself in work.”

It didn’t surprise me to know I wasn’t the only one using work as a distraction.

“Breakups are hard, Diane. He’s not the only one hurting. I won’t say much, but I will give you this. It was for the best, for both of us. It hurts now, but we will move on. I moved on from Daniel, he moved on from Mia. We will move on from each other.”

“I witnessed the whole Mia situation. Andrea, he wasn’t like this. Not like this.”

“It’s Victor. He’ll bounce back soon enough.” Or so I hoped. I felt my heart tighten with emotions I couldn’t or wouldn’t dare to identify.

That night, I resumed the staring contest with my phone, thinking about Victor. I missed his voice. I was worried about him. Instead of doing the absolute error of calling my ex, I did something even worse, I went through the pictures. I found one of my favorites, one of Victor sleeping. There was something sweet in his expression when he slept, there were none of the usual barriers he set in place. There was only Victor, and the sweetness he contained, that I was so honored to witness. He opened himself to me, let me look into his light, let me touch it and bask in it, and trusted me with this secret. And I let him down.

No matter how things ended, no matter how many reasons I could come up with to hate him, I loved him. I didn’t blame him for this breakup, I took full responsibility on that. Yes, he was hiding things from me, and yes, he did say some very hurtful things, but I was the one that hurt him the most. I slapped him and I left him. In his words, I abandoned him.

And even though I had my reasons, I still felt like a total bitch for breaking his heart like that. No amount of advice on how to recover from a breakup would help me with that.

[snickerl]

The Birds and the Bees Through the Years

Alternative X-Files universe where Scully is allowed to raise both of her children, telling them how babies are made at different stages in their lives.

tagging @today-in-fic

CHAPTER 3/? - GLASS BOWL

"What's up, Will? Did you have a good day at school?"

It's always the same question he gets asked when he returns home. Either by his mom or by his dad, depending on who sees him first. Sometimes his parents are both away on a case and his grandma takes care of him. She doesn't ask him this annoying question he doesn't want to answer. He doesn't want to talk about school as soon as he leaves the building. His grandma understands, his parents always want to know. William thinks that might be the difference between parents and grandparents, the former want to educate and raise you and make you a better person, the latter just want to spoil and love you. His parents love him too, William knows. Still, his only answer to his mother's question is a non-committal, "hmpf."

"What's that supposed to mean? Mind talking to your mother in whole sentences?" She isn't letting him off the hook, and actually today there is something the boy would like to share.

"Jimmy is such a liar, mom!"

Jimmy is his friend since kindergarten, but from time to time they argue about something and today is one of those days. William's still confused about what came up in school today.

"He said his parents made him in a glass bowl and that's why he's so bright and gets A's in maths all the time."

Scully looks up from the kitchen sink where she's been doing the dishes. "Oh? You've gotten your maths results today?"

"Yup."

"And what have you got?"

"B+," the boy huffs, signaling he's not happy about it.

"That's perfectly fine, Will. Congratulation."

Scully hates it when her son is never satisfied with his accolades. Ambition is a good thing, so is stamina and will-power, but he's also just a kid who should enjoy life. Scully remembers her own ride through school all the way until graduating from medical school. She spent too much time with her nose in her books and too little out with her friends. It had earned her the best grades but her social life had fallen a bit by the wayside. It had become a recurring pattern in her life. For a long time, her job had played the most important part she sacrificed family dinners and free weekends for. Even a date once in a while. Her priorities hadn't shifted until she became a mother. First, of a three-year-old girl she adopted and then, three years later, of a baby boy who turned eight last month and is upset about something she hasn't got a clue of yet.

"But Jimmy got an A."

"I don't care what your friends get and neither should you. You've had problems with that particular topic." Text problems, of all kind. The child that was able to read at the age of four had difficulties solving maths text problems. Scully believed it had something to do with compartmentalizing. For William, reading didn't have anything to do with maths. He read the text but just didn't see the maths behind it. It had taken quite a few private lessons until he understood how to approach the task. "But that didn't keep you from making an effort. You studied hard and you are redeemed with a very good grade. You don't have to be perfect, honey, or the best of your class. We love you no matter what grade you're bringing home. And I bet Jimmy's parents tell him just the same."

"But he still is a liar."

"In what sense a liar?"

"Because he brags about being made in a laboratory. He says he's some kind of superhuman because a scientist created him in a glass bowl. But babies are made in the bedroom by their moms and dads when they like each other very much, right?"

Scully clears her throat before she answers. She feels they are approaching difficult territory. "You're right, William, most babies are made when their parents make love to each other in bed, but not all of them. Jimmy might have told you the truth, it's possible he was conceived by artificial insemination."

"Artificial what?"

"Insemination. It means the mother's egg and father's sperm are brought together outside the woman's body."

"In a glass bowl?"

"Well, it's called a petri dish, but yes, it's more or less a glass bowl, rather a small, shallow saucer. The procedure is also called in-vitro fertilization. In vitro is Latin and means within a glass, observable in a test tube or any kind of artificial environment."

"And it's done to make smarter babies?"

