FSE

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…Week Five…

Elan glanced at the clock. seven-the-fuck-o’clock. Over five fuckin' hours since he’d been whisked into the hospital and forced to changed into this scratchy gown. The garment was miserably thin and the room he was in so drafty so for the first time in forever the Ninetales was cold! He couldn’t even conjure flames to warm himself because this hospital bed wasn’t made for fire-types. His stomach rumbled rebelliously. He was so hungry that he was at risk of feeling too woozy to keep anything down, but if he had to so much as look at another cup of apple juice and a Arceus-Damned nutter butter he was gonna hurl.

Calig and Tyson were with him on either side of the bed. The only sense of warmth for Elan came from their hands in his. Tyson had made his excuses to his boss and Aideen, and Calig had to ditch a class, but honestly they shouldn’t have bothered. All this “hurry up and wait” right now. I guess that’s a good thing? They wouldn’t forget about me if I was about to die? Right? It was nice, at least, that they could be with him. They’d run out of things to say two hours ago. Calig and Elan had both tried to at least do a little homework during the downtime but he couldn't focus with his ears filled with humming needles from those wretched fluorescent lights.

The door opened and all three males jolted. A heavyset Garchomp in a white lab coat crossed the threshold, clipboard in hand. He pulled some medical apparatus by his oversized tail fin. It had a squeaky wheel. Elan’s eyes widened a little at the sight: He was a head taller than Tyson, and his hide scintillated blue, red, and yellow under the fluorescence: a shiny. He had broad shoulders but the heavy pot belly that hung against his slightly-too-small shirt gave him a distinctly DILF-y vibe. Despite the dread pooling in his stomach, Elan and Calig shared a look.

Would!

“Hello there, Mr. Ardor,” said the dragon-type. He looked quizzically from his clipboard when both Tyson and Elan made a motion to reply. “Oh, I’m sorry, you all are—”

“I’m his father,” said Tyson. “I’m the one you call ‘Mr. Ardor.”

“And I’m his boyfriend,” said Calig, tentatively.

“I see. My apologies for the misunderstanding. Well, you three, I’m Doctor Larson. And you in the bed must be Elan.” He rustled a paper on his clipboard. Elan swore that the ‘Chomp’s purple eyes glanced for a moment to the hand that Tyson had been holding a moment ago.

So many fangs in that smile! No, surely it was just his hide. He’s so iridescent! Elan opened his mouth, but bit his lip so his reeling brain could catch up. “Are the lab results back, doctor? No one’s really told me anything except ‘hold still so I can stab you better.’”

“Yes, actually. I have good news on that front! Oh, and please remove the top of your gown. Now’s the time to ask your guests to leave if you’d like a bit of privacy,” said Doctor Larson. The machine whirred to life next to him and he made a shooing gesture at Tyson to force the ‘Arc to move. He occupied the vacated spot and procured a bottle of some sort of lotion.

“They can stay," said Elan. He sat up and let Calig undo the fastenings in the back, so that the sickly seafoam fabric fell around his waist. A blue eye glimmered wryly in the reflected shine of Doctor Larson. “So Doc, is there a reason you’re asking my boyfriend to undress me?”

“Oh like I’ve never heard that one before. Lie on your back and keep your abdomen exposed, please.” Doctor Larson didn’t even look up from his clipboard as he continued to prepare… whatever he was preparing. “Anyway, the good news is that the samples we took earlier came back negative for both testicular and prostate cancer. So you’re not dying at a faster rate than any other healthy person. But we verified the positive off-the-counter pregnancy test with one of our own, and also your blood work indicates your endocrine system is going all over the place. So that’s why I’m here.”

Elan couldn't hold their hands with Doctor Larson in the way, but he still coiled a tail around each of their ankles for luck. I guess “not dying” is good news. But obviously still not in the clear. “Why you’re here? Are you some sort of specialist, Doctor Larson?”

