Author's Note: Well, I guess I do have to post at least one more part of this fic since I neglected to thank a few people when I posted the prologue.
First of all I want to thank all eight (8) of my proofreaders - four (4) who read the prologue and never responded, one (1) who read the prologue and told me that they weren't interested in proofreading the fic, one (1) who read through part 5 before she stopped commenting and a SPECIAL THANKS to the two (2) who actually finished proofreading it...Peggy and Lois.
I'd also like to thank Lois for her patience and for her suggestions which I have used. So, if you like the fic you can also tell Lois how much you're enjoying it.
And thank you Min for encouraging me to post it.
Category: ALT, X, HR (BQ/Other), Angst
Warnings: Netiquette violations: language and adult situations
Further warnings: If you are a Rachel Quest fan read no further - delete now.
Disclaimer: (See Prologue)
It has been two weeks since I told Rachel Quest about my pregnancy. I haven't told my husband yet. During these two weeks I have been on an emotional roller coaster. One moment I am ecstatically happy, the next I burst into tears if anyone even speaks to me. In between these wild mood swings, I become lost in daydreams.
It isn't that I haven't made any attempts to tell him about my condition; I have made several. Every time I try, something comes up that makes me hesitate. I have danced around the subject, but my spouse is totally oblivious to my hints. For a genius, he can at times be obtuse. I cannot keep this secret much longer; I am past the first trimester. At this rate I will either be showing or in labor before he notices anything.
Still, I have my doubts about how he will react. I should have told him of my suspicions concerning my condition months ago. He might not want a baby. This is what troubles me the most. What will happen if he doesn't want this child?
It is very simple: I will not be the first single mother at Intelligence One. It's easy to say this, but I have my doubts that it is as easy as it sounds. However, it would be better for the baby to grow up with a father instead of a name on the birth certificate.
As Benton Quest and I lay snuggling together in bed, Benton asks, "Are you happy here?"
I snuggle closer and answer, "Why wouldn't I be?"
"You have been so different for the last two weeks. When someone is talking to you, you seem as if you are a million miles away," Benton tells me as he draws lazy designs on my back with his fingertips. "Race and I were talking about it this morning. Mrs. Evans said you were nesting." He continues to draw Einstein's theory of relativity on my back.
"Nesting?" Benton doesn't have to have a light on to know that I said this with a raised eyebrow. A soft baritone chuckle precedes his response. "Race and I said the same thing."
I begin walking my fingers up Benton's arm, "So are you going to tell me or am I going to have to get rough with you Doctor?"
"Stop that!" Benton Quest cries as he tries to capture my hand.
I can't resist asking him. "Why?"
"Because it tickles!" He is still trying to push my hand away.
I playfully bat his hand away and continue to walk my fingers up his arm. "What? This?"
"Yes, if you don't......I won't tell you what nesting means." Ben teasingly tells me.
"OK, I'll stop," I tell him as I reach up and kiss him. "But only if you tell me what nesting means."
Benton tries to kiss me. "Maybe if you kiss me again, I'll remember what Mrs. Evans said it meant." I drop a quick chaste kiss on Benton's lips. He seeks to deepen it.
I push him away with a firm, "After you explain nesting."
He sighs heavily. It is amusing that he and Jonny have the same 'I am not getting my way' sigh.
"OK, you win. Mrs. Evans said you were nesting, which translates into she thinks you're pregnant." A soft baritone chuckle follows. I stiffen in his arms.
"Come on Rag Doll; Mrs. Evans didn't mean any offense. Tomorrow all you have to do is tell her you aren't pregnant." Another soft chuckle drifts through the room.
Benton notices the heavy silence that has fallen over the room, and the tension in my body. He sits up pulling me up with him, fumbling to find the light switch for the bedside lamp. "Will, are you pregnant?" he asks as the soft light fills the room.
I can only reply with a softly whispered, "Yes."
"Aren't you using some form of contraceptive?" Benton's voice is laced with some emotion that I can't quite place.
I shrug my shoulders. "No. I didn't think it was necessary."
"That's an irresponsible attitude to have." The Doctor's voice has an air of disapproval to it.
My response is laced with a touch of indignation. "No, I've never been in a relationship were it was necessary. That is the most sexist comment I have ever heard."
"Please explain?" He commands in an authoritative voice.
"The doctors told me when I was young that I would never have children. I was, well, barren. The odds were 1 to 10,000 of me ever getting pregnant. I never used any birth control devices. Well, except for...and that was because of......birth control is just as much of a man's responsibility as it is a woman's to think of these things." My voice trails off into nothing.
Benton asked, "How? When? Where? Who?" I look at him in disbelief.
"You know, Benton, most men would be standing in the center of the bed jumping up and down, beating on their chest saying 'I am the man! I got my wife knocked up. I am such a man---she's infertile and I still got her pregnant.' You can tell you're a scientist! You're asking how, when, where and who."
To be honest I had been expecting him to ask "How?" Benton Quest may be a genius, but there are times when he is so innocent---so naive---it's scary. I flash him a wicked smile, and say, "How? Well, think back about fifteen minutes ago. Should I use visual aid for the 'how' part?" He is so cute when he blushes.
I am a little surprised by the next question, but I answer it anyway. "When? Do you want the exact moment or will a general idea be enough? Try Memorial Day weekend. Mrs. Evans had left Thursday morning to visit relatives in Bangor for the holiday. Race and the kids left Thursday afternoon to go camping. We were all alone here until Tuesday afternoon." He nods his head in agreement, or for me to continue---I am not sure which.
The easiest answer to the question of "where" would be where haven't we. Despite Race's warnings, we are a little...adventuresome. "Where? The beach, the lab, the couch, your office. Is this enough 'wheres,' or do you want me to name some more?" Thank goodness; he seems to be able to remember at least this much.
"Who?" The question staggers me. It comes out of left field like an assassin's bullet. It hurts!
"Who? I don't know. It was dark and all cats look gray at night. Do you really think so little of me?" I can't breathe; my eyes are stinging. I have to get out of this room. NOW!
I pick up my pillow and grab the quilt. "Where are you going?" Benton asks.
"I'm going to sleep on the couch," I reply as I drag the quilt behind me.
Benton is sitting on the edge of the bed. "I always though that when spouses fought, the wife always threw the husband out of the bed, and he ended up sleeping on the couch."
"Yes, but this is your bed, your bedroom, and your house," I exclaim as I exit the room.
I lay on the couch reviewing my options. Going back to DC and Intelligence-One wouldn't be so difficult. While it is true that I have been combat trained, over the last few years I have become technical personnel. It wouldn't be that difficult to carry the baby with me on my assignments. As far as education goes there is always home schooling.
However, DC isn't home either. I tire of cold winters. I want to go to my real home. If I were home, I would still be wearing shorts when I ran. It's only September and already I can feel winter's rapid approach.
Then the reality of my situation dawns: if I go home, my Grandfather Harkness will seek retribution against Benton for the sake of my honor. Grandfather Harkness and Grandpapa Armand can do what no one else has been able to do: Destroy Quest Enterprises and Benton Quest.
Can I really bear the thought of my grandfathers demanding satisfaction from Benton on the field of honor? I would be a widow by nightfall. No, going home isn't an option. Tomorrow I will call Terry. By the weekend I will have left this house. "Good job, Harkness; you didn't even make it to your first wedding anniversary." And with that thought I leave the couch to go for a walk.
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