"No, it's done when a couple wants to have children but can't the natural way. In the bedroom." She clears her throat again. Talking to her children about the birds and the bees has never been easy for her. Making it sound like a lesson in biology class is her MO most of the time.

"Oh."

"It's a demanding procedure. It puts the future parents under a lot of stress, especially the mothers, but also the fathers. It's not much fun. And it costs quite a bit of money. Only couples that have tried for a baby without success for a long time would try in-vitro."

"Hmmm."

William lets the information sink in. His mother is always good at explaining those things to him. It's so much easier to ask her than to look it up in a book. She seems to be a resource for any kind of topic. "How come you know so much about everything, mom? Even about this in-vitro stuff," he marvels.

"I'm a medical doctor, remember?"

"But you examine corpses to find out why they died, you don't create babies."

He has a point, Scully has to admit. She works on the opposite side of the spectrum. She doesn't deal with the creation of life but with its termination. Some of her classmates at medical school chose to specialize in gynecology exactly for that reason, to be working in a medical field that entailed joy and health and not mainly sorrow and illness. She deals not only with illness but with murder, crime, and death. She's being called when the worst things have happened and nothing she can do will help the victims, their families, and friends. All she can do is help find the offenders and bring them to justice.

Scully struggles a bit with what she should reply, then decides her son is old enough to understand. "I have first-hand experience, Will."

"What? I'm also a test tube baby?"

"No," she hurries to erase that thought from his mind, "no, you're not."

"Emily?"

"Daddy and I adopted Emily, remember? You know she came to live with us when she was three years old." It's only half the truth, but Emily hasn't been told the story of her genesis yet, and she can't learn from her little brother. Mulder and Scully have been procrastinating the conversation with their daughter so far, waiting for the right moment. The moment just never seems right.

"Ah, right. So where does your first-hand experience come from then, mom?"

Eagerness for knowledge. It characterizes every child, but William in particular. He drinks in information like a sponge. Scully sighs barely audible. Now that she has started, she has to finish.

"I was once told that I couldn't have children. Doctors call it barren or infertile. I suffered from a condition that prevented for me to conceive a baby naturally."

"In the bedroom. With daddy."

"Um...yes."

"What condition?"

Tenacity, thy name is William. Scully puts her thoughts into an order for a moment, tries to think of the right words to explain it to an eight-year-old.

"A woman's body usually contains enough eggs to provide one every month to get inseminated by a man's sperm. If this happens, the egg starts dividing and settles down in the uterus. The woman is pregnant. The baby grows and nine months later it's born. My condition was called Premature Ovarian Failure which means that there were no eggs in my ovaries, and without an egg, there couldn't be a baby."

Thank God for science. As long as Scully can quote from one of her textbooks, even if it's one explaining the wonder of propagation to children, she's on a secure footing. She once read in a guidebook for parents that it's important to respect the child's natural curiosity without being judgmental, that if she avoids these talks, her children won't learn her values about sex, but will develop their own from what they hear from friends and the media. And she doesn't want that to happen. From a psychology professor, she heard that the most important thing is for a parent to explain the difficult topic without seeming anxious, that the child picks up the melody line, not the exact words. Both children have come to her in mysterious, inexplicable ways but she doesn't want either of them to believe they were an anomaly or some kind of freak.

"But mom, where is the baby daddy and you made in this...uh, what is the bowl called again?"

Answer the questions as they come, that's what the guidebook also said. Don't overload a child with information but don't try to steer the conversation elsewhere either. Scully wants to be an 'ask-able' parent, doesn't want her children to think the topic is a taboo in their family.

"Petri dish. There is no guarantee the procedure works, actually it fails more often than it is successful. We tried twice but it didn't take it. We don't have any other children besides Emily and you."

"Okay, but how come I exist then? If dad and you couldn't make babies in the bedroom neither in a petri dish?"

Once again, William's quick thinking mind, his wit and ability to always see the bigger picture surprises Scully, in a pleasant way.

"You, my son, are a miracle," she whispers in an uneven voice, stroking his hair lovingly.

To this day, Scully is still clueless how it had been possible for her to become pregnant. The only logical explanation would be that they hadn't been thorough enough when they took the ova from her. Somewhere in her ovarian tubes there had to be an egg hiding from the insidious harvesters, waiting for the right moment to make its voyage one fine day to join up with a sperm, Mulder's sperm. When she calculates back from the day William was born, she must have conceived him during one of their first times in bed. What a lucky stroke of fate. It seems that at least once in their lives the stars had aligned and fate had been on their side.

A pair of cerulean blue eyes just like her own stare at her, spanned by the cutest wrinkled forehead Scully has ever seen, for the boy tries hard to throw his mother an appraising look. The only thing missing is that he quirks his left eyebrow, and when he does, Scully almost laughs at the smaller version of herself. Are gestures and facial expressions hereditary or has she looked at him like this so often that he imitates her subconsciously?

Don't overload your child with information, rings in the back of Scully's head, another advice from one of the brochures she'd been reading about parenting when she became a mother. Going into detail about how science failed to provide an explanation for a natural conception would overwhelm the boy for sure.

