A young, pregnant snow leopard returns home for a family reunion, ten years after he was thrown out for his sexuality.

READ PART 2 HERE!

First Mpreg story. Goodbye to everyone who ever liked me. I'll gladly take my beatings in the town square.
I actually put a lot of work and love into this story. After seeing the 'going home' drawing by  white-ryce (which he so graciously let me use as the thumbnail), I knew I wanted to write a backstory to it. It's fairly long, so I'm going to post two parts.

I hope you enjoy it!
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The taxi cab hit heavy turbulence on the bumpy road, jostling Tim in the back seat. He wasn't in any kind of condition to be jostled.

Once the drive evened out again, he lazily turned and looked out the window. He landed in Seattle about an hour ago. Even with no traffic on the roads, the house was still far outside any reasonable distance from civilization. But the closer they got, the more familiar things seemed to look. The same gas stations, the same scuffs on the road, the same lone houses dotting the tops of hills. But the closer he looked, the more things seemed different. Maybe the memory of home was just that much cleaner than the reality, but the seams were showing. Every color was a shade duller and every building was in worse shape. It was like the town itself was dying and Tim was the only one who remembered it alive again.

He pulled his eyes away from the window, relieving himself of a painful sort of nostalgia he hadn't expected so soon. The white-gray snow leopard looked down instead, partially to relieve a twinge of car sickness, but mostly to cast a protective eye over the enlarged, full belly tucked beneath his shirt. It was getting harder and harder to pretend he was just a fat guy. But fat guys didn't walk around with their hands against their lower backs. Fat guys didn't pour BBQ sauce on ice cream. Fat guys didn't instinctively want to hold and caress their stomachs. And fat guys weren't pregnant with four cubs growing inside genetically augmented wombs. Not many of them, at least.

Tim hiccuped loudly as one of these babies kicked out and hit him near the diaphragm. He passed it off into a fake cough when he saw the cab driver's eyes look questioningly through the rear view mirror. Tim hoped he was mistaken, but the driver could have possibly been a member of his high school class who had, thankfully, not recognized him.

“Kinda far out here,” the driver remarked. He had an air of skepticism to his voice, obviously wondering if any of this drive would be worth his time.

“That's how they like it,” Tim said, looking out the window again. He sympathized with the driver's attitude. His father never liked going into town or the city if he didn't have to. Liked to keep all his eggs in one basket, regardless of whether it made sense or not. The sky was gray and overcast and looked exactly as cold as it felt. It was a miracle it hadn't started raining.

The taxi followed the road emerging from the trees past fields of wheat that had been long abandoned. It was a depressing sight. Tim remembered playing out on the hay bales in the summer and running with his sisters through the tall grass while avoiding the old, crotchety neighbor dog who was quick to call trespassing. Golden and rolling in his memories, the fields were dead and cracked and tiny in comparison. Nostalgia would be the death of him.

Taking his eyes from the window, Tim leaned over the front seat, pointing with his left hand while cradling the belly, hanging heavily beneath him, with his right.

“That one,”he said, pointing to a side road with a dirtied sign next to it. “Turn left on Boulware Park. We’re almost there.”
“Sure...” the driver half mumbled, obviously doubting the directions. Tim sat back in his seat and grit his teeth as the car turned. Everyone in his belly shifted to the right slightly and the sudden change in direction made him nauseous all over again. Even with the swollen ankles and sore hips, he was going to be elated to get back onto his feet again.

“Ok, turn here,” Tim said, pointing to a small road on the right side. “We're gonna be the last house on the right.” The driver raised an eyebrow at his strange wording and glanced into the rear-view mirror. “Uh...my place. It's on the...on the right side. Last one.” He cleared his throat and sat back down into his seat, tugging down the shirt riding up his belly.

Down the secluded road, after passing only a couple houses in various states of disrepair, sat a small home, not much more than a brick cabin while somehow managing to hold a second floor. Tim felt a pang of a strange emotion akin to loss as he saw the previously maintained white paint of the house chipping and warped by bad weather. The house number was missing a zero and the mailbox was tilted at a bizarre angle. Beyond the state of his old home, Tim was at least comforted to see a light on in the living room window.

