BADFIC At Least The Brunette Is Smiling *PG* 1/1
Deslea R. Judd
DISCLAIMER: Situations not mine. Interpretation mine. Deal.
ARCHIVE: No freaking way.
RATING: PG for language. No-one of any age should read this.
CATEGORY: Humour. Badfic. William POV.
SUMMARY: Childbirth sucks.
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AWARDS/ELIGIBILITY: Nada. You think I'm gonna post this anywhere?
Childbirth really sucks.
I'm serious. First the world starts jumping and jiving like Elvis' hips, then things start to feel real cramped. And the cramping is around your head - what the hell is that about? It's like, hey, Mom, mind the head.
Then you come out into the world (and I'm totally glossing over that trip through the tunnel; no wonder people get claustrophobia in later life) and the first thing you see is a smiling brunette with a white shirt on. I mean I'm covered in blood and gunk, and she's got her arms open. I'm thinking, I so hope you've got a change of clothes.
Then she hands me over to Mom, and she's wearing white too. For people obsessed with their looks, women are pretty stupid. And she's all sweaty. I'm like, Mom, couldn't you dress up for our first meeting?
Then suddenly my air cuts out and I look up and the brunette has a knife, and then down at my belly and the line is just hanging there, all tied off like a present. Remind me to puke on you later.
So I've got to breathe, and it really hurts. I swear, throats aren't meant to be dry like that. The amphibians have got it right. Me, I stop being amphibious when I'm born. Ripped off.
Did I mention the aliens?
You're looking at me like I'm mad. Stay with me. I look up and there's like two dozen aliens standing in the doorway, just staring. The brunette takes the placenta she cut off my line (and man, that fucker looks damn ugly once you get it out there. It looked all right on the wall inside. Kind of like Picasso, I guess).
Anyway, she takes it and gives it to the woman with the burnt face and says, "Here, take it. Do whatever tests you want. Just leave the baby." Mom's holding me tight enough to choke, and I'm like, no, take me with you! I'm with these weird big people with screwed-up weepy sweaty faces who squeeze your head, cut bits of things off your body, and won't let you breathe underwater. You want DNA? Hey, I'm covered in it! Guys? Guys?
So, I guess I'm stuck with the women. At least the brunette is armed. She's kinda sexy. Mom looks all weepy and pulls up her shirt and sticks a nipple in my face. I'm like, well, okay, but I'd rather have the brunette. I may be an hour-old virgin, but even I know sex is better than food.
But food is good. Food is real good.
There's a big light outside. The aliens are back! They've come for me! Take me, take me!
Oh. It's just Dad.
Yeah, I know that's dodgy too. But plot errors aren't my problem, if you catch my drift. Hey, I don't care, as long as he buys me a real nice car when I turn sixteen. And there's at least a fighting chance he'll make it so I live through colonisation. Which I could have done anyway if these idiots had just let the aliens have me, but you can't have everything, I guess.
So anyway, Dad comes and bundles Mom and me into the helicopter, and you know, I'm getting real tired of everyone weeping when they see me. I'm not THAT bad. Look at your nose sometime, Dad, then we'll talk about bad. And Mom. Mom. Let's talk clothes. Oy.
At least the brunette is smiling.
So we get to the hospital, and Mom gets taken and put on a bed and Dad gives me to the brunette and goes and fawns over Mom. I'm like, hey, all she had to do was push, why the fuck are you fussing over her? Did you miss the part where my head got put through a vice? And the cutting? Dad?
Oh. Yeah. You did miss all that. Right.
The brunette is still smiling. She doesn't even seem to mind that I got her all covered in blood. Brunette? Will you be my Mom? I like you better. I won't mention the cutting if you don't mention me calling you sexy. Deal?
She hands me back to Dad. Foiled again.
Nurse? Nurse? Do you want a baby? Nurse?
But at least the brunette is smiling.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This fic started as a dare from Kristen K2. Blame her.