Yes, you can.
Darcy stared with disbelief at the little white stick. She had read and reread the instructions on the box it came it. Each time she followed the directions to a ‘t’ each time just to receive the same results. Now she added her fourth white stick to the growing collection she had neatly lined up on the side of the tub. She was going to bleach this entire bathroom later, but she doubted she could bleach this memory from her mind. Pregnant.
Fucking pregnant. As the Sex Education Professor at Xavier’s Institute for Gifted Youngsters, she was disappointed in herself for her carelessness. However, on the other hand, she knew it was extremely rare for her to be in this situation to begin with anyway. Oh yes, she had an active sex life, and admittedly, yes, she had gotten pregnant before. It was just that conceiving on purpose had never worked for her before.
In her 200 years, she had only previously been pregnant twice. The first one she lost from abuse and a bitter part of her was glad to not bare HIS child. The second one she was actually happy about, though. She never even made it to three months before it, too, was lost. After that heartbreak, she made up her mind to never let herself get into this situation. Honestly, pregnancy wasn’t that hard to avoid anyway. Her menstrual cycle took the entire duration of a calendar year, and when she went into heat around the winter season she always used protection. Looking back on how she spent her Christmas holidays this past year, she couldn’t recall not using a condom or the pill even once. She had been careful.
Ignoring how she got into this situation, she slumped back against the sink. She had to admit that seeing all of her friends and family here at the mansion happy with their children had inspired some feelings of envy within her, but she had accepted her fate of motherlessness easily enough all the same. Darcy never even mentioned her thoughts on the matter to Logan. All he knew was that she had miscarried twice and just how her reproductive cycle worked. Hell, he’s experienced her reproductive cycle in action for nearing on 7 years now. For 7 years, he’s never even whispered about having children, and Darcy with her telepathic abilities never even noticed a thought about the subject either. Not when Jean got pregnant, not when Rogue proudly bore hers and Bobby’s child, not with the hell-spawn of Kurt and Wanda, not when Kitty and Peter had a daughter, and not even a fleeting time with Jane’s three pregnancies and five births.
Oh God, childbirth. Darcy bore witness to all the new generation’s birth in some way or another whether it be vicariously through their memories or through Hank’s eyes or if she was actually invited. God, she couldn’t imagine that. Pregnancy seemed easy in comparison to that. All the morning sickness and diarrhea and aching backs and swelling feet and lactating breasts didn’t mean anything when it came to ripping open the vagina. Afterwards she knew she’d snap back due to her healing ability, but at what cost? The cost of not being able to have sex as much as she was having it now was way too damn high for her. Even if sex got her in this situation, she wouldn’t give it up too quickly either.
Then there was the product of the birth itself. A child. A little boy or a little girl. A daughter, a son. Would the baby have her eyes or Logan’s? Would the skin be fair or tanned, with freckles or with stripes? Would the child grow up to have Logan’s claws or her own? Imagine the mutation it could have. Also imagine the child – their child, made of their flesh and their blood and their sweet and their tears and their love, - going camping with Logan. Imagine their child attending their classes one day. Imagine all the X-Men raising their child alongside their own, one big happy family. Unwittingly her hand placed itself on her stomach as she imagined the budding growth inside her uterus. She was around two weeks late, so it wouldn’t be much, but it would definitely be there. Abortion was still a possibility, but this wasn’t just her decision to make.
“Darcy? Are you okay in there?” Logan’s gruff voice was low but she could tell he was concerned. She didn’t have to read his mind to know that.
She wanted to call to him and assure him that she was in fact okay, but the words were stuck in her throat. They wouldn’t come because that would be a lie. Unbidden tears did come, and all she could do is put her face in her washed hands, small tremors running through her body. Darcy didn’t look up when the door opened with a whoosh of cool air and then closed again with a small click. The only thing that made her look up was the sharp intake of breath Logan did once he had stepped inside.