“Uhh...This it, man?” the driver asked, glancing around.
“Yeah...” Tim responded, softly. “This...this is it.” A stirring from within his belly jolted him back to his senses. He resisted the urge to rub the spot in front of the cab driver he turned to speak to. “Yeah, this is my stop. Could you pop the trunk?”

“There's a handle,” the driver said, absentmindedly hitting a button on the fare machine. “62.50.”
Tim dug a hand into the pocket of his tightened pants, struggling against his own widened hips. Eventually pulling out a wallet, he handed over four twenty dollar bills.

“Keep the rest,” he said. Tim prided himself on being a very generous tipper, especially while he was pregnant. It helped distract people from his state and hopefully keep gossip from spreading. Nobody is going to talk shit about a good tipper.

“Thanks, buddy,” the driver said, his voice noticeably perking up. “I thought this whole job was gonna be bunk for a while there.”

“Blame my family,” Tim sighed. Opening the door, he had to momentarily drop his 'beer gut' facade as he struggled to get out of the car. He kept one hand propped against his lower back and the other braced against the roof of the cab so he could simultaneously push and pull his extra weight to his feet. By the time he stood, he was already panting. Walking heavily to the back, he pulled out his small overnight bag which, frankly, he regretted put in the trunk in the first place once he remembered his book was inside it. Shutting the trunk, Tim shuffled over to the lawn beside the cab and waved at the driver.

“Hey, you have a good one!” The driver shouted through a rolled down window before swiftly turning around in the small driveway and speeding off down the road without the inhibition of a rider.
Tim watched it go, standing on the overgrown grass and awkwardly shuffling his feet. The cool air felt better than he expected and even the smells felt like home. Whatever he felt toward his family and his childhood, he didn't have any bad memories about the place itself.

“Ugh. I forgot how long that drive was,” Tim said to his cubs. He pulled down his shirt that had, once again, ridden up and exposed the furry underside of his belly. There was no such thing as a unisex maternity shirt, but the one he wore was a simple enough v-neck to not stand out as one. Still, quads weren't a small number for anyone and it still took some pulling to get the stretchy fabric over himself.

“God, this is bad timing isn't it?” Tim said, cradling an arm around his belly now that he was alone. “I don't think there's going to be any hiding you guys this time. A few months ago, maybe.” He rubbed an arm up and down his own swell. It wasn't fair, really. At home, he could waddle around with his shirt off, eat as much junk food as his cravings forced on him, poke fun at his husband, and even let the previous triplets feel the kicks and bumps of their new siblings inside of him. But outside of that safe space, he had to keep it suppressed. He hadn't been gone 24 hours yet, but he was already homesick.

“Let's get this over with,” he said, slinging the small bag over his shoulder. He turned and lumbered up the stone walkway, taking each step carefully. He long remembered numerous times he tripped over the cracks and slipped on the wet stones after the rain and he wasn't in any condition to recreate that particular memory. Even hefting himself up the steps was arduous, and there were only three of them. He might not visit his old upstairs bedroom, after all.

“God...I barely remember this place,” he said, his voice low now that he was standing directly before the thin door. Tim's mind was a vague haze of half-remembered glimpses from a childhood he tried hard to put behind him. But the cocktail of emotions was too much for him to handle with his elevated pregnancy hormones. Before even opening the door, Tim's eyes grew itchy and sore as a few unexpected tears fell down his face. He put the bag down and held his belly for comfort, turning away from the door to calm himself down. A small kick bumped against his hand.

“It's okay,” Tim reassured his litter, stroking them from the outside. “It's okay. I'm gonna be okay.” While he continued to caress his cubs, he stuck a hand into his back pocket to pull out a folded envelope. Unfurling it, he pulled out a card on ornate stock nearly a decade old. In a beautiful, curling script was hand-written “Hirsch Family Reunion. March 18, 2015. 17 Boulware Park, Treefield, WA.” It was similar to the invitations his mother wrote when he was a kid to other reunions he had been forced to go to. It was the first one he'd seen in over ten years, made even more notable by the scrawled, stained note written in his mother's shaking hand with a different, blue pen.