The ‘Chomp pointed to the name embroidered on his lab coat: Dr. Geir Larson, OB.-GYN. “You came in worried about a positive pregnancy test, Elan. Let’s eliminate the obvious answer before we start falling down Raboot holes.”

Elan blinked. “Wait, what?”

Doctor Larson held out the bottle of what looked like lotion to Elan. It looked minuscule in his massive hands. “I’m going to give you an ultrasound. Would you like me to apply this gel or would you prefer to do it yourself?”

Elan flushed and looked away. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to demand Doctor Larson’s credentials. Is he a quack? Does he not know that I’m a cis boy? “I… I guess you can do it.”

“It might be cold to the touch at first. And also please do not be embarrassed if your body reacts to the gel or the ultrasound. The navel is often sensitive to the touch and many physiological reactions are involuntary.” Doctor Larson’s affable demeanor shifted to something more professional. The Garchomp reached towards Elan with a daub of bluish gel in his palm. He smeared it across the cream-colored fur, just below his belly button, so that it was stained a sort of steely grey and shined in the harsh light.

“ AaAaAawufph , that ti-tickles,” gasped Elan, squirming despite himself. Don’t get a boner, don’t get a boner, don’t get a bon— FUCK! Elan whipped a tail over his lap under the guise of being cold. Calig and Tyson gave him a look.

“You might feel some tingling or vibrations. And you can see what the ultrasound is picking up on this screen over here.” Doctor Larson directed Elan’s gaze to the blur of blue lines on black showing on the monitor. “So far so good?”

“I, uh— yeah,” Elan stammered. “Doctor… what do you expect you’re going to find with this? Do you really think I’m… I mean you know I’m, uh, cis?”

“It says you're cisgender right on your chart, Elan," said Doctor Larson gently. "But one thing I've learned doing my job for so long is to never have expectations going into an ultrasound."

“Oh, right, I— sorry,” said Elan, meekly.

The procedure went forward under an oppressive silence. Elan struggled to muffle his squeaks when the wand trawled over a particularly sensitive spot on his tummy. Then, Doctor Larson suddenly halted the path he was trawling over Elan’s fur. Something had caught his eye on the monitor. Inside the maze of pulsating blue lines were…

Three.

Black.

_ Dots. _

The four glanced at each other. Tyson and Calig were dazed, as if Doctor Larson had just struck them across the nose. Elan was chewing his lip. Only Doctor Larson was calm. it was he who broke the silence first. “Congratulations, Elan. It’s triplets. About five weeks along by my reckoning.”

“WHAT?!”

“You’re going to be a father, Elan. And I suppose so are you, ehr-” Doctor Larson glanced towards Calig.

“It’s Calig,” said the Houndoom, but only after several attempts to remember how to make comprehensible words with his mouth.

“Well, congratulations, Calig. Congratulations to the both of you.” The Garchomp was smiling, but the gesture was rote, empty… It was what he was supposed to say even if a stranger could tell this wasn’t news anyone expected or wanted. Elan wondered many times had he done this before? How many times did the doctor break this news before realizing there would never be a good option?

Elan gripped the bars on the side of the hospital bed with both his hands and tails in a vain attempt to stop the world from tilting on its axis! None of this makes sense? Why isn’t the monitor rolling off its wheels?! Why isn’t that jar of cotton swabs smashed on the floor?!

“Wait, wait, wait! Are you serious? Is this some kind of joke?! Don’t you have better things to do at a hospital than play a fucking prank on me?!” Words poured out of Elan like a cup forgotten under a tap.

“I don’t think the doctor is joking, Elan. Try and listen to what he has to say,” said Tyson, but Elan felt the 'Arc's disbelief undermine any sense of calm he tried to provide.

“Oh, so you expected this? Does it run in your family?” said Doctor Larson conversationally.

“What?! No! Why would anyone expect this?” frowned Tyson.