When she finally faced him it was to see, through her tear smudged and fogged up glasses, Logan staring with a furrowed brow at the pregnancy tests she had lined up on the bathtub rim and the box they came in balanced on the lid of the toilet. Still she was silent, so curious for what he was thinking that she was damn near tempted into diving right into his psyche for answers and for guidance on what they hell they should do now. As the silence stretched and tensed, her heart was beating out of control in her chest at the fear that he might be angry with her.
Finally, Logan spoke first, “Well, shit.” How loquacious. That didn’t exactly give her an idea on how he felt. “Shit,” he dumbly repeated, and he sighed, rubbing a weary hand across his face and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I should’ve married you by now.”
“What?” Marriage wasn’t exactly an option she had expected. They discussed marriage about as much as their discussed having children, which is to say not at all. “Please don’t marry me because you feel obligated to do so. This is the 21st century after all, Logan.”
Sharply he snapped his head up to look at her, and Darcy flinched away. “I’m not going to marry you because I knocked you up.” Darcy was surprised that she felt disappointed at that. “I want to marry you because I love you.” He stepped forward into her space, tilting his head down and dipping his nose until he tenderly pressed his lips into her hairline. His arms, strong and secure, slowly wrapped around her middle and she felt safe in his embrace. “If you’ll have me, I’ll marry you. I don’t have a ring, though. Sorry.”
“Does that mean we are going to have this child?” Her voice was soft, tentative so as to not spook him away from her.
His reply was quick and reassuring. “Yes. It can’t be that hard, can it?” Unseen to her was his baffled expression in the mirror.
“I can’t do this.” Darcy admitted to him quietly.
“You’re right. But WE can do this.”
A month later found Darcy nervously clutching the bouquet of yellow daisies, orange tiger-lilies, and blue irises in her hand. Unconventional flowers for an unconventional wedding. It was impromptu and therefore lacking the grandeur of previous X-Men weddings. Lucky for her, no one expected any less from the Wolverine.
Walking down the aisle in a blue wedding dress that already highlighted her building baby bump; she glanced at her guests out of the corner of her eye. The children, the offspring of their teammates, were clustered in their parents’ arms or general vicinity, offering smiles of encouragement or sloppy baby grins with drool on their chin. Their students were whispering, no doubt about her idiocy as a Sex Ed teacher. Their teammates, their friends, their family were all beaming. Jane was glowing with happiness, thankfully not pregnant again, and Darcy’s confidence was bolstered by the support of her oldest best friend. The Fantastic Four and the Avengers were in attendance for this miraculous event, and Darcy couldn’t find a need to care when there was Logan waiting for her.
Once she reached him, she smiled, both shy and embarrassed, and gently spoke into his mind, “I can’t do this.”
Mentally, he answered her, “That’s why WE are doing this, together.”
Comforted, when it came time to say vows, Darcy didn’t stutter or stumble through the words. Her reply was confident when she told Kurt and everyone in attendance, “I do.”
As the end of her third trimester approached, Darcy was getting more and more nervous. Her honeymoon was great. Logan wasn’t weirded out by having sex with her while she was pregnant so they naturally had a blast because it wasn’t like he could get her even more pregnant. It was just that the deadline of three months determined whether or not she was carrying this child to term. It was still just the child or the baby to them. She refused to discuss names or the sex when she still wasn’t sure it would make it passed where the others had failed.
That’s why on the eve of her three month date Darcy was worried out of her mind when she found herself in a strikingly similar position to where she was when she first found out she was pregnant. Kneeling on the tile of the bathroom floor, bent over the porcelain toilet, her stomach heaved even though it was empty. Darcy cried.
She hadn’t had morning sickness like this before. Previously, she just had moments where she got extremely hot or extremely cold, and she had feverishly hoped that would be the extent of her pregnancy symptoms but she couldn’t be more wrong. Right now she was in misery, in danger of puking up her organs every time she opened her mouth. Coughing didn’t help; it just aggravated the gag reflex further. The taste of her vomit was the awful combination of the acid of stomach bile and the spicy flavors of the soup she and Logan had for supper. It would be a while before she could eat that meal again and enjoy it.