“Your father won't be there,” it read. That spoke volumes to Tim, but he wasn't sure how to interpret it. It explained why it took place in the Washington house this year instead of his father's childhood home in Northern California. Regardless of its awkward timing, the note was enough to re-consider going home for a long, long overdue visit. He just hoped that, wherever he was, Tim's father would stay there for the time being.

Tucking the card itself under his arm, Tim turned the envelope upside down and dumped the remaining contents into his palm: a single, tarnished key. Even that small token of the past held meaning. The lock hadn't been changed in over a decade and it was likely the same key he carried on him for years before leaving home.

He turned and slid the key into the handle. Before he could turn the handle, Tim was interrupted by a sudden stirring deep within him, from the cub nearest his pelvis if he felt it correctly. Another kicked out enough to poke a small bump against his stretched shirt. Tim rubbed the spot carefully and cooed to his belly, talking to himself as much as them.

“Hey there, c'mon. Everything's gonna be alright. Dad's not home. He's not here. I...I don't know what anyone else is gonna think, but you'll be okay.” He took a deep breath and turned the key in the lock. “Get comfy in there. This'll be a long day.”

A dusty smell of home hit his sensitive nostrils particularly hard and brought back memories he thought he'd forgotten a long time ago. It seemed strange not to knock. Despite all the memories and the childhood he survived, Tim had long abandoned this place as 'home.' But being back, after so many years, gave it a strange dual quality. It was both his home and somewhere alien at the same time. More accurately, it was like an old photograph, colors fading away over time. The wallpaper had faded, considerably more near the windows. The carpet in the hallway was worn and dusty, being trodden on for an extra ten years since he had seen it last. There was a small notch in the corner wall where he and one of his sisters had been playing around and dented a baseball into the drywall. He couldn't remember if it had been with Ruth or Abigail, the other two children of his own litter, but it put a smile on his face all the same.

Shutting the door as quietly as he could, he walked through the main hallway. The floorboards creaked far more than he remembered, but the extra years and the extra pounds probably weren't doing any favors. Tim felt like he were walking through a museum, trying very hard not to disturb the delicate architecture. Rounding the corner of the kitchen, the tip of his belly rubbed against the wall, reminding him of the extra care he needed to take not to knock anything over. This wasn't the time to cause any kind of unneeded drama. He'd be getting enough of that once his mother saw what happened to him.

Standing in the kitchen, Tim heard soft conversation taking place from the adjacent living room from behind a closed sliding door. Taking a deep breath, or as deep as he could with the weight pressed against his lungs, he quietly crossed the room and opened the door.

The first thing he saw, or at least gravitated to, was the image of his mother. She sat on the small chair next to the fireplace in an old dress she used to wear around the house. Her face was the same as he remembered it, but with extra grayed fur, bags under her eyes, and a tired expression. She seemed skinny. Beside her were most of her six sisters, save Tim's aunt Rebecca, who had passed away years ago.

All of them simultaneously looked up at his sudden arrival, looks of surprise crossing each of their faces as they all, in turn glanced from his face to his protruding belly. All save for his mother, who looked up at his face with a shine in her eyes he hadn't seen in a long, long time. Tim himself buried his hands in his jacket pockets to hide some of his girth while instinctively glancing over to his father's chair in the corner of the room, which was mercifully empty. He swallowed, finally locking eyes with his mother. Wrapping his tail around one of his legs, a nervous habit, he shrugged sheepishly, putting on an uncomfortable grin.

“Hey, mom,” Tim finally said.

Without a word, his mother stood up and crossed the room, still gazing up into her son's eyes, and only looked away to silently embrace him. She wrapped her arms under his biceps and pressed herself against him, burying her face in his chest. He had already grown up fairly tall, but there was at least an extra foot between himself and his mother that wasn't there before. Tim pulled his hands out of his pockets to return the hug, patting her quietly on the back. Despite being essentially draped over it, she seemed to not even notice his stomach.

