Flashbacks #-1: "Nine Months Part IV"

Goliath and Elisa's bedroom, a couple of weeks to the due date...

"One of those stuffed chicken breasts, and some of those baby potatoes–and drizzle those bad boys with butter and vinegar–a helping of steamed vegetables with just a few shots of soy sauce, a couple buttered rolls and, yeah, a big scoopful of that homemade mac and cheese with the breaded crust."

Her husband stood there expectantly, knowing there'd be an addendum to the dinner order. When he'd come to their bedroom to see if she wanted something to eat, he'd found his mate and sister engaged in lively conversation as Elisa lay sprawled on their shared king-size bed. Her nine-month pregnant belly ready to pop any day, her appetite hadn't lessened; especially as Dr. Pierce's rigid dietary rules had mercifully (according to Elisa at least) grown a little lax in the final days of her pregnancy.

"Oh," she added quickly, forming a circle between both index fingers and her thumbs, "and one of those big monster cookies."

Goliath smiled at his forethought and the first instinct was to quickly leave and fetch his mate her dinner but he stopped, features rippling with a thought, whirled on his feet and padded back towards the bed; he tilted his head, holding out his arms.

And Elisa didn't get the gesture. "What?"

"I thought it might be easier to bring you to the kitchen," he explained, wearing an oddly shaped grin, "rather than bringing the entire kitchen to you."

As Desdemona quickly hid her smile behind a cupped hand, Elisa breathed through a small hole in pursed lips. She struggled to sit up, balancing what felt like a thirty-pound medicine ball on her stomach and only got about halfway with her sister's help. "I'm going to let that one slide, Big Guy, because one, I love you, and two, it was a pretty good burn. Now, I'm a big, fat whale comfortably beached on this bed right now so I'm not moving an inch, unless you have a forklift stashed somewhere."

"My Elisa, I am a forklift."

"True, but the only thing I want you lifting is my snack from the kitchen. Now shoo." With a rare smirk, Goliath stole from the room, leaving Elisa on the bed with her guest sitting alongside. "God I love that gargoyle." she said idly.

"He is quite the considerate mate," Desdemona noticed, "especially when he is obediently fetching your meals."

"Well, this," she pointed to the belly, "is partly his fault."

Eyes on her sister's camel hump, Desdemona narrowed her eyes and replied pointedly and playfully, "Wasn't it you who decided not to use protection during your honeymoon?"

"Hmmph." Elisa returned with a growl, eventually melting into a smile.

Desdemona's onyx-shaded eyes were still lingering on the big caramel swell peeking out from Elisa's shirt. Her hand hovered close. "May I...?"

Elisa angled in, swerving her pregnant stomach towards her friend. "Of course."

Her hand slowly lowered and held just above the taut flesh, before gently pressing to Elisa's skin. She made a faint swirl over the stomach and swore she felt movement under the skin. "It will be soon now..."

"I hope you're right." Elisa replied wearily and only then noticed her sister's wistfulness. "Des?" The gargoyle didn't respond, lost in her own little world as she drew little swirl-marks on Elisa's stomach with her palm and Elisa had to snap her fingers a few times to pull her out. "Desdemona."

She was startled enough to nearly teeter off the bed. Only a quick hand to the bedspread prevented her from going sideways. "Oh! What...?"

"You still with us?"

She shook her head, blonde spitcurls dancing on pointed cheeks. "My apologies, I was...thinking."

Elisa's brows slanted. "I think I know what about."

She turned and met the human's knowing smile.

"The two of you have been flesh and blood for more than a year now." Elisa elaborated. "Are you thinking of...?" She made a gesture around the big curve of her stomach.

With a sigh that heaved shoulders and shook out her wings, Desdemona said quietly, "I must admit, seeing you with child has...stirred some feelings." Her hand found her own stomach, taut and muscled like a cheese-grater. "And I wonder if we are still capable of having another egg."

"You've both been given a clean bill of health." Elisa shrugged. "Pierce figures there's no reason why you can't. We just have no idea when your next season is going to come around."

"He was unable to tell whether I am close to the breeding season or not. He has no frame of reference." she explained. "If we were resurrected at the exact time of our deaths, then it would be years from now, perhaps even after Angela."

Elisa could empathize; here she was, nine months into an impossible pregnancy and the envy of the woman sitting a few feet away. Early on in her and Goliath's relationship she thought she'd reconciled the fact children would never be a part of her future with him, all until that stick turned pink. She sighed and propped her head up on her hand, her gaze distant and centered on nothing in particular. "I remember seeing pregnant women and mothers playing with their kids. Hell, part of me was even jealous of Fox Xanatos for Christ sake."

"That isn't good."

"I swallowed the pain of it because I knew what Goliath and I had was worth it, but those feelings did creep to the surface a few times."

Her companion's smile tightened. "Being returned to our real bodies was...euphoric..." She shrugged at the description, considering the right word for her resurrection didn't quite exist in the modern English language. "It would be enough that Othello and I are restored but..."

"Yeah," Elisa said sympathetically, "I understand."

Desdemona's eyes dropped to the big belly and Elisa caught the subtle look.

"I can only offer one bit of advice," Elisa said at length, "always expect the unexpected."

"That seems to be our clan's motto."

Elisa made a noise through flattened lips, nodding until her face suddenly clenched and her eyebrows shot into her hairline. "Ooohh..."

The gargoyle leaned forward, sensing her sister's distress. She half-expected... "Is something wrong, Elisa?"

"No, just..." She rubbed a hand down her side, warding off the pain. "I think junior's hungry and showing it by getting on his or her trampoline..."

Desdemona laid a hand to Elisa's stomach and felt the child move within, poking against her palm. Her eyes widened. "Hello, little one...you are indeed my brother's child..."

The soothing circles Desdemona was painting over the canvas of her stomach seemed to mollify the baby and Elisa was grateful for her magic powers. The gargoyle seemed to exude tranquility like a musk. "You know," she said suddenly, "I never really asked you. What do you think of your brother having a half-human child, let alone being mated to one in the first place?"

She rolled her head dramatically towards the human, raising a single, suggestive brow. "You mean, what do I think of my brother and clan leader bedding a human?"

Elisa awkwardly climbed up on her elbow. "First of all, I bedded him." she said, drawing a cheeky smile from the gargoyle. "And yes, you've been incredibly accepting but sometimes you seem a little taken aback."

"By everything, yes." Desdemona admitted. "So many changes in so little time." The swirl of memory threatened to overwhelm her and she willed it away. A smile slowly bloomed, her eyes on the unmistakable bulge of a child so close to being born. "But if you think I do not take unmitigated joy from seeing you and Goliath become mates and actually spit in the face of fate by conceiving a hatchling together then you are quite mistaken."