Elan glanced from Tyson to Doctor Larson and back again before his voice suddenly exploded out of his chest. His shout drowned out the hum of the wretched lights and tore at the corners of his mouth! “Stop it! STOP ACTING NORMAL! I’m a CISGENDER, MALE NINETALES stop lying and saying I’m a CIS BOY WHO IS PREGNANT AND TELL ME WHAT’S ACTUALLY WRONG WITH ME!!” He fell back onto the sheets, suddenly drained. His eyes started to water and he was grateful that his hair fell over his face. He couldn't bear crying in front of this strange doctor.

“Well, to me, this is normal.” Doctor Larson said, his bass resonant and gentle. Elan tried to interrupt but the 'Chomp held up a finger. “I’m an obstetrician and gynecologist, but my specialty is gender-diverse pregnancy care. Most of the patients I treat are transgender men but I have seen and treated assigned-male at birth cases as well. It’s not impossible, it’s not even medically unknown, it’s just relatively rare.”

“Wait, what?” Elan gaped, utterly blindsided.

“Many assigned-male Pokéfurs are born with vestigial wombs,” said Doctor Larson with all the banality of reciting a workplace memo. “It can appear in almost any species. It sometimes runs in families, but it’s much more common in Pokéfurs that are statistically likely to be born assigned-female at birth.”

Elan and Calig looked confused, but Tyson actually looked like he understood. “That’s right, Elan. About three in four Vulpix kits are born as girls. I remember our doctor telling Aideen that it was very unlikely she’d have a son when we found out the species of the egg.”

“But, wait, why do they call it a vestigial womb?” said Elan, clinging to hope as he arranged his thoughts. “If it’s vestigial, shouldn’t that mean it doesn’t do anything, like an appendix? And wouldn’t that mean that I’m not actually pregnant?”

“Well, normally vestigial wombs never become active. Many born with them go their whole lives without having it affect their lives because it remained dormant. However, if you’ve recently experienced mood swings, hot flashes, or estrus-like symptoms in the past few months, you were probably feeling the effects of your vestigial womb becoming active,” explained Doctor Larson.

“Wait, when do I get to find out what species they are?! And what causes a vestigial womb to become active, anyway?!” Elan tried not to make eye contact with his dad. A vision of Aideen’s fancy perfumes kept in the master bathroom sprang unbidden to both their minds. Estrus like symptoms…

“The 2nd trimester, so at the twenty-week mark. Like assigned-female pregnancies, the species you'll carry is just as likely to be the sire's as it is to be a Vulpix." Doctor Larson nodded warmly to Calig. "That goes for all three since we can tell these aren't split embryos."

"So they're fraternal triplets," said Elan nervously.

"Exactly. Good to see you paid attention in health class. As for your womb, the most common causes of awakening are hormonal imbalances or prolonged periods of high sexual activity," said Doctor Larson. Tyson, Calig, and Elan shared a look. Was that a twinkle in Doctor Larson's eye?

"I see," said Elan. The pit inside him pushed past the bottom of his stomach and settled heavily between his hips.

“Looking at your blood work I see your hormones are the wild west out there. Nothing dangerous, but it does certainly match all the symptoms of an awakened womb. Now consider the results of your positive pregnancy test and your ultrasound; that’s three pretty compelling pieces of evidence that you are, indeed, pregnant.” The Garchomp held up three thick fingers.

“I guess three is your lucky number,” said Calig. But the joke was humorless, forced.

“Not now, Cal.”

“I’m going to get you some resources that I recommend you read, and we should schedule a follow-up immediately to figure out your prenatal care plan.” Doctor Larson began to scribble illegibly on a prescription pad.

“Wait, wait, wait! You’re making a lot of assumptions here! I’m a college freshman! I don’t wanna be a parent right now! Do I… Do I have to keep them?”

“That’s a very complicated question, Elan” said Doctor Larson.

“Try me,” said Elan, crossing his arms over his thin chest.

