THERE IS EXPLICIT SEX IN THIS STORY. I marked this clearly in the header. The sex is graphic, but all loving and consensual (and not that much worse than a typical romance novel). If reading sex scenes like that would offend you, please don't read this.
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"A donna see any problems, nay..."
Even though the Scotswoman's body language and surface thoughts had already told them there was nothing to worry about, Betsy and Logan still couldn't help trading relieved looks when Moira officially voiced her professional judgement. Their doctor went on, "The gene scan shows the bairn has a healing factor which is e'en now partially active -- which should help ye wi' the carrying, Betsy -- an' will most likely develop telepathy..."
"Huh? How? I can see where the kid'd get a healing factor from me, but how'd it end up with Betsy's power, too? We'd figured her genes'd be Kwannon's..."
"'Tis nae yuir power inherited," Moira chuckled, "'tis the bairn's own mutation. Obviously, 'twas meant tae be." Then, she asked in a more serious tone, "Ye still donna wish tae know if ye caught naturally or if this be a test-tube baby?"
Psylocke shook her head, replying firmly, "No. We agreed on that a while back, when we agreed to try both ways -- we're not interested in the mechanics, just in having a healthy and happy baby."
"Or whether it be a girl or a boy?" the auburn-haired medic teased.
The purple-tressed woman stayed silent while her companion fielded that one. "Nah. Not that I want Betts ta have the baby by herself naked in a cave or nothin', but we did decide, the less 'modern meddling' the better. We'll find out when we're meant ta find out."
As Moira got up and left, Betsy smiled -- a smug, Cheshire-cat grin. "Besides, I already know. She's a girl. I've felt her, already." While Logan helped her up out of her seat solicitously -- even though she was barely showing yet -- her smile faded slowly as she went on hesitantly, "I was wondering... if you might want us to name her 'Mariko'?" The sensitive telepath flinched at the sudden stab of remembered heartbreak. "I'm so sorry, Logan, that was terribly presumptuous of me..."
He wrapped his arm around her ramrod-stiff form, to give her an awkward hug. "Nah, it's ok, darlin'... It was a sweet thought..."
Sensing his distress was only being compounded by his growing concern for her reaction, Betsy forced herself to relax in his embrace. She knew that he'd agree now, just to make her feel better, and she didn't want him -- or their daughter -- to have to live with years of emotional baggage because he'd been kind enough to want to cater to the whims of a pregnant woman. Thinking quickly, she made herself smile back at him. "Or, I was thinking... how about 'Mari-anne'? Anne is a common name in my mother's family -- dating back hundreds of years, supposedly to a Knollys girl named after poor Anne Boleyn. That would give our daughter a piece of both our pasts."
"Marianne..." Logan dragged it out, as if testing the flavor of it. "Sounds good ta me, darlin'..." As they walked out into the corridor, he asked, "So, ya staying up here for a while?"
"No, not this trip. Brian is waiting for me down in the hangar, to fly me back to the manor. We promised Meggan we'd be home for supper. She and I have to testify in court in London tomorrow -- about that child murderer we helped Dai Thomas catch, you heard about that, right? Any sort of psychic testimony is still a matter of considerable controversy here and, since this has apparently become a test case, I expect it will take quite a while, and be quite draining. So I promised Brian and Meg I'd take it easy, and we'd have an early evening. You could come back to the manor with us, and join us?"
"I'd like that, Betts, really, but I promised Kitty and Pete I'd grab dinner with them. Can I get a raincheck?"
"Yes, of course. Moira will want to monitor me quite frequently, and I hope you'll be able to fly over often, to sit in."
"Wouldn't miss it for the world -- just lemme know when an' where, an' I'll come runnin'."
The End (for now)