"Oh, good." Elisa said blithely.

Desdemona laughed melodically and rubbed Elisa's stomach again. "But even if we cannot breed again, this castle will soon be full of life. And I will be a very busy rookery mother."

"Well," Elisa shrugged, "we won't be short of babysitters."

"Consider this my offer to volunteer, sister." she said generously, pulling her hand away almost reluctantly. "I would love to care for a hatchling again."

"Spent some time in the rookery?"

"Yes, with the generation that came after our friends, the trio." she explained, memories a thousand years old swimming in her mind. She swore she could hear the burble of hatchlings somewhere down the corridor. "I was chosen because I had a very gentle temperament, or so I was told."

Elisa resettled, her smirk a mile long. "Let me guess, neither Othello nor Goliath went anywhere near the rookery."

Her sister nodded. "You are well aware of our brother's fears of hurting the young ones." Desdemona's brows screwed and went lopsided, her smile matching. "And I do not think my love would do well with an entire clutch of hatchlings underfoot."

The image of Othello being surrounded and used as a jungle-gym by dozens of tiny hatchlings as he growled in frustration was something she'd pay good money to see. Elisa shook her head. "No."

"But I also cannot imagine my large brother changing diapers."

"He's going to if I have to chain him to that changing table–"

As soon as that last word left her mouth Goliath returned to the room with a fully loaded tray, heaped with Elisa's dinner order.

"Ah," Elisa's eyes brightened, her nostrils flaring at the aromas wafting from the tray, "he hath returneth. Goliath, you are my favorite gargoyle."

A touch of something turned the corner of his mouth as he side-saddled the bed, careful not to dislodge Elisa from her resting place. She climbed as best she could to a semi-seated position against the headboard and Goliath placed the tray in between them.

"Be careful, Des," Elisa warned her, brandishing her utensils like a samurai his sword, "there might be shrapnel."

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Having left Elisa to her meal and not wanting to remain in the splash zone, Desdemona decided to hunt for her own mate. The conversation with her human sister had left her wanting for a bit of intimacy and perhaps to sort out her reservations with the only one who could understand what being brought back to life, becoming a robot and having their flesh reconstituted by magic was like.

With Mother's help, she'd tracked him to the Eyrie building and the target range; she figured he was honing his hunting skills. He was always happy to send something (arrows, spears, boulders) careening towards something else (targets, game, criminals) to sate the high levels of testosterone.

She came across the range's open entrance and just as she crossed the threshold she heard an odd twang echo through the room. The object tore past her and impacted the circular target at the end of the room with a THWAP! Desdemona watched as the arrow's feathered tail throbbed back and forth from the momentum coming to a dead stop. It was within an inch of the target's center.

She turned her head towards where the arrow had come from to see her mate lowering his bow. A smug grin bloomed on usually stoic features. "Very good, my love."

Othello grunted. "Almost, though this bow is not yet right." He looked down to the weapon in his dusty-blue hands, a titanium compound bow courtesy of a hunting supply chain owned by a subsidiary of Xanatos Enterprises. He plucked one of the cables with a talon and it sung through the vibration, drawn so taught it barely moved at all.

"We'll get it right, Othello." his companion said, inspecting one of the arrows with a thinned green eye. Fox ran her fingers across the fletching and handed it off to the gargoyle. "Just a bit more tuning and you'll be able to pick off a mosquito at a hundred feet."

He nocked it and aimed, pulling back on a draw weight over a hundred pounds. "Be careful, my love." he warned and Desdemona made herself as thin as possible against the wall. The cables strained against his draw and he breathed once, brought the target into clean focus and then fired. The arrow screamed across the range and thudded into the target, a little closer to the center than his last try. The arrow's butt-end bounced wildly for a second before becoming still.

"Better..." Fox purred.

Desdemona strolled towards her mate and stood alongside him; her stance was a little possessive and she didn't even realize. There was something in Fox's steely gaze that inflamed a subconsciously primal side of her deep down. "Are you intending to use this new bow on your patrols?"

He straightened and grinned. "If need be."

She frowned a little and he enjoyed the sight of her red lips in a pout.

"But it's mostly for hunting." he explained, holding up and testing the balance of his bow. "As you know we are allowed to hunt on the private grounds at Xanadu. There is plenty of game there and I have always preferred catching my own dinner."

"And I have to admit," Fox cut in, leaning over from where she sat, "I prefer fresh meat myself."

"Oh?" Desdemona reacted to the double entendre.

Fox smiled wolfishly and cricked a hand at the wrist towards the caramel gargoyle. "Oh darling, don't you know, I only eat game killed by a gargoyle now. It's all the rage with the billionaire elite."

She cocked a brow at the human and her wry sense of humor. "Of course."

"You know I have always enjoyed hunting, my love," Othello said, "remember when I brought you that stubborn red stag while I was courting you?"

As Desdemona smiled at the memory of her suitor gliding in with the massive deer over his shoulder, Fox remarked from behind, "Nothing says true love like a dead animal dropped at your feet."

"Not all gargoyles can afford diamonds and expensive chocolates, Fox." Desdemona replied with a smirk.

"Touché."

"Well," she harrumphed, seeing the rare, almost childlike grin on her mate's face with his new toy in hand and the prospect of racing through the trees in upper New York on the scent trail of a deer or rabbit, "I know you're happy with a big slab of deer meat and a cold Heineken, my love. I just hope you'll clean your kills out of sight of the younger members of our clan."

"There's a small chamber near the kitchen that was once used for skinning. We shall do it there."

"Ah." she said quietly, hoping the smell of fresh animal carcass wouldn't waft through the rest of the castle. "Othello..." Desdemona started, seeing her mate running his talons along the bow's cable and trailed off. She caught a smile in her throat and looked down.

A gentle pair of fingers grasped the underside of her chin and brought her eyes back level with Othello. "Yes, my love?"

"It is nothing."

"No," he argued, "it is not. I've seen that look before, you have something important on your mind."

"I was just...contemplating..."

He released her chin and put the bow back on one of the wall racks. "About?"

"I was visiting with Elisa earlier–"

"Oh boy..." Fox whispered from behind the two gargoyles.

"And seeing her with egg...I mean, with child, stirred some feelings..."

Othello tilted his head, and then he realized with a wide-eyed, bow-legged stance. "Ah."

"Do you think," she implored, "that we will be able to...produce another egg?"

The struggle to answer truthfully played out through every tiny strand of muscle visible outside his armor. "I...I do not know, beloved..."

"You know," a silky voice rang out from behind, "you two were given two complete physicals after my mother's spell, one by Dr. Goldblum and the second by Pierce. They both gave you clean bills of health."