“I’m sorry. It's my job to tell you all your options, even if they aren’t, uh, great. That was an error on my part,” faltered Doctor Larson.

“Well that’s a promising start,” snarked Elan, but he regretted it immediately. Doctor Larson was the first medical professional this entire evening that talked to him like an actual person.

“So, the options for terminating a pregnancy in an assigned-male carrier are a lot riskier than those who are assigned-female. The medicinal interventions on the market are not made for assigned-male patients and put you at significant risk of complications, both in the actual termination process and in the case of the well-being of the fetus if the termination process fails. And surgical interventions are at much higher risk of long term consequences as well because of where vestigial wombs are located in your body.”

“Wait, where else would a womb be? Why wouldn’t it be in the same place as people born with vulvas?” said Calig, his head cocked quizzically.

Doctor Larson wheeled over to a pull-down screen that was hung on the wall tugged the cord. It depicted a diagram of a “normal” assigned-female pregnancy. He pointed a claw to the third-trimester diagram. “Assigned-female carriers have their cervix and uteri separate from their digestive track. It’s also positioned in front of the stomach, so that as the womb becomes more gravid it isn’t surrounded by the intestines. But vestigial wombs are wombs that partially formed before a child that will be assigned-male and then doesn’t fade away as the assigned-male child fully develops in the womb. Thusly they’re part of your digestive track. Your endocrine system will also produce a secretion in your large intestines that has antiseptic and anti-friction properties. A valve similar to the one in your esophagus that stops you from choking is positioned to keep your cervix safe from any contaminants. But that valve does open with, ehrm, significant prostate stimulation.”

“So how does that stop surgical intervention,” said Elan. He realized he was trembling now, not from chills but the realization that this… thing had been inside him, part of him his whole life?! Calig reached out and held his hand. He squeezed gently. Elan tried to ground himself in the gentle touch, but he was too unsettled.

“Well, your womb surrounded by your intestines. And that valve makes attempting to extract fertilized eggs from the womb using vacuum tubes extremely inconsistent and invasive. And surgical interventions involving vestigial wombs have to have the surgeon maneuver around your whole digestive track to reach the womb. That means that assigned-male carriers who carry to term almost never get cesarean sections because it’s extremely risky to both child and the carrier. it's only done in extreme emergencies due to how high the risk for complications are.”

“Oh. I, uh…” Elan retched and put his hands to his mouth. the thought of some masked-up goon rooting around in his intestines was too much. And to think he hated going to the doctor before this. “It sounds like I’m gonna have to have them, aren’t I?”

Doctor Larson had a wastebasket on hand the moment Elan started looking a little green. He did not continue speaking until was sure his patient wasn't likely to be sick. “As a medical professional who specializes in cases like yours, it is the route that has the least risk of permanent medical complications for you. I can include resources that will help you through the adoption process. If you think that’s right for you, that is. No matter what you decide to do it’s my job to ensure this process is as smooth and safe as possible. You have every right to request a termination, so long as you understand that the process is much riskier for you as an assigned-male carrier.”

“I— this is... a lot at once, Doctor Larson,” said Elan with his blue eyes boring a hole in the floor. He entwined his fingers with Calig and squeezed again till it hurt in a desperate attempt to wake himself up from what had to be a very strange dream. No luck, though. “Can I go home with the information and tell you what I will do at the next appointment?”

“Of course,” said the Garchomp. He reached into his lab coat pocket and procured a small paper card. “Here’s my contact information. One of my assistants will get your pamphlets, your followup appointment, and the clothes you came in with. And when you get home… be kind to yourself. Lots of young people go through what you’re going through. No matter what choice you go with, it won’t make you a bad person.”

Elan blinked back the urge to cry. He hadn’t expected to feel relief in this room. “I, uh, I see why you acted so calm when you told me the news now. Sorry for being a little bitchy back there. And, uh, thank you, Doctor Larson.”