Not until the very inopportune timing of a hard kick from one of Tim's cubs jabbed her in the ribs did she take notice. She opened her eyes, pausing in hesitated shock. Another squirm from inside his womb caused her to pull away, staring down at his belly with her mouth gaping before looking questioningly back up at his face. Tim's embarrassment reached a fever pitch as the room silently stared at him. He laughed nervously and rested his hands on the front of his belly.

“Uhhh...heh...surprise?”

Tim could cut the silence with a knife. His heart beat heavily beneath his ribcage, fighting to get out. If he were physically able, he would have tried to leap out the window and run back to LA. But as it was, he simply stood quietly in the doorway, feeling more exposed than he ever had before. His mother, still holding her mouth open, gingerly prodded Tim's stomach, eliciting a small bump to slide beneath his shirt, his cubs even more active from his own excited state. She looked up at her son, questioningly. Tim could only shakily grin and shrug, his tail wildly whipping back and forth with anxiety. This was going about as badly as he expected.

“Well Jesus, Mary, don't leave the boy just standin' there!” Called a voice from the back of the room. Tim, his mother, and his aunts turned toward the noise instinctively. Tim himself breathed a deep sigh of relief to see his favorite Aunt Bethany sitting at the back of the room. A hefty leopard woman, she knocked back her glass of water like there was much more than water in the cup and stood. She belligerently shoved past her sisters and crossed the room, throwing a large arm around Tim in a side hug, giving him a light peck on the cheek while patting his belly with her other hand.

“God, I ain't seen you since you was little,” she said, before whispering in his ear, “and skinnier.” Tim giggled at that. While it was true that he hadn't seen Aunt Bethany in years, she was by far the more worldly of his older family and the two of them chatted frequently over Facebook. She was she person he looked toward after being thrown out by his father and, more often than not, the shoulder he would cry on for the same issues.

“C'mon, boy, don't just sit there lettin' all the hot air out,” Bethany said, awkwardly dragging Tim across the room before standing him above a spot on the couch next to her. Resisting the urge to simply drop down into the soft cushions, he gently lowered himself into the seat. He sank much farther than he expected, leaving his legs partially off the ground and his posture forced backward by his belly. His shirt rode up farther than before, pulling up over his barely protruding belly button. He swallowed, with all eyes on him, before Bethany mercifully pulled the shirt down for him.

“I been listening to these old hens cluck around all day now, Timmy, so tell me somethin' new! You still livin' in Los Angeles?” she asked, mispronouncing it. “With that Spencer fella you were tellin me about?”

“Y-yeah,” he said, timidly. He pulled his shirt farther down, even so far as going to fold the open edges of his jacket over himself. Mary took her seat back between two of her other sisters, her eyes still ratcheted on her son, while the rest of Tim's aunts spoke in mumbled whispers to one another. Tim was uncomfortably aware of the large, wooden cross hanging above the crackling fireplace, the very same one from childhood. Tim shot a glance over his shoulder, just to double check that his father's chair was empty.

“Weeeeell?” Bethany asked, pulling his concentration back. “Don't just 'yeah' me, tell me about it! What have you been doing!? How've you been!? It's been nearly ten damn years since I seen you!” She set a hand on Tim's knee, looking exaggeratedly grumpy, but with a softness to her eyes. She already knew the answers to most of the questions she asked, but the answers weren't for her benefit.

“Uh...Okay, well...” Tim wrung his hands together atop his stomach. “I'm still living with Spencer and...we've been married...for about three years, now.” The muttering of conversation stopped at the mention of his marriage. Tim gulped, feeling like a slab of meat in a shark tank, but he kept his attention on Bethany's sympathetic gaze. As she squeezed his knee, he started to feel confidence seeping back in.

“A-alright. I'm living right now in Los Angeles with Spencer, the geneticist doctor guy I told you about. We've been married for about three years and we...have three kids.” Tim scratched his belly. “And counting.” He shot a glance to the rest of the room. Aunt Rosanne, who he admittedly barely knew but from limited conversations with her knew he did not like, quietly but briskly stood and walked out of the room, legs stiff and tail swaying. The remaining aunts chatted in a small circle with their backs turned to Tim, but every so often stealing a harsh glance. Mary, his mother, still sat at rapt attention, wearing a strange and difficult to read expression.