Desdemona nodded slowly at Fox's reassurance, studying her hand that, just less than a couple of years ago, was made of a titanium alloy mesh skin, steel endoskeleton and miniature hydraulic lines to simulate tendons. Having her own flesh and blood still seemed surreal, as if she'd wake up one evening and be back in that robotic shell and everything was just a dream or a glitch in her programming.

Othello padded closer and softly grasped her hand, squeezing it. "I do not know what the future will bring, if we will indeed have another season. All I know is that we are together, in our own flesh, and there will be many hatchlings for us to be parents to."

She mewled as the distance between them closed to a molecule's worth, Desdemona bracing against his chest.

"Do the two of you want me to leave?" Fox asked, leaning back on her stool. The two gargoyles abruptly pulled apart, only to see the human woman recline as lazily as possible on her small seat. "Or is there going to be a show?"

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

2007

Othello bristled.

The last few nights he'd been irritated, by everything. Everything was too loud, too slow, too hot. Bumping shoulders with someone in the corridor almost turned into a brawl and he had to force himself to walk away before the bloodlust overrode what little patience he had left.

If a couple of others in the castle hadn't started showing the same symptoms he might've thought something was wrong; Goliath and Hudson had noticed their brother and rookery son acting a little more ornery than usual. Just last night they'd had to break up Broadway and Lexington before they came to blows and Goliath had noticed Angela obsessively rubbing at her bare skin to the point he thought she might tear it from her bones with her talons.

The entire castle had grown heady with the thick scent of pheromones and the symptoms and timeline pointed to only one thing, the breeding season had indeed come.

As most gargoyle females in almost every clan around the world were synced to a certain rhythm, the Wyvern clan was no different, despite being made up of strays, time travelers and adolescents raised on magical islands where time moved like molasses. A little bit of math on Angela's behalf meant she was due, along with Rain and if Othello was any indication, Desdemona would be joining them.

The rest of the clan knew to make themselves scarce once the couples in heat started what came natural in the breeding heat and before Goliath could confirm his suspicions about his brother and sister, they'd both vanished. Trying to track them was nearly impossible with the air so laden with pheromones that even affected the rest of the clan, Goliath included. Whenever he and Elisa even came within a few feet of each other it was hard for him to maintain any sense of control with his chosen mate so close, so beautiful, so heavenly. Tonight was no different. As soon as Elisa strolled into their shared bedroom the shadows seemed to peel from the walls and envelop her, hot breath tickling across the nape of her neck.

Goliath draped himself around her, nearly lifting her from the floor. Not that she didn't appreciate it but the abruptness brought out her detective instincts. "I didn't think I was giving off pheromones."

His gentle laughter vibrated through her. "I must admit, I think I have been affected by the others..."

Elisa reached back and combed a hand through his hair, mewling in pleasure as his hands explored of their own volition, his fangs grazing bare flesh. "You...found your brother yet?"

"He seemed to have disappeared."

"Should we find him? Make sure he's okay?"

"Perhaps, but I have a feeling he's gone to find his mate." he purred into her shoulder. "And if it is indeed their time, they are better off in each other's arms."

"Speaking of," her smile dropped, "where are the kids...?"

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Her scent trail had been obliterated, both by the pheromones and the overlapping scents of so many gargoyles and humans living in the castle. He'd resorted to stalking the corridors trying to sniff her out, using every skill he'd learned while hunting prey in the Scottish wilds; witnesses offered directions, clues like long, golden strands of her hair left on the floor she'd wrung loose, they all led to an empty bedroom they'd used before.

Her scent was so strong here, overpowering, like being drowned by a tidal wave but the room was vacant. He growled in frustration, pivoting in a dizzy circle and putting a clenched fist into the wall. "Where are you, beloved...?"

"Othello."

He whirled on the raspy voice and saw her standing at the threshold. No, not standing; hunched and tensed and every muscle rippling. Her eyes were red hot and she was breathing heavily through bared fangs. "My love..." he growled.

She didn't answer. The air was suddenly thick with her pheromones; she'd been taken by the breeding heat. Her hair was unkempt, her lone bodice strap hanging off her shoulder, she looked threadbare and ravenous.

"So..." Othello thought aloud, clubbed tail thumping the stone floor. "It is our time."

Desdemona stalked forward, unsteady on her own feet. "Yes..." she managed, still some rational thought left. "...I have felt it for the last few nights but...dismissed it as excitement over the others reaching their seasons..."

As the distance between them diminished, Othello was waging a war between rationality and the thunder of hormones threatening to give him an aneurysm if he tried to ignore them.

"I shall have you, my love..." Desdemona vowed, moving her head to either side of his face, scenting his musk and drinking his hot breath. "Now."

Othello responded with a growl that rode up his throat and rattled his teeth, his heartbeat a war-drum hammering the inside of his chest. His nostrils flared as he took in more of her pheromones. He quickly caught her by the shoulders, enough to startle her, his big hands curling into soft, dewy flesh. There was a sheen to the caramel, the gargoyle slick with perspiration. "I have not flown a breeding flight for a thousand years..." he growled, pressing his mate against him, feeling every muscle coil and knot under her skin. Their tails entwined. "We will fill the skies with your screams of pleasure once more."

"Take me, my love," she hissed, nipping at his bottom lip with her fangs, "show me your prowess."

His eyes seeped with white light, throwing shadows on weather-beaten features. He grabbed her by the shoulders and she squealed; he pulled her close and grazed his mouth across hers before sinking his fangs into her neck.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

As far as the little girl was concerned it was just another night at her castle, all until something split the pleasant calm.

The scream tore through the quiet night sky and Trinity Maza nearly shot out of her chair. The seven-year-old whirled on the only window in the room with wide eyes. That was definitely a gargoyle scream, but not one she'd heard before. "Mom...?"

Elisa was already jogging into the room; she'd heard it too. "Okay, angel, red alert."

"What?"

Her mother quickly kneeled in front of her; her tone, manner, even her very posture was a little frantic. "Remember what we talked about a few weeks ago? How your big sister and some of the other members of the clan would have a...special week around this time?"

"Yeah...?"

"Well, it's here."

"Oh..." Trinity breathed and then, with raised brows, realized. "Oh! Are Angela an' Broadway...?"

Elisa nodded. "Yup. And a few others too."

The girl turned her head out the window; her hearing was a little dulled compared to her father's but she could still pick out shrill panther screams echoing off the cornices. "What do we do?"

Elisa blew a few errant strands from her face and smoothed the rest back. She'd tried to explain the breeding season to her daughter without going into too much graphic detail; she'd wanted to delay the sex talk a few more years at least. Or a decade. "Don't be afraid, Trin. What's happening is natural."

