Twenty minutes. It feels just like the first time they decided to have a baby. Rogue is lying on her back on the bed, butterflies roaming her stomach like marauders as she stares steadily at the red numbers of Remy's alarm clock.

Remy's off training. She's counting down minutes.


In nineteen minutes, she'll walk over to the bathroom and pull out the little tester to check for a small pink strip on the lefthand side. She'll know then and start plotting what to tell Remy, for better or for worse.

Rogue sighs heavily, eyes fixed on the clock.