“Now Timmy,” Bethany said, “I don't want to interrupt you or nothing, but we got an elephant in the room, here.” She leaned over the couch and scratched the exposed underside of Tim's stomach, still uncovered by the shirt. He chuckled again and squirmed at the sensation. “How in the hell did this happen?”

“Ok, so...I mean, it's been on the news, I guess. Like, experimental open trials for...uh...p-pregnancy in males. Those born male, I guess I should say.” Tim glanced at his mother, who still sat quietly listening.

“Aw, don't tell me what I could read on the internet, tell me how you got your cute little butt knocked up?” Bethany took the hand from his belly and ruffled it through his hair.

“Ok ok ok,” Tim said, brushing hair out of his face. “Spencer works in one of the labs that have been doing the LA experiments. A lot of the testing and trials and stuff has been in India and Europe, so the clinic Spencer works at is the first one in the US to offer the procedure. And...I was...” Tim smiled, embarrassed, and scratched behind one of his ears. “And...I was one of the first to get it.”

“'Cause you and Spencer were together.”
“Well, yeah, but also that it was safe and...well, I trusted him more than any other patient would have, I guess. And we'd been talking about kids for a while and I...I thought that this might be...kind of an interesting way to...uh...get them. Heh.”

“So how does it work?” Bethany asked. She had rested a hand on his belly and was drumming her fingers. She had always been a particularly touchy woman.

“I'm not a scientist, so don't quote me on any of the details,” Tim said, re-adjusting himself in the seat so his tail wasn't being crushed. “But basically, Spencer used my DNA to kind of grow a uterus. They do a lot of tampering with genetic...stuff, so the uterus I have in me is basically the one I would have had naturally if I were born a girl. I had to go under surgery for it to be put in and after that had to go under a ton of special hormone therapy to make sure it stayed there before actually getting me pregnant.” It was the story he'd told a million times to a million curious people, but he'd never felt so uncomfortable telling it.

“So.” Bethany said, propping her head up with her hand and putting on a coy smile. “How did that go?”

“What...O-Oh! Uh, heh, the- the first- It was in-vitro fertilization.” Tim fiddled with the tail of his shirt and looked away, his tail flitting nervously back and forth beside him. “The first time.”

Bethany laughed boisterously and clapped him on the shoulder.
“That's the way you gotta do it! None of that sciencey mumbo-jumbo!”

“It's unnatural,” said Aunt Jessica, who had been sitting quietly behind Mary and shooting cold glances at Tim.

“About as unnatural as your five ex-husbands, Jessy?” Bethany said, before Tim even had time to feel embarrassed. Jessica looked like she's been slapped across the face while the rest of her sisters tried to suppress laughter. Even Mary cracked a smile.

“I mean...after the first time, I guess my body just took really well to it. They left the uterus in and I don't have to go through much hormone therapy anymore. So...it's just kind of...mine now, I guess.” Tim brought his hands back up to his belly affectionately. “They've found out a lot of differences, too. With a male pregnancy. Men have an easier time with the carrying, but have it harder with the birth, which pretty much guarantees a c-section. It's also a lot harder for men to have female babies.”

“Do you have any daughters?” Bethany asked. Tim smiled and circled his belly with open palms.
“I've got one little girl in here right now. Kicking around with three other brothers.” Almost on cue, one of the cubs started to kick and squirm outwards. Tim wordlessly grabbed Bethany's hand to feel for herself. Her hardened demeanor softened as she felt the cub move beneath her palm. Despite himself, Tim began to softly purr beneath his breath, finally beginning to relax.

Suddenly, without warning, Mary stood and briskly left the room through the kitchen door, one hand held over her mouth. Her sisters quickly stood and followed her in a group. In the back of the house, Tim heard the back door open and close, the group likely moving into the small backyard. Tim sighed as his ears drooped, the good mood he was cultivating instantly dying. Bethany scoffed under her breath and dropped onto the couch next to him.