"They're making babies."

She held up her hands and cleared her throat, freezing in that position until she could reply. Leave it to a seven year-old to cut through the rigmarole with a refreshing if not awkward bluntness. "Yes," she managed, "eggs actually."

Trinity leaned in and added quietly, "Is it sex?"

And Elisa ground her teeth. "Yes."

"Izzat how you and daddy made me?"

"Actually, we were on the ground most of the time..." she said under her breath.

"What?" Trinity asked.

Elisa straightened and smoothed her daughter's hair. "Nothing. Now, I want you to stay in the castle." she said, and then thought to add, "Just close the windows, sweetie, and the blinds, and maybe put your headphones on." And then added, "For the rest of the night." And then added, "In fact, don't look outside at all."

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

6 months later...

She looked pitiful.

Standing at the threshold of the bedroom, Elisa wasn't lost on the irony of switched positions. At least three times in the last seven years she'd been the one sprawled on the bed with Desdemona trying to comfort her, giving her big wrecking ball of a pregnant stomach a gentle massage and now she was looking at her sister in the same miserable predicament. Apparently all that screaming, grunting and gliding around Manhattan with her legs wrapped around her mate while under the influence of powerful pheromones had landed her in the family way.

The gargoyle turned her head and found Elisa staring at her from the doorway; her thoughts were the same as the human she supposed. "Hello, sister."

Elisa started forwards, leading with a peculiar smile and dropped down beside her, causing a ripple through the mattress.

"So," Desdemona said resigned, "here I am, heavy with egg and here you are, here to comfort me."

"And you're enjoying every moment of it."

She burst into a smile and dotingly rubbed her stomach. "I am."

This time, it was Elisa's turn to rub that big swell of flesh protruding towards her. With her sister's blessing, she put a hand on Desdemona's extended stomach; it was taught like a bass drum, even under her maternity tunic. "I don't envy you what's coming next..." she smiled.

Desdemona tittered at her. "Oh, I remember the first time very well. A moment of pain for a lifetime of happiness."

"Moment?" Elisa echoed, remembering her three pregnancies and their subsequent labors, some lasting an entire day. "Yeah, I think your memory might be a little cloudy after a millennium."

She returned the sentiment with a knowing smirk. Gabriel's egg didn't come quickly and she and her sisters were glad to see the dawn.

"I'm pretty sure you're going to reconsider that when you start splitting in two." Elisa remarked, gently tapping her fingers on Desdemona's stomach. "Just tell Pierce to have some very good drugs waiting just in case."

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

She should've taken the drugs. The pain was like lighting having struck her between the legs; Desdemona bore down with the contraction and clenched her teeth together. Little breaths seeped through like puffs of steam, as if she'd swallowed a locomotive.

But she wanted this to be natural; no drugs, no intrusive twenty-first century technology and no big males to get underfoot. All but doctor Pierce, who was allowed to observe for any kind of medical emergency considering he had three pregnant gargoyles all giving birth at the same time.

As she smothered another scream and felt her entire nervous system light up like a string of Christmas lights, she felt hands tighten on her shoulders; Katana was behind her and holding her in her lap. "Bear down, sister." she said soothingly.

Desdemona clenched her teeth and could've snapped a steel nail in two. The pain bloomed, arced and then settled, the pressure releasing slightly. "I can't remember..." she managed between rasping breaths. "If this was easier...or harder a thousand years ago..."

"You are doing fine, sister." Katana replied, her voice as calm as a woodland lake. "And I have to believe it never gets easier."

Little snarls to their left drew their attention to Rain and her own birthing coach. Aurora had flown in to aid her rookery daughter and was helping Rain with gentle but firm administration; the small, web-winged gargoyle was growling back at her while trying to pass something what felt like the size of the small car. She was hoping her and Lexington's egg would've been a little on the slimmer size.

Angela was on her right, with Demona rubbing her shoulders and whispering instructions into her ear. Her sweat-stained flesh clung to long loose strands of hair, Angela bearing down through another contraction of her own as her big toes curled. Demona nodded, mouthed a soothing compliment against her daughter's cheek and accepted a warm towel from Annika. The blond gargoyle was making the rounds, having been through this herself while Delilah and Elisa held themselves in between the three pregnant females for moral support.

Another contraction and Desdemona nearly drew blood from her bottom lip, squealing like an old-timey steam whistle.

A hand started drawing circles on her stomach and she opened her eyes to see Elisa on the other end; she smiled. "Hello, sister..."

"You doing okay?"

She bared her teeth and trembled; Elisa knew a contraction when she saw and felt one, and it shivered through her friend from tip to talon. "I am...all right..."

Elisa noticed the normally coifed blond locks looking like a tornado had torn through the room, her dark caramel flesh soaked in sweat and every extremity shaking. "Of course..."

Desdemona reached out and grasped Elisa's hand, the human squeezing her fingers. "Thank you...for being here..."

"Always." Elisa replied and was glad she was here to be a part of this, up until another contraction hit and Desdemona happened to clench every muscle, including her hand. Elisa gritted her teeth against the scream of pain as her hand was compressed in a vice-grip. As Desdemona rode the crest of her contraction Elisa bit her lip and hoped a broken hand would be worth helping the gargoyle through her labor pains.

"You're almost there, sister," Katana said, "I'm going to switch positions now. Elisa, can you...?"

Getting her hand back and rubbing the bruised skin, Elisa nodded and swapped out with the Japanese gargoyle. As Elisa let Desdemona rest against her Katana took up in between her legs and saw the egg was already crowning. As Pierce looked on from over her shoulder, Katana kept coaching her sister and watched the egg emerge even further; it was slightly soft, allowing it to pass through the birth canal but it still left behind its fair share of pain. Desdemona bore down and pushed; she growled, her eyes sparking ruby red and with Elisa's hands clenched on her shoulders, pushed the egg out and into Katana's waiting hands.

"Good, sister!" she crowed in triumph and Desdemona went limp, collapsing against Elisa and gasping for breath. "Congratulations, Desdemona. You have an egg."

As Pierce got up from his chair to see the egg up close, Desdemona crawled to a semi-sitting position to see the result of hours of excruciating labor. "Is it...?"

Katana ran a hand over the shell, not yet hard. It would take a full day as stone for the shell to solidify. "It seems healthy."

"If you don't mind," Pierce added, his gaze fixed on the egg, "we'll do some tests and make sure everything's okay."

She nodded, too tired to argue about any invasive tests the doctor might think up.

"You did great." Elisa patted her shoulder.

"Thank you, sister..." Desdemona wheezed, her legs like wet noodles. She doubted she had the strength to stand. "How close is it to sunrise?"

