Sorry about the delay, but I have quite a few stories and I'm trying to find the right balance. Tell me what you think of this chapter!

Valencia's goodbye was fast and efficient, the way to do things around the School. There was no farewell party, no gifts from fellow employees. Hold your breath and get it over with; that was the motto. Much like a Band-Aid, Jeb reflected after she was gone. The faster the better. Valencia had looked faintly flabbergasted all day, as if unable to figure out quite what was happening as she was hustled through the Outgoing doors.

"My baby," she had muttered, so softly that no one but Jeb had heard. "My baby."

He had ignored the stirrings of his chest as he heard that, turning away from Valencia as he led her to her car. She was leaving, and all of this drama would be over. That was what Jeb needed: a drama-free environment where he could do his work in peace.

As much as it bothered him to see one of his very few true friends leave, Jeb was back to work in no time at all. There were things to do, after all. Experiment 12-501A needed to have its blood taken every hour on the hour, not to mention X-rays and CAT scans, among countless other tests. There were also the five others of the avian series that still needed daily check-ups, to ensure that the fetal development was still proceeding as planned. Jeb had his hands full, and he couldn't afford to fall behind. Janssen would be stopping by in only a few days, to check on his progress, and there was nothing like a visit from the boss to motivate a person.

He had just finished labeling the latest blood sample from 12-501A when Kurst came running into the lab, face red and glasses askew.

"Jeb," he panted, "The surrogate for 12-501B was just escorted in. She's in labor, the contractions are ten minutes apart—they need you down there!"

Jeb removed his gloves and carefully stowed the vial away. He turned to his assistant, Caleb, who nodded. He could handle bleeding duty for a few hours.

"Okay then," Jeb said, straightening his lab coat, "lead the way."

The labor was long and intensive—even longer than Valencia's, which worried him. This was the first of the subjects that had had the avian DNA grafted on after conception, and if it failed, it did not bode well for future experiments. They already had two others in development using the same method, and a twenty percent success rate was not something Jeb wanted to face. Janssen would skin him alive.

"Come on," he encouraged the surrogate, wiping the sweat off of his face with the sleeve of his lab coat, "I can see the head, you're almost there!"

The surrogate gave one last push, making a screeching noise that Jeb shuddered to hear. He was suddenly glad beyond belief that he wasn't a woman.

The baby slid out and Jeb caught it, expecting a cry. There was none. He checked the pulse frantically, wondering if maybe the ultrasounds had been wrong and this experiment was not okay, but it was going strong. He checked the airway, but it was clear. No mucus or anything to speak of. The child simply wasn't crying. Frowning, Jeb took another look at the child.

Its wings were downy, and a charcoal looking shade of gray—they would turn black, Jeb thought, by the time the experiment had finished infancy. It had dark hair already, covering its small head thoroughly. Male; and looking healthy enough.

He handed the experiment to one of his assistants and removed his gloves slowly. That was two live ones—he was two for two, now. 12-501C would be arriving in a few weeks, if all went as planned. Jeb absentmindedly adjusted his glasses on his face, the nosepiece digging into his skin. He wandered over to the sink, taking in the scene behind him. The surrogate was being sedated, now, asking frantically after her child. Jeb frowned. That could grow to be a problem, if every surrogate reacted as Valencia had. He would have to double check the waivers—the ones that removed all parental rights—and make sure that they had all signed.

"You all right, Jeb?" he heard Kurst ask from behind him. Jeb turned to him and nodded blankly, but his thoughts were a million miles away. This maternal instinct was more powerful than they had anticipated. It left an oddly bitter taste in his mouth.

"Fine," he heard himself answer, as he turned the handle to the door. "Just fine."

He left the commotion of the delivery room—they had need for only one—behind him and wandered down the empty hallways, lights turning on as he walked by. He checked his watch. It was past ten. There would be no one in the lab save the night nurse. That was fine with him. He would just check in on his experiment and go home.

To an empty house, he thought, surprising himself. He had never felt bitter about his bachelorhood before. It was probably just the strain of Valencia's departure, he told himself. Nothing more. He wasn't a sentimental old fool quite yet.