“Of course, Elan. I’ll talk to you soon,” said Doctor Larson. He put a hand on the Ninetales’ shoulder before he taking his leave. Calig, Tyson, and Elan were left alone in the too-cold room.

Elan didn’t remember much between Doctor Larson leaving and getting in the back of Tyson’s car. He’d driven over in one of the campus safety sedans and was still in his uniform. Calig and Elan sat in the back seat together. Elan was grateful for every whispered reassurance as they held each other. The sweet words bounced off him like paper footballs, but it wasn’t Calig’s fault that he didn’t have the words to make him feel better right now.

Calig let them all in but Elan was so dazed he couldn't even kick off his shoes. Tyson and Calig shared a look before the Arcanine swept Elan into his arms and bridal carried Elan to the couch. Calig was right behind, and when the three sat down together, Elan was curled up in Tyson’s lap while resting his cheek against Calig’s shoulder.

“You’re gonna be alright, Elan,” whispered Tyson.

“Thanks,” smiled Elan weakly. He felt the stone-hard disbelief weighing on his shoulders finally crack but not yet crumble. But beneath the numbness was something else, something worse: a foul, sickly terror. “Dad, we might have a bigger problem on our hands than you think.”

“You mean Mom? I won’t tell her a thing until you tell me it’s okay. And if you like I can sort of… prepare her so that she doesn’t go ballistic on you. You had no way of knowing tha-” But Elan had raised a finger to cut off Tyson.

“Dad, it’s not that, it’s— well,” Elan squirmed in Tyson’s lap. He tapped his fingertips together as he was suddenly flooded with embarrassment. It was silly, really. Why was he embarrassed about this when they’ve been doing what they were doing for almost a year now. “Dad, the last time I did anal was when we moved in. With you and Calig at the same time.”

“Wait, WHAT?! You mean— you, him, you— I mean, really? You’re really telling me the two of you have been alone in your own place for five weeks and not had sex once?! That’s almost as unbelievable as, well—” Tyson blustered. He looked from Elan to Calig and back to Elan again. His blue eyes lingered significantly on Elan’s belly.

Calig rolled his eyes. “We do actually do other things, you know. We’ve been going to class, meeting new people, joining student orgs. And we have fucked plenty of times, it’s just—”

“I’ve had an upset stomach a lot lately. I guess I know why now,” said Elan, finishing for Calig. “Or we’ve been too busy or tired for me to want to prep. So we had our fun in other ways. But the last time someone came in my ass was when I took you both at once.”

“And you won’t know the species until you start to show,” said Tyson, slowly. The reality of the situation dawned on him.

“If I keep them and one of them is a Growlithe puppy…” Elan couldn’t finish. The three shared another look. None of them spoke for several minutes.

“Let’s worry about the now, for now,” said Tyson, suddenly sturdy and business-like. “You need to decide what to do next and then see Doctor Larson. We can worry about the ‘what-if’s’ afterwards. But it’s also getting late and I’m gonna run out of excuses for Aideen. Do you need me to stick around much longer, Elan? I will if you need me to.”

Elan shook his head. “No, go home. I’ll, uh, I’ll keep you in the loop, though. I love you, Dad.”

“Love you too, Kiddo,” smiled Tyson weakly. He kissed Elan gently on the cheek and lifted the fox off his lap. He put on his shoes and closed the door behind him without another word, leaving Calig and Elan to hold each other in his absence.

“It’s gonna be alright, Elan,” murmured Calig. It was all he could say. They could both only hope it was enough. He followed Tyson's kiss with one of his own. "I'm here, I love you."

"I love you too, Cal..." Elan felt his chin tremble and he touched his forehead to Cal's. His whole body unclenched. The sudden absence of tension threatened to make him fall to pieces. The tears that lurked behind his blue eyes in the doctor's office streamed down his cheeks. “Cal… oh Arceus, Cal…. what are we gonna do?”

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