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

It'd become habit now, part of her daily routine.

Every night after waking up, she would head to the rookery and inspect the eggs. A special windowless chamber almost dead center in the castle had been modified to be Wyvern's official rookery. Climate controlled with some of the most sophisticated security technology to protect the eggs inside, it had been built to rigid specifications years ago to house the first egg laid in Wyvern in a thousand years. Annika's was the first, and then Delilah's and now three more had been added.

Desdemona came upon the solid steel door, standing immovable and impervious like some medieval guard in gleaming sterling armor. She pressed her hand to the security panel and it scanned her handprint, allowing her access. The door jerked, unlatched and slowly swung open. Walking inside the warm, softly-lit room, she strolled through the cradles that held the eggs, specially designed receptacles that supported the eggs and would protect them even if the Eyrie building snapped in two and toppled across Central Park. A small screen displayed the vitals such as heartbeats and temperature, and security cameras overhead with motion sensors sensitive enough to detect a mosquito would set off alarms if anyone gained access or a single egg shifted a millimeter. As uncomfortable as she was with the invasive technology surrounding the clutch, she appreciated the purpose behind it all.

Coming across her own egg, a pang of shame tickled the back of her brain; here she was, favoring her own egg over the rest. She did her best to lavish attention on all the eggs equally but half the time she didn't even notice she always started with her own first.

Slinking inside behind her Rain shot for her own egg, unapologetic to be favoring it over the rest. Angela followed and the three females busied themselves with their task.

"You know," Rain's voice filled the chamber, "are you sure all this fondling is good for the eggs? We might wear right through the shell."

"They must be turned or they could develop flat sides or even minute cracks that are hard to spot until it is too late."

Rain tilted her head and looked back at her own egg, now rather paranoid. She grazed a hand across its mottled surface and couldn't help but look for any imperfections. But the shell was perfectly smooth and blemish-free. "Should I get a microscope?"

"Use your fingers, sister," Desdemona offered, "cracks you can't see you can feel."

As Rain smoothed her hand over her egg, she wondered aloud, "Doctor Pierce has offered to scan the eggs to detect any defects. Even Mother has offered to help."

The older gargoyle grimaced, not-quite-enthused about the robotic female handling her eggs. "I'd rather do without so much technology, it seems intrusive and sterile. Checking the eggs and turning them by hand creates an intimate connection to our hatchlings."

"Back to the good old days?" Angela said craftily, raising a brow to her elder.

"I suppose." she replied wistfully, thinking back to the old Wyvern rookery and the years spent with her sisters. "But it also heightens our instincts and I can't think of better lessons passed to the next generation. I appreciate Doctor Pierce and all the aid he's given this clan, especially Elisa and her children, but there are times we must be dependent on instinct and heart rather than the cold hand of technology."

With wide eyes, Rain's lips pulled back. "Well, that makes me want to throw my phone off the castle."

See the younger gargoyle's expression Desdemona smothered a laugh; she might've laid it on a little thick. "You don't have to abandon all your devices, Rain, but technology can never replace thousands of years of knowledge and maternal instinct."

"What about paternal instinct?"

The women all turned to see Todd Hawkins strolling inside, a can of Red Bull in hand and a proud skip in his step. "Excuse me, ladies, it's my turn to give my egg a spin." he said, and sauntered to the cradle holding his and Annika's egg. He pressed his cheek against it, caressing the subtle curve. "Hello, my child. Papa's here. Are these ladies scaring you with their gossiping?"

Desdemona's eyes rolled back in her skull.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

2017

Time flew and life went on.

The Maza children grew and there was a suspicion that Todd Hawkins was becoming even more unhinged, even after becoming a father.

The rookery had its share of visitors and caretakers, some coming to turn the eggs, others coming just to admire them and dream about the future. The wait, once excruciating, become simply an inevitable fact of life. Of the five eggs two had already hatched, Phoenix and Silhouette. The other three still waited for their time, oblivious to the world continuing around them.

Ten years on and they were stock-still, with barely an occasional shiver as the hatchling whorled inside, until...

It all started with a tiny crack, worming its way over the smooth surface. The egg shifted, trembled and went still. The mechanical eyes in the ceiling didn't catch the quiver and everything remained silent, up until a chunk of eggshell shot out and hit the floor. The motion sensors started screaming. The klaxon sounded, threading through every corridor in the castle, echoing through every room and courtyard and exploding into the night sky. Every gargoyle, human and in-between nearly shot through the roof until they realized what that particular alarm was.

Content to spend a quiet evening in her mate's lap, Angela reared up like a cat and Broadway was left with talon-marks raked across his thighs as she tore off in the direction of the rookery. The clan pinballed off each other as every gargoyle in the castle collided in the corridors trying to get to the eggs. Reaching the rookery first, Angela was almost crushed against the door by the crowd that'd followed her. Her palm-print couldn't be scanned fast enough and she squirmed through the door before it was even half open, only to see her egg rocking in its cradle.

Hers and Rain's were already shedding pieces of eggshell all over the floor.

The clan split into two groups and huddled around the eggs. Angela barely had to do anything as her egg crumbled against the occupant's intent to escape its prison, a pudgy little arm having punched a hole clean through the shell. She gingerly plucked pieces away to reveal a turquoise-colored hatchling and reached around its waist, gently lifting it into the towel Broadway was holding. It gasped, sputtered and filled its lungs with oxygen, screaming bloody murder.

Broadway clenched his brows together, his big ears unable to filter out the howls. "Whoa..." he said smiling.

Angela though wasn't daunted; she was wiping away the albumen and getting a good look at her son. She could see all the men she'd loved in his face, Broadway, Goliath and Hudson; her mate's coloring and smaller fanned ears, her father's stern visage and her elder's rows of spurs. But the dark russet hair was undeniably her own. "Hello, Artus." she whispered.

Another set of lungs pierced the room and the attention was stolen from Angela and Broadway's son to Lexington and Rain's little web-winged wonder, a glistening emerald green with stubby nose, a pair of hooked horns and a mohawk of light brown hair. "A boy..." Rain whispered, lip trembling as she traced his double brow spurs. "And he's a punk rocker..."

Lexington was all grin while helping to clean off his son; his mate was about to dissolve into a puddle of emotion and he had to admit, he was close behind. "What do you think...?" he asked breathlessly.

"Faraday, I like it." she whispered into her hatchling's spiky hair, mollifying the little boy. "My little punk-rock genius."

As the clan gathered around the hatchlings, one stood near the back of the crowd. Having filled her eyes with the wondrous sight of her newest rookery sons, Desdemona happened to glance over her shoulder to her egg, as unmoving as the surrounding walls. Though clutches often hatched within a few days of each other, it wasn't all at the same time. Her egg would hatch soon, she told herself.