“Fuck them,” she said, the words taking on a unique edge in her accent. “I don't want you to pay any damn mind to what those dried up old bitches think.”

“God, Aunt Bethy,” Tim laughed, “Aren't you the oldest?”
“So what if I am?” She stood, extending an arm to Tim. “C'mon, let's get you and those little fellas something to drink.” He grasped her arm as Bethany exhibited her unexpected strength by pulling him to his feet almost all by herself. Tim used her shoulder to balance himself as he re-adjusted to his weight and soon after waddled after her into the kitchen.

“I made sure there'd be plenty of liquor,” Bethany said, opening the fridge. “But that don't matter much to you...How bout this?” Without looking, she set a can of Sprite down on the kitchen counter and slid it toward Tim. “I guess you can always count on mixers,” she continued, emerging while opening a bottle of Yuengling. Tim snapped open his can, took a sip, and simply stared at it.

“It went about as well as I expected it to, I guess.” He shrugged. “Spencer even told me I shouldn't come.”

“Spencer's a sweet boy, from what you told me about him. He's just trying to keep you safe. Doesn't want you getting hurt for reasons he don't get.” Bethany took a swig of beer, her whiskers twitching as she did so. “But I don't think he really understood why you wanted to come. Why you needed to.”

“I just wish this had been maybe a few months ago,” Tim said, looking down at his body. “I probably could have hidden this somehow.”

“I don't think Mary would have wanted you to do that. Your momma can be very, well...single minded at times, but she cares about you and, eventually, she'll accept who you are.”

“I guess...I mean, I'm not so worried about her.” Tim swallowed hard, expecting to hear heavy bootheels from upstairs any moment now. “My dad is the one I'm not looking forward to seeing.”

“My sister...married low,” Bethany said, sighing deeply and taking a large swing of Yuengling. “The best thing to come from that man was you and your sisters, and I'm liable to believe most of the work was hers, anyway.”

“I just don't know what I'll do when he comes home,” Tim said, gripping the drink tight in his hand. “It's not like I can run. I...I don't know.” He drank from the Sprite can to bring pause to his thoughts and to cool his dried throat. Bethany, meanwhile, sighed deeply.

“I think you need to talk to your momma,” she said.
“I think I need to talk to my husband,” Tim countered. “I want to talk to someone I can be sure doesn't want me kicked out all over again.” He glanced at Bethany, who raised an incredulous eyebrow before mock punching him on the arm. “Other than you, Aunt Bethy.” He took one more, large gulp of the Sprite before setting it on the counter. He stood, rubbing his sore lower back and pulling up his pants. There were no maternity pants that looked particularly flattering on him, but just extra sized jeans seemed to do the trick. “I guess it's time to see how my old bedroom has held up.”

He started to shuffle out the doorway before pausing. Doubling back, he leaned over as best he could and gave Bethany a peck on the cheek before nuzzling her lightly and purring.

“Thanks, Aunt Bethy.”
“Any time, 'Daddy' Timmy,” she said, pulling him into a quick hug and giving him one more pat on the belly. Tim continued out the hallway door and made his way through the tiny hallway, which looked more and more familiar the longer he stayed. Through a window, he saw Aunt Rebecca and Aunt Jessica both chatting in the front lawn while smoking. He had never grown up liking them very much. Now he liked them even less.

Gripping the rickety handrail, Tim sighed out a deep breath as he ponderously walked up the old stairs. He kept one hand on the railing while one arm was cradled under his belly, each step groaning and creaking louder than he expected it to. He wasn't even sure if he should be walking up stairs unassisted at this point. Regardless, after a few more heavy steps of fearing for his life, Tim finally made it to the top of the landing, albeit while heavily panting. To add injury to insult, one of the cubs kicked him hard in the ribs, making him cough.