He let that train of thought trail off as he entered the lab—his lab. The night nurse had a novel open in her lap—from the looks of it a sordid romance—but everything looked to be in order. The chart was filled in neatly every hour on the hour. He didn't know why he had to check every time he came into the lab, but it had become habit by now. He sure as hell wasn't going to let some nurse's carelessness ruin his experiment.

The nurse carefully placed a bookmark in the book and put it down onto the desk, cover down. "Any problems?" Jeb asked, moving over to his lab bench where he grabbed a pair of latex gloves.

"None," she answered. Jeb frowned. That wasn't Jennifer's voice. Jennifer had a prominent southern drawl, immediately recognizable. He finished putting his gloves on and turned slowly, wondering where she was. She had never missed a day of work before.

"Blood tests normal?" he asked, keeping his voice light.

"Perfectly," the mystery woman answered, lifting the chart up as if to inspect it. Something in Jeb stirred—he recognized that voice. He just…couldn't place it. "Beyond perfect, actually. I'm quite proud, Jeb."

Ah. Janssen was back. "Thank you," he said carefully, aware as always that everything Marian Janssen always had a purpose. She wasn't one to compliment unless she expected something in return.

She put down the chart and headed for his experiment. His chest tightened, but he didn't move. Janssen wouldn't harm the experiment. She needed it to succeed as much as he did. Still, he was reluctant to let her too near it. Bad things tended to happen where Janssen was involved.

But she did not seem inclined to do anything that would put the experiment at risk; rather, she reached out gently and picked it up, cradling it to her chest. Jeb had to fight back an incredulous expression. If there was one word he would never pick to describe Janssen it was 'maternal'.

And yet that was exactly the picture she produced. With her blonde hair and creamy skin, he noticed with slight astonishment, she looked more like the experiment's mother than Valencia did. She even had the same expression as Valencia had—slightly overwhelmed but completely in love. Jeb got slightly dizzy even thinking about it. He had never, never seen Janssen emotional. In a good way, at least, he amended to himself. He had seen her angry more times than he cared to account.

"The other birth was a success?" she asked eventually, now inspecting the experiment's wings.

Jeb nodded. "No complications," he said. "Though it didn't cry when it was born. A first."

"Male or female?" Janssen asked, watching in amazement as the experiment opened and closed its tiny fist.

"Male," Jeb answered. "You can definitely see the Common Black Hawk in its wings already. They should be a solid black in a few months."

Janssen murmured in assent. The experiment had closed its eyes again and Janssen put it down, her weirdly maternal expression already fading. With a deep breath, she closed her eyes. When she opened them again, her normal expression—one of single-minded focus and determination—had taken its place back on her face. Oddly enough, Jeb preferred this face. He knew what to expect when Janssen was like this.

"When are the x-rays?" she asked, moving over to where the collection of charts was located.

"I've scheduled them for next week," Jeb ventured, following her. "Should I move them up, so you can see them?"

She nodded once. "Do that. And while you're at it, I want some of the blood you're taking. I want to see what happens when it gets to high altitude."

Jeb raised an eyebrow. "You think that will have an effect?" he asked, taking a look at his notes and flipping through them.

"I have my suspicions," she said, as if that answered his question. "But I'll need several vials to test them. You have enough in supply?"

"Plenty," Jeb answered, making his way to the fridge where such vials were stored. "We've been taking samples as often as we can."

He retrieved several—spreading them out so Janssen had at least one sample for every week—and stored them in a carton that she could travel with. "Will that be enough?" he asked, hoping she would say yes. He wanted her to leave. Having other scientists—especially his bosses—in his lab made him weirdly uncomfortable. It was his territory.

Janssen peered at them, holding one up to the light. "Yes," she said decisively. "That should be plenty."

Jeb let out a breath but didn't let his relief show. "Is that all?" he asked, again hoping that there was nothing else she needed.

She packed up the vials and closed the cooler with a snap. "Remember her purpose, Jeb," was all she said as she turned toward the door. "Don't forget that she was made to save the world."