But as another two nights passed with no movement, anxiousness had transmuted to worry. An egg gone fallow was rare but not unheard of (especially if the magic used to resurrect her and Othello was imperfect in any way) and the very thought pained her. Doctor Pierce tried to sway her fears with a stethoscope and caught the same heartbeat the monitors were showing but Desdemona had refused any more invasive tests, perhaps out of her own sense of dread.

Choosing to roost in the rookery to be closer to her egg, seeing it alone alongside the empty cradles was disheartening. But she resolved to hope.

"My love."

She turned to see her mate entering the chamber and his eyes were plaintive, darting between her and their egg. "Beloved."

"Any movement?"

"Not yet."

Othello sensed her disappointment, and shared it. "Clutches can hatch over an entire week, my love."

"I know." she said lamentably. "It's just...sometimes it hurts to be last."

His head dipped, his eyes obscuring under heavy brows. He grunted something and softly rubbed his hand over the curve of their egg. "All hatchlings come at their own pace. Just because ours is stubborn as I am, does not mean anything is wrong."

That elicited a smile, even if it swiftly fell away. "I know, but it has been so long..."

He palmed her shoulder. "Come," he said softly, "you cannot stand vigil without anything to eat."

She hesitated, shot one last look at the egg and conceded to her hunger. He ushered her from the room and the couple was halfway down the corridor when Desdemona skidded to a halt. Her brows knitted together at the sound she thought she heard.

"My love...?"

"Oh my..." She slowly turned, staring back down the hall. "Do you hear that?"

For a moment Othello thought she was too hyper-focused (if not tired, overly anxious and running on an empty tank) and was probably mistaking whatever she'd caught in the breeze as simple background noise. "Desdemona..." he sighed. "I think–"

The alarm went off, like fireworks, funneling down the corridor and slapping each of them across the face. Othello's wings snapped open and his mate left talon-marks in the stones as she bolted back towards the rookery. He shook off the cobwebs and followed, almost overshooting the door in his haste; he dug his claws into the threshold and pulled himself in after his mate. She was already at their egg's side and considering it was moving and already covered in cracks, she'd been proven right. He stood staring, jaw hanging loosely off his skull.

"My love, shut the alarm off!"

Othello was still frozen.

"Othello! The alarm!"

"Y-Yes..." he stuttered, and fumbled his hand over the keypad, almost putting a fist through the circuitry before managing to shut it off.

As blissful silence descended on the little chamber, the egg rocked again and Desdemona's heart nearly punched through her ribcage. "Oh..." she squeaked. "Oh, dragon, please..."

The egg tilted and the instinct the catch it drove every muscle in her body before the brain could react; she quickly threw her hands out and gently palmed the egg. It was trembling from the inside out, every movement growing more energetic and vigorous. Through her hand she could feel something inside tapping at the shell and it made her breathing quicken.

"Come on, little one." Desdemona urged.

The egg rocked back and forth and Othello put a big hand to its curved side to steady it. It nearly hopped from the cradle and the big gargoyle was nearly startled out of his loincloth. A few more jumps and a hairline crack rolled around the equator, splintering into new ones until an entire chunk popped off and hit the floor. Two pairs of eyes widened to circles as something moved under the broken shell and both gargoyles leaned in, their brow spurs almost tangling. Suddenly an arm shot out and they recoiled. More pieces broke off and shattered on the ground, revealing a tiny figure inside. A wing unfurled, widening the fissure until the entire top half of the egg came apart and crumbled.

"Oh..." Othello breathed.

Desdemona immediately reached for the hatchling, covered in a warm slurry of albumen and pulled it from the egg's remnants. Sticky with goo, she held the baby to her chest, seeing it struggle with being wrenched from the warm embrace of its home for the last ten years. "My love, the syringe."

Othello turned and rummaged through the far shelves full of tools, towels and medical equipment until he found the long-stemmed syringe and quickly returned to his mate's side. She took the syringe and squeezed the ball end to suck out the albumen and mucus from the hatchling's mouth, helping to clear the airway until a scream filled the entire rookery chamber. It was loud, piercing and the sweetest thing Desdemona had heard in a thousand years. As the hatchling started breathing on her own, she soaked in the sight of her daughter; her caramel skin, her mate's white hair and clubbed tail, her split wings with dusky blue membranes and a curious, striking amalgamation of their brow spurs, the hatchling coughed the last of the fluid from her lungs and mewled. Desdemona almost lost her breath at the song sung in her direction from an irritable, hungry, healthy child. She cradled the hatchling and didn't care what fluids went where, just counting fingers and toes and wiping the albumen from her daughter's face and hair.

"Female?" Othello asked, his eyes brighter than the lights above them.

"A daughter, my love, a wonderful rookery daughter."

Air rushed from his lungs in his excitement and he didn't try to contain it. This was Christmas morning and he was as elated as he could outwardly show. "A daughter..." he echoed. His hand hovered over the squalling hatchling as if afraid his touch would shatter her like glass but Desdemona moved close, almost forcing his hand to their daughter's head. He shuddered and traced cherub features and the big Scottish warrior almost collapsed into a boneless heap on the stone floor. "She is..." he struggled for the words, voice choked. "She is beautiful."

The smile on his mate's pretty features was steadily growing larger, reaching from cheekbone to cheekbone. "She is perfect." Desdemona whispered, rubbing her thumb into the crook of the baby's palm. "Absolutely perfect."

Footsteps at the door hooked their attention. Elisa and Goliath were already inside. "Is that...?" she asked and saw Desdemona whirl around with a squalling hatchling in her arms.

"Come my sister, brother," Desdemona cried joyfully, "see our rookery daughter!"

The couple raced forward and surrounded them, Goliath beaming and Elisa in awe of the mucus-covered hatchling. "She's beautiful. And slimy."

Desdemona smiled and accepted the towel from Othello, using it to gently wipe the baby's face. The hatchling had stopped crying and was staring up at the multi-colored blurs looming over her. The big lavender one leaned closer.

Goliath was on the verge of tears. He'd already seen his four biological children and four hatchlings born to Wyvern, and this one was no less special or wondrous. "She is wonderful, sister, brother."

"You picked a name yet?" Elisa asked. "It has been ten years."

With a smile, the name slithered effortlessly from her lips. "Isabella." Desdemona announced, swaddling the girl in a warm, clean towel.

As Goliath smiled in approval, Elisa crossed her arms and shot a look at the couple. "Keeping the tradition alive, I see."

