He had experienced a moment of weakness.
Hands bloodied, he stepped back and wiped sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. "M- Mrs. Bradley," he coughed at last, tone uncharacteristically gentle, "This... doesn't look good."
Eyes fluttering under delicate lids, cracked lips parted, she did not stir. The feverish spots of red high on her cheeks gave an eerie, mocking parody of joviality.
"I... could save you," he said, voice breaking as his throat constricted. Her eyes opened, focused on him with difficulty.
"You wouldn't be asking unless it was a choice," she said weakly. "A choice between me and my son."
He said nothing, and did not meet her gaze. His fingers trailed lightly over the tools of his trade; stethoscope, gauze, the sharp edge of a sterilized blade.
"You already know what I'm going to say." Her quiet voice carried surprising conviction. "Don't you?"
"There... There is always a choice." His throat caught again, and he bowed his head.
"You save my son. You save him even if it kills me."
He nodded stiffly, once, and closed his fingers around the handle.
"Think you can push a couple more times?"
Her eyes flashed with the sudden renewal of steel.
"I think so."
***
Strands of light blond hair trailed across the damp skin of her forehead as she lay motionless on the bed with her newborn son held loosely to her chest, deathly pale and vacant eyes almost closed - but not quite - against the deceiving brightness of the grey sky outside. Shallow breaths and the pulse fluttering weakly in her neck were the only testimony to her body's last clinging to life.
Dr. Nemesis stood beside the window, up to his elbows in blood and leaning exhaustedly on the iron bed frame. The tilt of his head and hat concealed most of his face - all but the hard line of his mouth, downturned at the corners from grief and tiredness.
"Mrs. Bradley," he said at last, the heaviness of his voice breaking the silence and disrupting the lingering scent of sweat and blood. "...Catherine."
He paused again, painfully aware of the slow spread of blood across the bed between her legs. Throat tight, he swallowed. Then he spoke.
"I'm your son," he said hoarsely. The baby clasped loosely in her thin arms squirmed and her eyes focused again, brought back from surprise, although it still seemed that she looked somehow past him and the effort it took made her feeble heartbeat strain.
"But-"
"I know it makes no sense," he said, "But please believe me. I came here, from the future, to- to help- I..." his words failed, choked off from emotion. The woman in the bed smiled weakly.
"You're... a good boy," she said faintly, eyes glazing over as her breathing grew ever more faint. "Come... all this way... for your old mother."
Her gaze sharpened again, eyes opening fully though they became bright as if with fever. The baby shifted again in her feeble grip, squirming against her bosom and making plaintive sounds. She stroked the tiny back calmly.
"I name him James?"
"James Nicola," he said quietly.
"That... That seems right. A good name." Her voice was little more than a whisper in the close room, a delicate thread about to snap and become silent, useless. Her eyes closed, the barest hint of breath between cracked lips betraying her continued life.
"Take him," she said suddenly, taking the baby in her hands and holding him up with arms that didn't seem to have the strength to do so. He hesitated.
A slight tremor in the force of her voice was the only clue to her agony. "Take him! I don't want him to feel his mother die."
He bit his lip, but gingerly took the baby from her, wrapping the little body more tightly in the blue and white blanket. The child snuffled and started to cry, twisting fitfully towards his mother. The close yells grew into wailing screams; Nemesis bounced gently, tensely shifting his weight from foot to foot and humming a tuneless melody. After a minute the baby quieted and snuggled in to his chest, albeit fussily.
"You... Do you change the world?" Catherine whispered weakly. "Are you special?"
He let out a sharp bark of laughter before he could stop himself, but straightened up.
"...I am different from normal humans. You saw the others... I'm like them."
"And you... help people?"
"I... Yes. Yes, I do." He swallowed painfully.
"... That's good..." her voice faded. "You father would be proud..." Her eyes closed.
James Bradley could see genetic structures and the molecules that they comprised of, could detect radio waves and gamma radiation and everything in between.
He saw her heart stop, and watched as the heat left her body.
His face remained stiff, set in stone and obstinately proud, bloody light of the setting sun in the window painting his figure with red.
But the baby in his arms started to cry.