barbara gordon (pythia) wrote in rooms, @ 2014-05-17 13:04:00 |
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Enjoying the sights that the Citadel had to offer was fun, but Babs was never one to sit down and not do anything. It was more than simply needing an income, for her exchange rate on ancient currency and other paraphernalia of earth netted her a decent sum that allowed her an apartment. She simply wanted to do something, nearly anything. She hadn’t enjoyed feeling idle in Gotham and she’d be damned if she spent her time in space just taking in the scenery Citadel Security Services was an option, though she would have been lying if she said she hadn’t been wistfully thinking about being a Spectre. But that was later, if ever, and there were baby steps to take. A background took more time than usual to forge as she had been getting used to the technology and making sure her tracks were clean. Omni-tools and the like helped, but even those took some time getting used to. There was still the matter a clean bill of health and a recommendation from a Councilor. The latter she was still trying to think of how to get around but the former, she could handle. She simply needed to wait for a day her stomach wasn’t giving her trouble again. She had spent weeks feeling nauseous, the mild stomach bug she picked up in Gotham getting worse when she went to space. Must be the lack of immunization and exposure to all the aliens. Another thing to take care of when she was at the doctor. The human doctors had been unavailable when she arrived at her appointment but she didn’t mind so much. When in Rome, and so when a salarian named Kirlan Telern gave her a bioscan, she didn’t flinch or falter. His questions were easily answered, and she was confident that everything was going to end up fine. “Everything in order, Miss Gordon.” Wonderful, wonderful. “We’ll give your vaccines shortly.” Another thing to check off the To Do list. “Pregnancy so far is progressing with no complications. Early still bu—” “My what?” If Babs hadn’t been feeling like she was run over by a dump truck, she might have found the doctor’s reaction hilarious. He seemed to notice the shift in the air, a sudden nervous tension, and he wrung his long fingers nervously before checking his datapad again. He must’ve been new. She doubted anyone else would care about their human bedside manner. “Your pregnancy, Miss Gordon.” He was met with more staring. “Seven weeks along, ultra sound positive. Fetus well developed. Strong heartbeat present, always a good sign. Blood pressure is in acceptable limits. Body has yet to reject fetus based on blood type. Should carry to term.” He continued but his words were falling on deaf ears. Babs didn’t need to roll back the calendar in her mind. She had been worried, of course, when they emerged out of the drug induced Gotham that she was pregnant. She and Dick thought they were happily married then and happily tried to start a family. Often. But she had taken her pregnancy test after they came back to themselves and it come back negative, and the missed period was nothing but stress from Bruce being gone and Dick taking up the mantle, and then people from Marvel showing up and— “Miss Gordon?” She blinked and tried to refocus her attention on the fidgeting salarian, clearly wondering what misstep in cross-species communication he had just bumbled his way into. “We could run further tests for you? For you and—and the baby.” Slowly, she nodded. Oh boy. |