Her knees were starting to protest her uncomfortable position and her skin was starting to prickle with goose bumps at the chill that ghosted over her before she felt it was safe to lie down without vomiting. Her head pounded worse than any of her hangovers in her long lifetime, and she couldn’t find the strength to go any further than lying on the bathroom rug. Her muscles were cramping and she was completely exhausted.
Darcy had almost fallen asleep there when she heard a knock on the bathroom door. While she was sick, Logan had been dealing with dishing out disciplinary actions to students who were disrespectful to her earlier. They weren’t being intentionally mean. In her opinion they were being very honest. She was the size of a whale now.
When Darcy couldn’t find the strength to sit up and answer the knock, the door opened on its own accord anyway. Logan cautiously peeked his head in (last week she bit his head off for treating her like glass), but when he saw her he quickly scooped her up and carried her to bed. It all happened so quickly that Darcy was forced to shut her eyes lest she empty her stomach of its acids again. Settled into the sheets, she moaned, “Logan, come here.” Her outstretched arms wavered in the air as she beckoned to him, but as soon as she touched him he was locked tight within her grasp and held to her chest. Even now in the throes of her sickness, she still wanted to be the big spoon when they cuddled.
Mercifully Logan didn’t try to talk to her about it or anything else. He only calmed curled into her side with his head pillowed on her breast. Her breast hurt – everything hurt – but she swallowed all protests she might have had in favor of the pleasure of his touch. With infinite tenderness, he reached up to wipe away a few strands of her hair that were stuck to her forehead with sweat. The gesture finally gave Darcy her voice. “I can’t do this.”
Logan’s voice rumbled through his chest and Darcy felt the vibrations of it all the way to her bones. “Yes, you can.” The words resonated within, and she found the courage to continue.
A month later, Darcy was once again having second thoughts about this pregnancy. Staring at herself with a critical eye in the mirror, she eyed her baby bump with speculation. It was her and Logan’s date night, which generally meant it ending in pre-scheduled sex where they could take their time whereas all other spontaneous times were very heat of the moment and meant to fine release. As of now though, she wasn’t sure she should have sex. She would crush Logan – the baby would be fine – but Logan would break his back.
She was concentrating so intently on her newfound weight, complete with black stretch marks – black like the striped on her back – that she didn’t notice when Logan pushed the bathroom door opened and took in the sight of her examining herself in her lingerie. It was old lingerie, bought during Christmas when she wasn’t pregnant, so that meant it was stretched tight now and a little worn for wear due to his eagerness ripping away some of the cutesy lace it had had before. Still he found her beautiful and told her so. “Darcy,” he started in a low growl, “you’re…” When he didn’t finish, she was beginning to get nervous. He didn’t have to finish, though. Not when he stepped forward and caught her mouth in his own in a passionate kiss.
Allowing herself to get caught up in it, she didn’t stop him until he reached up to lower the straps that held the chemise up. “No, wait.” With a sigh of frustration, she turned away. “I can’t do this.” Turning back around to the mirror, she caught his eye there and expounded on her reasoning, “I’m a fucking hippopotamus, Logan.” She was starting to get misty-eyed.
With a low growl of frustration, whether with her loss of confidence or at his sexual desires denial, he pressed himself against her back and ground his length against his rear. “No you’re not, you’re a tiger.” His hands smoothed over her baby bump, “This isn’t fat, it’s a baby and all those fluids.” Those same hands travelled up and gently grasped her breasts, “This isn’t fat either, it’s milk and whatever else a breast is.”
Darcy laughed, feeling much better now about doing this. With renewal of her lusts and her newfound confidence in this changing body inspiring her, she ground back against him, her hands firmly planted on the marble counter of their bathroom sink. “Take me here then, Logan.”
“That’s the feisty tiger I know,” Logan chuckled, and resumed his earlier task of trying to strip her naked.
By now Darcy was fed up with her pregnancy. All previous allure and enchantment that might have been there was gone. She was way over nine months, but afraid to be induced lest this be a natural part of her son’s mutation. Her son. It was a boy, they found out at 6 months. In her mind’s eye she imagined him with her father’s spiky hair and most likely her dark skin, but his eyes were unknown to her. Whenever she imagined him in her head he was asleep, his little chubby fists without claws of any kind. He didn’t have any of her stripes either.