“I didn't like that any more than you did,” he said. Lining the darkened, even smaller, second floor hallway were three doors leading to the tiny rooms Tim and his sisters had grown up in. Their parent's room had been situated on the first floor, next to the kitchen, so the kids had more or less free reign of the upstairs, no matter how little of it there was. At the end of the dark hallway, facing the stars, was the little room Tim shared with his sisters Gloria and Eliza. It was hard enough to get privacy being the only boy in a house of sisters without him having to share living space with them. But coming back home, with adult eyes, he saw and understood the what kind of hardships raising so many children. Tim's mother (along with Tim himself, apparently) still retained the unfortunate skill of giving birth to litters.

Going inside, he was struck with another wave of nostalgia as the shadows from the evening sun fell against the light blue wallpaper. While bare and featureless, the three beds still sat where they always had, with Tim's in particular seeming particularly aged in the far corner of the room. Shutting the door, he crossed the room and sat on the naked mattress, remarking at how hard and springy it was, not to mention loud. He'd gotten so used to Spencer's love of foam mattresses that a spring bed felt as comfortable as concrete. Still, he remembered his room, especially his bed, as a safe zone of comfort. Seeing it empty and abandoned just made him oddly depressed.

Digging into his tight pocket, Tim unearthed his phone, still turned off from the flight over. He took off his jacket and balled it up to use as a makeshift pillow as he kicked his feet up and laid down. His legs had gotten just long enough to clear the baseboard and leave them propped up slightly, but Tim couldn't see much of anything past his mountainous stomach. His 'maternity' shirt rolled up again, exposing some of his soft hairs to the open air. He was too tired to care as he pulled up Spencer's number, remembering how his bed had, paradoxically, the best reception in the house. It still wasn't saying much.

After one too many rings, the call on the other end suddenly picked up with the fumbled sound of someone dropping the phone and rapidly picking it back up again.

“Thank god it's you,” Spencer hissed into the phone. “I'm stuck behind enemy lines. They're converging on my location. I'm outnumbered. We need backup, call in an air strike. We're going out swinging.” Tim heard the loud, plastic discharge of a Nerf gun followed by several high-pitched, excited screams in the background. He laughed, wishing he was there to watch.

“Hey Spence,” Tim said, wearily and not in the mood to play around. Spencer picked up on this quickly and dropped his voice back to normal.

“Hey fuzzbutt,” he said, warmly. “Hey! Time out, guys! Papa's on the phone!” he shouted away from the receiver. In the background, the sound of ruckus suddenly died only to be replaced by a loud shout, in unison, of “PAPA!” in child's voices. Tim smiled as he heard the kids stumble across the room as fast as their agile little legs could carry them. He couldn't even begin to understand what all of them were trying to say at once, but it was always a comfort to hear their voices, today more than ever.

“Alright alright alright!” Spencer shouted, commanding without being harsh. “Ok, on the count of three, everybody say 'hi' to Papa. One....two....three!”

“HI PAPA!” the triplets shouted in unison, bringing warmth into Tim's cheeks and making him beam quietly in the empty room. After some scattered mumbling away from the phone, Spencer began to speak again.

“They want to say hi to the babies, too,” Spencer said, apologetically. Tim laughed.
“Sure thing. Just tell them to wait a second.” Being very careful to stay still, Tim set his phone down on the crest of his belly, slightly rocking back and forth on the uneven surface. After a few minutes, he heard the tiny voices shout “HI BABIES” into his womb, louder than even he expected. In response, a foot kicked out underneath the phone and nearly threw it off the bed if Tim wasn't able to catch it at the last minute. Bringing the phone safely back up to his ear, he heard the cacophonous tornado of small, furry chaos fading away into the background.

“Samantha just got here. She's gonna take them to the park,” Spencer explained.
“Your sister does too much. We need to pay her back somehow.”
“I mean, she does, but she never complains about it. And if there's anything Samantha can do, it's complain.”
“You said it, not me. So how are the Three Musketeers?”
“It's kind of like exercise. Leaves you wanting to pass out and die at the end of the day, but in a good way. They're way better than fine. Winter break can't end soon enough.” Spencer quickly gasped. “Oh! Oh oh oh! Ok, I had an idea!”