She was nodding before even becoming aware of it; there were a few names from Shakespeare she'd added to her list but the sister of Claudio had a certain distinguished ring. "It is a theme, I suppose."

"Come on," Elisa bumped shoulders with the gargoyle, "the clan's been waiting for a long time to meet her."

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Two months later...

"Don't give me that tone."

"I wasn't giving you any tone!"

"I invented that tone, and I should be able to recognize it." Elisa countered, hips cocked under her skirt. "Now you know full well what I've seen in my time, and I won't have my oldest daughter brazenly breaking the rules your father and I set down. Especially with that..." Swear word, swallowed. New word, substituted. "Boy."

"Mom, you've known that boy since birth! It's Alexander!"

"I also know his tendencies to do things a little too much like his father."

The angry expression quickly transmuted into a counterfeit smile, and Trinity knew just how to get under her mother's skin. "You know what?! I'm just going to marry him! And we're going to have a whole clan of tiny Xanatos babies, just to annoy you!"

And to Elisa, it was the best revenge possible. "Good! I hope your children drive you as crazy as mine do when they break every rule you set down, and that's punishment enough!"

Trinity reared back, left with only one recourse to a teenager. "Fine."

"Fine." Elisa shot back.

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

There was a moment between brown identical eyes so hot it seemed a spark might have ignited out of thin air until each of them whirled around, stomped into their respective rooms and slammed the doors.

Slam!

Slam!

From the end of the corridor, Desdemona had watched the entire exchange between mother and daughter and couldn't help but smile. The fact the two of them were so similar and neither could see it was so deliciously ironic.

She heaved the swaddled hatchling higher into the crook of her shoulder and heard the little girl chirp and burble. "I hope your teenage years aren't as rebellious, my little Isabella." she whispered to the hatchling.

Isabella responded with a spit bubble, which promptly popped when she happily cried out to her mother.

Having heard the outburst, Elisa's door opened and she poked her head out, thinking it might be her teenage daughter coming to apologize. She spotted Desdemona and Isabella, tilted her stance and offered some advice, "Enjoy them while they're young."

"I intend to."

She stared at her sister and watched her nuzzle the little girl's ridges and a certain memory flashed to the forefront of her mind; Elisa would always butt ridges with her daughter like a mother cat and her kittens. When she was small, when she fit into the crook of her arm and when she didn't talk back, but she was still her daughter. Elisa sighed, "Damnit..." She crossed the hallway, paused in front of her daughter's door and begrudgingly knocked a couple of times. "Trinity. Come on, sweetie, open the door."

Silence, the sound of furniture screeching on the floor and then, the knob turned and Trinity pulled the door open. "What?"

They were a mirror image of each other, down to the reticent expression. "Listen, I might've been..." Elisa swallowed. "A little harsh."

Trinity just raised an eyebrow.

Elisa elaborated, "I'm sorry, Trin, but when I see my daughter rolling in after curfew, on the back of a motorcycle driven by Alexander Xanatos, flaunting both her safety and her disrespect for her parents, I become a little annoyed."

"It's not disrespect..." Trinity said quietly. "It's me, having fun, with my boyfriend."

"I get that, kiddo," Elisa swallowed, trying to glide past the entire issue with her daughter's chosen paramour, "but when your father and I set rules for you and your siblings, it's not up to you to decide which ones you don't like."

"We just lost track of time and it's unfair to constantly blame Xander–"

"For your misbehavior, got it." Elisa finished for her eldest.

"Uh..." Trinity stuttered and immediately went on the defensive, seeing her mother retake control in the conversation. She shifted on her feet, trying not to feel like a child under her commanding, dissecting glare. The captain of detectives of the twenty-third precinct was dressing her down without a word. "Mom, listen...I'm sorry..." she whispered, almost inaudibly.

Elisa leaned in, cupping her ear for effect. "Pardon...?"

"I'm sorry."

Leaning back, Elisa smirked at her winged doppelganger. "Promise to work on it, including the attitude?"

"Yes." she muttered, moving the big fringe of black hair from her eyes and her mother swallowed the urge to do the same.

"Good, because I assure you, I'm the good cop in this particular scenario."

Trinity absently nodded, knowing this entire conversation could've taken a massive swerve if her father was involved. Her mother was a little more willing to dabble in shades of gray than her progenitor.

"Trinity," she motioned with a deft flick of her head towards Desdemona and Isabella, "we just added to the clan by three more members. Tiny, beautiful, impressionable kids who'll–"

"Look to my example, yeah." she finished for her mother. "Listen, I've already gotten enough of this from Phoenix and Silhouette. They follow me around like I'm made of chocolate."

"It's a little bit of idol worship, Trin." Elisa said. "You're the first of the new generation born in this castle."

Her mouth flattened, her brows following suit; since becoming aware of it her position as nominal leader of the children of Wyvern weighed on her, always expected to be the upstanding role model. It could be restrictive at the best of times and it was enough to warrant a bit of occasional rebellion. "It just gets a little burdensome..."

Elisa nodded, the light overhead making the cascading waves of hair glint as it danced on her shoulders. She was sympathetic but only to a point. "I know, but I can give you half a dozen reasons why it's important to the rest of us."

Trinity knew her mother was speaking of her sister and brothers and cousins. She turned to her aunt and her own rookery daughter; the little girl was staring at her with big, dark eyes the size of dinner plates. Trinity went limp in defeat and sighed, "Hi, Izzy..."

The hatchling yelped joyfully and threw a chubby paw towards her older rookery sibling. She nearly tried to scramble from her mother's arms.

"She's going to look to you for guidance as much as anyone else." Desdemona said gently, trying to keep hold of an excitable hatchling who wanted nothing more than to leap from her arms. "Unless you're too busy joyriding on the back of Alexander's dangerous toy."

Her expression twisted ninety degrees; her aunt had an incredible talent for implicitness, always knowing how and where to twist her talons and doing it with a smile. "Touché."

She laughed and put on an apologetic air, her big brows relaxing. "I don't mean to guilt you into thinking you're not living your life the way you should, rookery daughter," she imparted, "only to know there's so much more to your life than you think."

Eyes sliding left to Elisa, her mother simply rolled her brows as if to say she had nothing more to add. Trapped by expectation but surprisingly buoyed by their faith in her, Trinity shook her head, shored up and in the end, her wings mantled and flared much like her father's and then settled around her shoulders like a cloak. She stood taller than Elisa in her heels almost, mother and daughter eye to eye. "So, am I still in trouble?"

She took a moment to think about it, letting her firstborn sweat. "I'll let it slide tonight, Trin, and no," Elisa added, seeing the question form on Trinity's lips, "we won't tell your father."