Fantasies of her son did not inspire good moods. She was ill almost constantly now, her temper short, and her back ached like a motherfucker. When Logan went on missions she was in a near constant state of stress. By now she was always horny and wet, but Logan couldn’t keep up with satisfying her. This burning desire she had now was worse than any of her previous heats. Also she was going through withdrawals. She had to give up wine when she learned she was pregnant, and she so desperately missed the drink. As soon as she was no longer breastfeeding, she planned on getting drunk off her ass. Let Logan babysit her and little Jimmy. They had named their son after Logan and Darcy’s father. Jimmy. Jane was very pleased with the name.
Darcy was in a snit. It pissed her the fuck off she couldn’t fit into any shoes so she had to walk around barefoot, and she still was teaching classes as there were no available substitutes that could be trusted teaching sex to mutant children. Besides, she used her pregnancy to strike fear into their hearts if they didn’t damn well use a fucking condom.
Uncomfortably bloated, Darcy was gathering up the papers she had to have graded for tomorrow and waddled out of the classroom. She was halfway down the stairs when she felt something wet trickle down her leg. Damn it, she pissed herself again. With a sigh, not even embarrassed anymore at any of her bodily functions, she continued to go down the stairs so she could get cleaned up in her bathroom. Rather laughably, she slipped on her small puddle of piss (bear in mind that she’s barefoot), and fell down the rest of the stairs, which thankfully weren’t that many.
She never screamed. She doesn’t remember what happened next. All that she knows that came after was her waking up in the medical labs with an out of breath Hank fussing over her. She does remember what woke her up. It was the feeling of her nerve endings being lit on fire, an experience she has actually had before. Only then did she scream, “LOGAN!”
Her labor lasted nearly 12 hours, a tricky process because her healing ability did not allow drugs to work their magic over her. A C-Section was impossible – they had already tried and her healing ability would not allow it. She was fading in and out of the experience, her mind stretched thin and connecting to everyone and then compressing until she wouldn’t even know she was a telepath. Her claws found purchase in Logan’s and Jane’s skin many times, and though she was sorry she couldn’t find the will to apologize between bouts of contractions. Later she would apologize to Jane, but only to also inform her that Jane was much more violent in all her labors, too.
Giving up the breathing techniques, forgetting everything she taught and has witness and had learned for this, Darcy stared hopelessly up into Logan’s kindly face and gasped, “I can’t do this.” Before she could hear his answer she was hit by another contraction and she had scratched his face, nearly clawing out one of his eyes. She didn’t hear anything else and couldn’t think, but only feel the fire rip through her. What snapped her out of it was the small cry of a newborn.
Tears that had coursed down her cheeks before from pain were renewed and tenderer. Her arms held themselves out, and she felt herself leak in preparation to feed him. Jimmy Gerald Jack Granger-Howlett was born at 2:32 a.m. on a Friday, September 9th, 2021. Once she was settled with him in her arms and latched to her breast, she looked up at Logan, tired but happy. He was smiling at her, his face healed, crying. His mouth moved as he said something to her, but she wasn’t focused enough to understand. “What?”
Logan tore his eyes away from their son to look into her own eyes. “I said you can do anything.” With a feather-light touch, he gently smoothed down the cowlick Jimmy had. Darcy was right; he had Logan’s hair and her skin. “I was right.” Startled, she looked at him for an explanation. “You can do anything, Genevieve Darcy Granger-Howlett.”
All she could do is hum in agreement, letting her head fall back heavily against her squashed pillows. Her eyelids closed before she was aware of her blinking motion. “What color are his eyes, Logan my love?”
Hank was the one to answer her. “Well, when we checked him over, they were blue.” He continued about his work, and all Darcy could do was sigh with relief that this whole ordeal was over. After that she quickly fell asleep, assured that if she could handle pregnancy, then she could raise her child – with Logan’s help of course.