"You are a miracle because you came to us at a moment of our lives we'd almost lost hope that something really good would ever happen to us. We had already accepted that Em would never get a little brother or sister, and suddenly, totally unexpected, you announced yourself. It was so out of the question that I could be expecting a baby that your father and I misinterpreted the first signs as symptoms of a serious illness. I didn't believe the doctor when he congratulated me on being pregnant. I truly thought he was making a joke."

"That would have been very mean of the doctor. I bet you were sad that you couldn't have children and playing a prank would've have been really nasty."

William is not only smart but also remarkably sensitive for a boy his age. In such moments, Scully sees the young Mulder in him, Mulder at a time he was still called Fox. An attentive, empathic, and caring boy and protective older brother to his sister Samantha.

"Yes, definitely. But he wasn't mean, he was being very nice actually."

"So, I'm not a test tube baby. I'm a completely normal child."

"Yes, you are."

"Normal is okay."

"More than okay."

"Even if I don't get A's?"

"Your school grades have nothing to do with what you're worth as a person, Will. I want you to remember that well. What really defines a person is their compassion, their ability to truly love another human being, to give instead of taking. When you think about yourself, I want you to pay attention to how you interact with others, with your friends, with your family, and most certainly not to a grade you got in maths."

"Hmmm," the boy lets his mother's words sink it. They seem heavy and significant, but there's something else bothering him.

"So, you chose Em as your child but you had to take what you got in me."

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean, Will." Her son's trains of thought take unpredictable turns sometimes.

"You saw her and liked her and then you decided to adopt her, but when I was born you had no choice, you had to keep me. Would you have adopted me too? I mean, if you had been given a chance to decide? If you had found me somewhere, in an orphanage or some other place, would you have chosen me or would you have looked for another kid? Someone you liked better?"

It takes Scully a moment to fully grasp the idea behind William's question. Usually, the adopted child in a family questions if they're being loved as much as the biological child. They are usually the ones who are unsure about their position in the family, not the biological one. Her son surprises her once again with the way he looks at things, with how he sees the world around him. She feels the urge to pull him close and shower him with kisses but she doubts he would appreciate this kind of answer. He needs a reasonable explanation he can verify.

"There is no difference between Emily and you as our children, William. I can speak for your father as much as I'm speaking for myself. We were blessed with two little individuals enriching our lives and it doesn't matter how we became a family, the only thing that matters is that we did. We're linked together by our love for each other, not by how we joined this family."

"Is that why grandma calls dad her son once in a while? Because he isn't her son, right? Uncle Bill and uncle Charlie are."

"Daddy is grandma's son-in-law. That is what he's called officially because he's married to me, her daughter. But she loves him just like she loves uncle Bill and uncle Charlie. Even before we were married, she loved him and treated him like family. See, love has nothing to do with how the other person came into your life. You either do love someone, or you don't."

"Complicated."

"Well, actually, it's quite simple. You'll understand better once you're older, sweetie."

"Ugh, mom, don't call me that! I'm not a baby anymore!"

"No, you're not," Scully admits, hiding her melancholy at how fast he has grown. "I'm sorry. William."

"Will is okay, but not sweetie or jellybean or pumkin or-"

"I got it, sugarplum." She grins and hurries to add, "just teasing."

"Good." The boy is really serious about this. "I'm going to also tell dad. I hate it when he calls me fuzzybear. Only because his parents chose to call him Fox doesn't give him the right to annoy his own children likewise. I wonder why Em still lets him call her kitten. I mean, seriously, she's all grown up."

She's fourteen, Scully thinks, and still their baby. They will always remain their babies, their sweetpeas, their angels, and it strikes her as funny that when it comes to naming their children, Mulder is even more prone than she to this syrupy tawdriness. The man who demands to be called by his last name picks of an embarrassment of riches coming up with pet names for his offspring. Maybe it's because he missed this kind of fluffiness as a kid, the sugary sweetness with which parents coat their children.

"What's for dinner?" William asks all of a sudden, letting go of the topic of his conception abruptly which, the guidebooks say, is typical for children his age.

"Chicken curry with rice," Scully answers somewhat relieved the conversation is over. It won't be the last time she will be bombarded with questions, either from him or Emily. She will be open and willing to answer each and every one of them.

"Oh, yum! I'm in my room, call me when it's done." He's already halfway up the stairs.

"I'll call you when the table needs to be set."

"Just as well," the boy shouts down from the landing, ten seconds later Scully hears his door slide shut.

She turns to the stove where the chicken curry has been simmering for almost an hour now, lifts the lid off the pot and stirs absentmindedly. She marvels at how mundane her life is at times. Preparing food, waiting for her husband to come and her family to gather at the dinner table. She worries more often about school, the grocery list and how fast her kids grow out of their shoes nowadays than liver-eating psychopaths, men regrowing body parts and immortal photographers, and it's not necessarily a bad thing. Not at all.

Who would have thought life had this in store for her when young, green, ambitious Special Agent Dana Scully took her first ride down to the basement to meet her new partner?

She loves it, and she knows Mulder loves it as much.