Blueberry Pie and Other Disasters
“I still say you might as well bitch slap George Washington,” Wade tried to argue again. It had been a recurring argument for over an hour now.
“It’s not that bad,” I said, shaking my head as I finished wiping down the counter.
“The Founding Fathers are rolling over in their graves. Captain Ameri-ass is sensing a disturbance in the Ameri-force.” Wade flailed his hands as me, adding to his point. “It’s unamerican.” He saluted our Captain America cardboard cutout where it stood in its place of honor. Which was right next to the custom printed Post-thawing Bucky Barnes cardboard cutout with a flower wreath. Etsy was a magical place.
“It’s just a pie, sweetheart,” I chuckled, gesturing at the much contended pie. It sat there innocently under our cleanest kitty cat dishtowel as it cooled.
“Ramsey would set it on fire,” Wade pouted.
“It’s staying,” I said firmly.
Blue box: Pinterest wouldn’t lie to me.
“Blueberry pie is a travesty.,” Wade protested again, whining.
“It’s blueberry apple,” I corrected, incapable of holding back the eyeroll.
Yellow box: It’s still unamerican.
White box: And you’re Canadian.
Yellow box: Nu-uh. Agent Agent fished the paperwork for us last week.
White box: Half Canadian then. Half blueberry seems fair.
Yellow box: Solomon!
“I will make sure everyone at Thanksgiving knows of your discerning taste,” I placated him, patting his arm. It was bare, as it usually was when it was just the two of us. The only things he was wearing were low riding sweat pants and a shoulder holster, which was of course loaded with today’s favorite weapon. I refused to ask what is was because I had learned that lesson. 3 hours of gun talk was just too many, even for me.
I held out one of the cookies from the cookie jar and he ate it from my hand as petulantly as he could while looking simultaneously like he wanted to worship the ground I stood on. Which was more than you would think. I was interrupted from licking off the chocolate from his bottom lip by my phone.
Blue box: Is it rude that I made Hank’s ringtone Eiffel 65?
Yellow box: What it is, is perfection.
“Hey Doc,” I greeted cheerily. “How are you? We’re looking forward to seeing you for Thanksgiving this Thursday.”
“We’re happy you could join us,” Hank assured me. He sounded distracted. And worried. “I have the results of your blood tests,” I frowned at his tone.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, concerned now. It wasn’t like him to skip the pleasantries. Secret Alien DNA? Dying of exotic disease? Interdimensional STD? Was Logan my Daddy?
Yellow box: That is not a good sign.
White box: Knew nothing this good could last.
Yellow box: She’s obviously dying.
White box: Everybody dies on us.
Blue box: Not Wolvie.
Yellow box: But imagine kissing Wolvie?
Blue box: Kissing an ashtray that doesn’t shower.
White box: And penetrates you in the bad way.
“You are perfectly healthy, from everything that I can see,” Hank reassured me, making me sigh in relief.
Blue box: Not dying. Healthy.
Yellow box: Thank fuck.
Wade pulled me into a tight hug. He pressed his nose into my hair and breathed in deep.
“I did a complete blood work up,” Hank continued. He better have. He took so much blood Wade started checking to see if he still had a reflection. “I found that you do have the X gene.” He paused, then said the next sentence in a rush. “But I also found high levels of HCG.” That rang a dim bell.
“And what does that mean?” I asked, racking my brain for what little I could remember of bio. Mostly I just remembered the super hot girl in my lab group.
“Well, given that I checked your blood for other possible reasons for these kind of levels, the only answer is that… well… you’re pregnant.”
I blinked. Once. Then Twice.
“Could you repeat that last bit?” My ears were roaring, but I could hear just fine. Wade seemed to catch on that something was happening.
“You’re pregnant.”
“Oh,” I said, more a release of air than an actual word. My voice sounded off even to my ears. Wade slowly pulled back, trying to meet my eyes.
“I’d like to get you in for an ultrasound sometime in the near future to check for a visible mutations that might need monitoring,” Hank explained. I hummed an affirmative. “We’ll make an appointment whenever you’re ready.”
“Thank you,” I said, only practice making the social niceties come out.
“I’ll see you at Thanksgiving then?” Hank asked, concern in his voice.
“Of course!” I said with false cheer. Wade noticed, of course. He was frowning at me as Hank and I said our goodbyes and I hung up. I stared at the phone, trying to hear above the ringing in my ears.
“You are seriously going to make me wish I had telepathy, which is a first for me,” Wade said, breaking some of the shock. “You look like someone just told you Betty White took a vow of celibacy.” I looked up and met Wade’s beautiful worried eyes.
“I don’t…” I couldn’t make myself say the words.
Blue box: I’m pregnant.
Yellow box: …
White box: …
While his boxes loaded, Wade’s face went blank. He was frozen in place, staring at a spot next to my head where I assumed the box had appeared. And I could guess pretty easily what it had said.
So I waited for a response.
And waited.
I waved a hand in front of his face, getting concerned. Wade was never silent and still. It was unnatural and gave me the heeby jeebies. I took his pulse, just in case. Should I grab some smelling salts? Good old fashioned slap to the face?
White box: DOES NOT COMPUTE.
Yellow box: ERROR.
“Rebooting,” Wade announced in a monotone. His face was expressionless and his movements robotic as he raised his hand and wrapped his fingers around his pretty pink gun.
Blue box: Shit.
I scrambled for the gun, but I was no match for his strength. I might as well have tried to move a concrete block. He aimed for his temple and I did the only thing that my panicked brain could think to do.
“Extended car warranty!” I shouted.
Wade blinked for the first time in far too long, finger frozen on the trigger. His eyes focused on me, then immediately turned concerned.
“What happened, Pumpkin?” Wade asked as he lowered the gun, seeming to forget about it. He set it down on the counter and started checking me over. He ran his hands over every bit of me he could. He wiped a tear from my cheek. “You’re leaking, baby.” I wrapped him up in a hug and refused to let go.
Yellow box: What happened? Why did she use the safe word?
White box: Maybe because you were about to redecorate the walls with your IQ?
Yellow box: I was sure that was another mental blip. I mean, Blue said they were pregnant. Totally not real world shenanigans.
Blue box: I am pregnant.
Yellow box: Fuck me.
Blue box: That’s how this happened in the first place.