xp_logs | Nathan and Moira (and someone else), Tuesday evening

Nathan's assembling the crib. Moira's eating ice cream. Someone else picks tonight to show off a little. (And when we say show off, we mean show off. Nathan's 'little prodigy' comments can be directly attributed to his precog, apparently.)

He was really beginning to wish he'd picked another crib. "I let that woman sweettalk me into this beast," Nathan grumbled, wincing in real pain as he straightened, reaching out for one of the other screwdrivers. "Why did you trust me to go crib-shopping by myself? That was a bad call. 'Minimal assembly required, sir!' my ass."

Peering over the bowl of ice cream in her hands, Moira rolled her eyes at his back. "Because I dinnae feel like waddlin' all th' way down ta th' store?" she offered, spooning another bite into her mouth. "And it doesnae look tha' difficult. Did ye actually bother ta read th' instructions this time? Ye remember what happened th' last time ye built somethin' and dinnae bothered wit' th' instructions." The poor, poor entertainment center had been flung a good distance away from the island. It had sunk like a rock in the ocean.

There was a chagrined silence. "I... read the instructions. Sort of." He looked back over his shoulder at her, his lips twitching helplessly at the eloquent look she was giving him from where she was sprawled on the couch. "I still maintain that entertainment center bit me and that's why it had to die."

"Aye, Nathan, a wooden, leanin' entertainment center bit ye. Ye really are daft, aren't ye?"

"Only because you find it endearing, dear." He found the right screwdriver, but then paused, staring with a raised eyebrow at the holes on the piece in front of him and those on the piece that was supposed to attach to it. "I think it's backwards." He turned it around experimentally. "Ah-hah. I'll beat it yet. I'm not going to be thwarted by a crib."

Moira stared down at her belly. "Aye, ye wee bundle o' joy," she said conversationally, "yer father's a daft, daft man who gets defeated by furniture. One day, ye'll be told this story over an' over again by gleeful friends o' th' family. Dinnae worry, ye can laugh at yer da. We do."

"I prefer to think of it as entertaining eccentricity on my part." Damn it. The holes didn't line up. "I don't think they're drilled right," Nathan said crankily, yanking telekinetically on the instruction booklet. It floated through the air, opening as it hovered there. "These diagrams are so not helpful." Over in her cage, Bella hooted derisively. "Shut up, feathers."

Squinting, she frowned. Okay, so they really didn't help much. But still. "Aren't men supposed ta have been born wit' drills in their mouths or somethin'?" she asked, trying to find a place to put her bowl. Damn the lack of space and movement.

"I don't have the 'tinker' gene. I have the 'blow stuff up and shoot real good' gene." Nathan laid the piece he was holding down and picked up the one that could be its twin. "Maybe you're the one I want," he muttered, turning it back and forth to see if the holes matched up. "I swear I ought to just fuse it all together on the molecular level."

"Nathan Christopher Dayspring, dinnae ye dare!" Moira snapped, sitting up a little bit. Finally fed up, she placed the bowl of ice cream very, very gently on her stomach, trying not to over turn it.

"Why?" he protested. "It'd be structurally sound, I'd make sure of that..." No, the damned holes still didn't line up. He dropped the piece with a curse, the partially-assembled crib rattling a little as some of his TK bled over.

And the bowl of ice cream on Moira's stomach abruptly launched itself through the air in a definite arc, hitting the ground a good six feet from the couch.

"NATHAN!" Moira glared at him, royally angry now. One, he shouldn't be throwing a TK tantrum so close to the baby. Two, she was sure as hell not going to clean that up. And three? She had still been _eating_ that.

But as Nathan turned towards her, his eyes flickering incredulously from the bowl of ice cream back to her, the color drained from his face. Not gradually; all at once, with an almost unnatural speed.

"It wasn't me."

"...what?"

His eyes were locked on her stomach, wide and shocked and fiercely intent. Ignoring the ache of his back, he hauled himself up off the floor, only to come over to the couch and kneel down beside it, reaching out a hand to lay it gently on her stomach. Still looking right through her.

Or at someone else.

"The cold," he said after a moment, his voice oddly distant-sounding. "Didn't like the cold."

"Who dinnae like...oh my God." Moira's hands quickly joined his as she gazed down at her stomach, feeling a small sense of dread at the back of her mind start to build. "Th' baby...dinnae like...oh my God. Nathan, our baby just manifested." Images of Kevin's birth flashed through her head and she swallowed as she paled even further.

"No," Nathan said insistently, his attention finally going to her. He placed his other hand over
hers, firmly. "Manifested, yes. But it's okay. Feel." And he tugged gently on the link, joining her mind and his to that sleepy bundle of half-formed thought.

No words. Not even emotions, really - images, and sensations. The cold had gone away. That was good. The cold had been made to go away. There was something smugly self-satisfied there, a ripple of something very close to triumph.

Bursting into tears, she held onto him tightly as she felt what their baby was thinking. And she was doing well, Moira thought, sniffling. She was...she..."Son of a bitch," she breathed, fighting the urge to pout. There went _that_ element of surprise. But...healthy...

"Happy," Nathan said softly, getting up to settle on the couch beside her, holding her tightly. "Feel." He grinned suddenly, almost exuberantly. "The cold went away and she made it go away. She's all tickled about that. Damn, she's going to give us both white hair..."

"Ye already have white hair," Moira muttered into his shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut for just a second.

"It's going to be okay." He kissed the top of her head, and if he was shaking a little himself, he suspected she'd forgive him. "She's already going back to sleep. The cold went away, and she's happy."

"We need ta talk ta Charles an' Henry," she said softly, rubbing her belly when she felt a little kick. As if to say "I'm trying to sleep here". "But in a few minutes because I'm still in shock."

"We'll go down in a bit," Nathan said, already reaching out to speak to Charles. "It is going to be all right, Moira," he said, keeping his voice firm, soothing. "Because it is, and because she believes it is. She's not afraid."

"Well, if our wee one isnae afraid, then I guess we shouldnae be either..."

Nathan swallowed what would have come out as a nervous laugh. "We'll just keep the ice cream well clear of her, no? We should figure out what she does like. Start experimenting with music, maybe... might help when the time comes."

"Which is soon. God help us all."

Nathan rubbed her back soothing. "Love you," he murmured softly. "Both of you."

"Love all o' us, too," Moira sighed, tucking her head into Nathan's chest. Charles, having picked up on _something_, was 'knocking' at the back of her mind in that gentle, concerned way of his. "Company, love..." She laughed a little bit at that.

"I can open the door from here," Nathan said firmly. No need to let go just yet.

"Please do. I dinnae think he'd mind all tha' much if we dinnae get up. Or, well, if he does I'll just threaten ta roll his bald self inta th' lake."