Penstemon is Rix’s character; for more on her read her fanfic adventures, starting here.
Icon by djinni on Rix’s request, duplicated here for LJ users (sooo many less icon slots than DW…
Luke hated having pregnant students in his class.
He hated having girls in his class – he wasn’t his son, to collect the young woman warriors – but there was nothing to be done for it and, besides, some of the young amazons were far stronger than their male counterparts.
But the pregnant girls were harder to work around, harder to include, and everything in his being wanted to protect them and wrap them in blankets and padding (four children of his own by three mothers had not come close to breaking him of this habit, anymore than eight years as a teacher at Addergoole). Just as bad were the badly-Kept ones; no matter how much rot they cleaned out of the school, there always seemed to be some new monster popping up to torment their Kept. Luke was almost glad for the stupid ones, the overboard ones; those they could catch and stop before their victims were too broken.
He had one in his class he thought likely to turn into that sort of moron, two he wasn’t sure where they were going, and one pregnant girl. Penstemon. His wings flared just thinking about her; heavily pregnant, carrying twins from the Nedetakaei rapist she’d killed, and still every bit as fierce (and, his tapes told him, as protective and hearth-mother) as she had been in her first year here.
He had her walking laps, and had herded the possibly-a-moron to keep an eye on her. This close to term, she could pop at any minute; he just hoped she decided to do it in Shira’s class or Laurel’s, not his.
“Uh. Sir?” That was the maybe-moron. Basalt. What were these people thinking, naming their sons “rock?” Especially “airy rock.” Currently, the rock in question was panicking. “Sir, she says…”
“It’s time.” Penny’s voice was far louder and far firmer than her cy’ree-mate’s voice; she was clenching the boy’s bicep hard enough to leave marks. Her feet were skidding a bit on the floor…
“Shit,” Luke muttered. He looked around his classroom, suddenly missing the Thorne Girls, and took assessment. “Willow, you’re in charge. If anyone acts out, you have my permission to do your worst short of killing them.” That ought to give them pause, at least. “Basalt, time to show you have as much muscle as you think you do. Pick her up and come this way.”
“But sir…!” the boy complained.
Penny seconded him. “Sir, that’s really not necessary.”
“Penstemon,” he grumbled, “there are times in your life where you really should shut up and let the menfolk be protective.” He ignored the momentary twinge; he’d said much the same thing to Will, once. And the girl deserved her own man, some day. “Basalt, if your objection is ‘she’s wet,’ suck it up and pick her up.”
“Sir, why can’t you?” He was, it turned out, not without practice at picking girls up, or at least he made it look rehearsed; Luke had a suspicion Penny was helping him out, maybe with a Working.
“Because I told you to. Brace yourself, kid, she’s going to have a…”
“…contraction.” Penny had gripped down on Basalt’s arm and shoulder with a hold that should have broken the kid’s bones.
Must have been more than lack of creativity to that name; he barely flinched. “Damn,” did escape his lips, though it was quiet, and followed quickly with “beg your pardon, ma’am. Miss. Ow.”
“Get moving then,” Luke snapped, to avoid laughing. He wasn’t sure which was more amusing, the look of outrage on Penny’s face or the nerves on the much-bigger Basalt’s.
They got her to Caitrin’s quickly – good planning more than good speed, as the doctor’s office was right next to the gym – and settled just as quickly into the maternity suite. “You stay with her,” Luke said firmly. “It’ll be good for you.”
“I… Aistrigh Tlacatl agkale…into… petros Eperu,” he gasped out. “Damn, woman, here, it’s okay.” He shifted, facing her, his face softening. “That’s got to hurt like hell.”
Satisfied, Luke nodded at the two of them and left. He hated dealing with pregnancy.
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