Trinity tried to disguise the relief flitting through her face. She knew Goliath probably wouldn't yell or even raise his voice; just make himself impossibly taller, cross his massive arms and glare at her until she either broke or he quietly stated his misgivings about her love-life.

"Come on, I'm hungry." Elisa said, giving one of her daughter's wing-struts a tug. "And I'm sure you are after a long night of debauchery and rule-breaking..."

"Funny, mom."

"Mother's prerogative. If I choose not to ground you, I get at least a couple chances at really good digs. Now grab your cousin before she claws her way out of Desdemona's arms."

Trinity turned and accepted the hatchling into her arms, Isabella squealing and immediately grabbing for anything in reach, including long, luxurious hair. "Watch the hands, Izzy."

"Yes, be careful," Desdemona warned as the three of them started for Wyvern's kitchen, "she's very grabby."

Already fending off little caramel hands, Trinity nodded. "Yeah. Mom, did I do this when I was a baby?"

Elisa answered from over her shoulder as the three of them threaded through the winding corridor, "All four of you did. Life-tip, kiddo, when you have kids get used to putting your hair up or getting it ripped out."

She sucked in a cool breath through her teeth, hefting her cousin to her shoulder. "That's hopefully a long ways away..."

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

2027, a long ways away...

She wasn't going to admit there was a tiny part of her that was taking a perverted sense of pleasure from seeing her daughter like this; at least, not out loud. And how the irony of that argument years ago and Trinity's seemingly empty threat to create a little brood of Maza-Xanatoses left her daughter big as a whale as she worked on the first.

From where she was sprawled on the bed, Trinity turned her head to see her mother standing in the doorway. Her eyes barely made it over the hump of flesh currently pushing her into the mattress. "Hi, mom..."

Elisa sauntered into the room and settled into the bed alongside her oldest and immensely pregnant daughter. She brushed aside salt-and-pepper hair, gone silver in stripes, and rubbed a tender hand across Trinity's shoulder. "Hey, Trin. Feeling okay?"

She groaned, tried to move and gave up when her body didn't quite want to listen. Her forfeit was a deflated slump to the bedspread. "Like I weigh a thousand pounds." she said miserably.

"I remember those days. Nothing to do but lie in bed and wait to pop."

Trinity winced, loosed something through her throat and stared ruefully at the big stomach looming in front of her. The popping was the part she was afraid of, having heard horror stories from all the females in the castle. Turning her gaze back to her mother she could see the hint of something on her lips. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Moi?" Elisa's brows shot up, her hand splaying across her chest. "Thinking this is the absolute best kind of revenge I could ever imagine for all those arguments we had?"

Her daughter caught the undertone, considering Elisa had shoveled it on pretty thick. "Thanks, mom. Here I am scared to death of what the future's going to bring and you're loving it."

"Yes."

"Mom, I'm terrified." Trinity admitted. "Of the birth, of raising a kid, of everything."

Elisa's smile bloomed and she leaned in, silver strands framing an astonishingly youthful face for her age. "So was I." she said honestly. "And so was your father. But we managed and I'd like to think we did a pretty good job. But it's worth it, Trinity," Elisa continued, her hand roaming the swell of her daughter's belly, "all the waiting, the anxiety, the pain, every bit of it is worth it."

The scowl softened, Trinity putting a hand on her mother's and entwining her fingers between Elisa's own. "You raised four half-gargoyle children. How am I going to raise a baby that's part human, part gargoyle and part fay?"

"You and Alex will muddle through. And remember, you're living in a castle full of rookery parents. You'll never be alone. And I'd like to think you'll make a wonderful mother, considering you were a babysitter to a lot of young kids."

Somewhat placated by her mother's assurance Trinity sighed and turned her reticent gaze back to her stomach; her eyes seemed to peer right through the big bump as if she could see the baby inside.

Elisa noticed the wistful stare. "I remember the fear, kiddo, but I also remember imagining the possibilities of having a baby with your father. What you would look like, how much I wanted to hold you, how Goliath would fare changing diapers..."

"That man does have big hands." Trinity quipped, her father's lavender mitts still massive even after she'd grown up, hands that had changed her, bathed her, held her when sad and hands that could punch through steel. One thought intruded through the ocean of memories. "Was he afraid–?"

"That he might hurt you?" Elisa finished with a peculiar smirk. "Yes. He was terrified, up until the moment he cradled you in those big hands. And I think that was the moment I knew everything would be all right."

Her eyes dropped; she breathed through her nose and remembered watching her dad holding her sister and brothers and how those tiny babies vanished into his hands. The memory warmed her from the inside out; she swore she could hear him humming, the basso profundo wrapping the entire room in a blanket of comfort. "I wonder how Xander's going to do with diapers..."

"You can always get him to do the balloon test."

"The what...?"

Elisa shrugged and shook her head. "Long story. Anyways, I'm sure he'll just wiggle his nose and a fresh diaper will appear."

Trinity held up a hand in protest, bottom lip pushing her mouth up towards her nose. Something like a growl wriggled up her throat. "If I'm getting dirty, that man is as well."

"That's my girl." Elisa said proudly. "And don't let him give you any excuses..."

Her head quickly tipped up, nose to the ceiling. "Hold that thought, mom, I think dinner's about to arrive..."

The air near the bed seemed to blur and the oxygen molecules suddenly stirred, then pushed outward in a gentle wind as they were supplanted by something else folding reality in half. Alexander suddenly blinked into the room, holding a tray of food. "Hey, babe."

Trinity smiled at her husband bearing gifts. "Hi, honey."

"Dinner is served." the lean redhead announced, flaunting the sterling dinner tray, complete with slim vase and single rose. The rose seemed to be shedding gold-colored flakes of light. "I grabbed a bit of everything since...well, y'know..."

Eyes thinned. "Tread carefully, Xanatos."

He couldn't help it, the silver tongue operating on its own sometimes. "Since your appetite has grown along with your stomach."

Elisa shook her head while her daughter growled but she couldn't tell if it was just Trinity's stomach rumbling from the scents drifting from the tray.

"Just give me my food, Xander." Trinity warned him.

Coming around to her side, Alexander balanced the tray on her belly and with a wiggle of his fingers, extended the tray's legs until it perched perfectly over her. A thin sheet of green energy slipped underneath her and Trinity was gently propped up to a better seating position. Appreciative, Trinity did her best to lean in for a kiss; her husband closed the gap and planted one on her lips, keeping it chaste with his mother-in-law watching. "Go to town, babe."

Trinity roved the tray with hungry, appreciative eyes and her mother thought she might just dispense with the cutlery and unhinge her jaw like a snake. Déjà vu. But her daughter's expression soured when she noticed something missing from the tray. "What, no monster cookie...?"