"Mmph," she answers unhappily, and finishes eliminating the sour taste before she sighs and rests her head on the very comfortable boyfriend shoulder next to her.
"...Not really. Except this kid is such a Rasputin, I'm sure she's going to decide she's ready to be born when we least expect it." She relaxes for the moment anyway, shifting slightly and closing her eyes. "Mm. You're going to hover, aren't you, no matter what I say?" It is, probably, a question she knows the answer to, as she asks, a little more softly, "Will it make you feel better?" in Russian, one hand reaching over to squeeze one of his.
(The problem she is not going to say: Simon's experience with mutants, anyway, is limited to...mostly the two of them, and with mutants birth to nil. And the baby's DNA is still, well, off, in some way. Not wrong. Never wrong, come what may.
no subject
"...Not really. Except this kid is such a Rasputin, I'm sure she's going to decide she's ready to be born when we least expect it." She relaxes for the moment anyway, shifting slightly and closing her eyes. "Mm. You're going to hover, aren't you, no matter what I say?" It is, probably, a question she knows the answer to, as she asks, a little more softly, "Will it make you feel better?" in Russian, one hand reaching over to squeeze one of his.
(The problem she is not going to say: Simon's experience with mutants, anyway, is limited to...mostly the two of them, and with mutants birth to nil. And the baby's DNA is still, well, off, in some way. Not wrong. Never wrong, come what may.
But. Something is different. They know that.)