Thomas and Martha

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"Well? What is it?"

She looks down at the little device. Her hands shake, her breath comes out short, like she ran too fast, for far too long.

"Well?" He asks again, his voice more persistent, grating against her nerves.

"It's a yes." She throws the damned thing in the bathroom trashcan.

"Are you sure?" he presses.

She rolls her eyes to the sky. "No. It's probably wrong. This and the last five."

Thomas leans against the doorframe. He pretends to be relaxed and chill about this. But she knows him well enough to see the tension in his rigid shoulders and the thin line of his lips that he tries to force in a smile.

"It was a simple question." he said with a shrug.

"One you've asked a hundred times."

"Maybe ten. I wouldn't say a hundred."

"Well, stop asking. My answer won't change because you do."

"You don't have to pick a fight."

"And you don't have to be so dense."

His eyes widen ever so slightly. They stand facing each other for a long, silent moment.

"What do you want?" he asks. She cocks an eyebrow, confused. "Girl or boy?" he adds and pulls away from the door.

The thought never crossed her mind. Girl or boy? Boy or girl? "Does it matter?" her hand rests on her stomach and she half-expects to feel a difference there, a kick or some presence, or a heartbeat.

Instead, she feels bloated.

"I'd like a girl." He goes on. "And then we can give her your sister's name." He hits a cord, and she pales, her face frozen. "It could be a nice way to..." his voice trails off, as if he doesn't want to say it.

"To remember her?" she turns the idea over and over in her head. "I suppose it is."

The silence stretches.

"What if it's a boy?" she asks.

He shrugs. "My father's name or yours?" he said.

"I will not name him Buford." she snaps. "And sure as hell I'm not giving him that man's name." His lips quirk up in a smile.

"True. We can't name him Buford. We can make a list." he suggests. "Charles?" he offers.

"Yes, and then he can summon the X-men."

This time, he chuckles. "Fine, not Charles." he scratches his chin. "Olaf."

"Are you mocking my Disney addiction? I'll have you know, it's a serious problem." she leans back against the sink and folds her arms.

"Of course not. I'd never dare." he tells her. "Okay, okay. You come up with a one."

"Apocalypse." She says, hiding a smile.

"I thought we weren't doing X-men." Martha is only kidding. She would never name him Apocalypse anyway.

"Nick."

"Too simple. Doesn't sound like a Nick to me."

"He doesn't sound like anything. He's a bundle of cells right now."

"Also true. Still, I don't like Nick. I knew a Nick once in high school. Total prick he was."

"Wade." She says and waits a moment, while it sinks in.

"We are not naming him after Deadpool." he shakes his head. "I'll not have him grow up a raging lunatic."

"Bruce then."

The name gives him pause. He squints at her, as if he's trying to see through her. "I like Bruce."

"I wonder why." she muses.

With two long strides he closes the distance between them and when his arms wrap around her, she melts against him, her anger and her worry drain out of her.

"Bruce is a nice name." he says, mauling the idea over in his mind.

"She might be a she."

He shrugs and rests his chin on top her head. "A puppy would be easier to deal with."

She rolls her eyes and buries her face against his chest. "You'd have to walk it."

"I hear you have to walk children as well." he says. "And you actually go to jail if something happens to them."

"You go to jail if something happens to your dog too." she tells him.

He pulls back enough to look at her. "Really?"

She nods. "If you mistreat it or you somehow cause it harm or death. There is a bunch of organizations. You might end up in jail."

He rests his head against hers again, a scowl of deep though on his face. "A puppy is not worth it then."

For a while, they stand there, comfortable in each other's presence, comfortable in their silence.

"Tom?"

"Hm?"

"What are we going to do?"

She gets an kiss for an answer.

"I'm serious. What are we going to do?"

"Whatever we want."

"With me jobless and you barely making minimum wage?" she shakes her head. "We have to be responsible about this."

"Yeah, yeah. I know." he says. "But we could... we could keep him."

"Or her." she adds. "If we do, then what? Can we really offer the baby everything?"

"We can love it."

"Love will not feed us or fill the fridge." she points out. "Nor is it going to pay our bills. I need to find a job. I was looking for a job. We can't... we can't keep the baby."

"Do you want to keep it?"

"We are not even married." er voice breaks up.

"Mar, do you want to keep it?"

"We... I..."

"Martha Kane, do you want to keep this baby?" his tone is firm, commanding her attention. She opens her mouth, but no sound comes out. Does she? She doesn't know. She is confused, overwhelmed. Everything is happening so fast, her own thoughts are a buzz in her mind. He cups her cheeks and turns her head up.

She searches his face for an answer and finds none. He's waiting for hers.

"Yes."

"We'll keep him,"

"Or her."

He grins at me. "He can always be Batman."

"Or Batgirl."

He scoops her up and carries her out of the bathroom with kisses and soft words. She wraps her arms around his neck and for now, she forgets all their problems, she forgets all their worries.

She's just happy.

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