“What?”
“The A-Team.”
“No!” Tim complained. “No way. That's too pop culture. It'll get old in a week.”
“But there's four of them!”
“There aren't any girls on the A-Team, though.”
“So?”
“So it doesn't fit!”
“I still think it's better than the Three Musketeers.”
“Which is a classic novel.”
“Ugh. Fine fine fine, I'll think of something else.” Spencer grumbled. “A-Team or not, how are they treating you?”

“They're keeping me company,” Tim said, hand on his belly. “Can't wait until they can walk, though. Dr. Dreyfuss said that they won't have much room to move around in the third trimester, so they're not kicking the shit out of me every time I sit down.”

“We're gonna need to put 'em in the time out corner immediately after they're born.”
“We could make dunce caps out of those little paper cups you use with water coolers,” Tim joked.

Spencer laughed alongside Tim, before they both fell into a moment of silence. Tim felt the weight of the day lift from his shoulders as he heard his husband's voice. Even just his breath through the phone was a comfort.

“So...” Spencer said, his voice softening. “How is it going?”
“Eh...” Tim sighed, lying back on the dusty pillow. “I can't say I didn't expect it. But Bethany was here, thank Christ. I'd have probably been chopped to pieces if she wasn't.”

“You're dad's not there, is he?”
“No way. I don't know where he is, but it's not here. It's making me paranoid, though.”
“Did your mom say anything about it?”
“She hasn't even spoken to me yet...” Tim said, realizing it as he said it.

“If I can be honest here,” Spencer said. “I don't think you should have gone.”

“I...I don't think you're wrong, Spence.” Tim sighed, lightly bobbing his tail against the bed. “But...call it hormones or just the circumstances, but getting that card changed it. Dad didn't just treat me like shit, he pretty much kept mom on a leash, too. So for her to send that, and probably without dad knowing... I just thought things might be different now. But I guess not.”

“You don't owe a fucking thing to them, baby. Nobody worth a shit throws out their own child over something so stupid as sex.” Spencer sighed, his anger having snuck up on him. “You've got a family of your own now. A growing one, too. One that will love you and care for you and be there for you until...forever. You don't need your old one.”

“I know...You're right. You say all that and I know you're right, but it's not that easy.” Tim felt a lump building in his throat. His mood could be so unpredictable sometimes. “She's my mom, Spencer.”

Spencer was silent over the line, thinking. Tim knew him as the kind of guy who wished he could reprogram emotions like he could DNA. He wasn't nearly as cold as some of his (rightfully single) colleagues, though. As soon as Spencer began to speak again, an indescribably loud beep from Tim's phone nearly blew out his eardrum. He winced at the unexpected sound and jerked the phone away from his head. Dr. Dreyfuss' contact name was flashing on the screen as a call waiting.

“Hang on, the Dreyfuss is calling,” Tim said, interrupting Spencer.
“I saw him today and mentioned you were out of town.”
“I hope it's not something bad. I'll call you back in a minute.” Pulling away the phone, he swiped the screen to the right and put it back up to his ear before rolling heavily onto his left side.

“Tim, are you there?” Dreyfuss said, speaking before Tim even got a chance to say hi. The doctor was Tim's personal midwife (mid...husband?) for the second pregnancy. While American himself, he was part of the original male pregnancy trials in Paris. His involvement was the compromise for Tim not having to go into the lab for checkups every month.

“I am,” Tim responded with urgency. “Are you alright? What's going on? Is everything alright?”
“I don't know, is it?” Dreyfuss said. “Are you feeling well? Did anything happen?”
“Wha...I'm fine, doctor,” Tim said, concerned but equally confused. “What's going on?”
“I saw your husband today. He said to me that you were going out of town?” Dreyfuss' voice had calmed down from its frantic pace and energy, but the grim seriousness remained.

“I-I am. I'm at my mo- my parent's place up in Washington. I plan on coming back later tonight.”
“How? How did you get there? Did you fly?” Dreyfuss asked. Tim felt like he were being interrogated.
“Of course I did, how was I going to get up here from LA in an afternoon?”

“But you're sure you're alright? Are the babies fine? Can you tell?”
“They're still packed in me as tight as possible,” Tim reassured him.
“Then as your doctor, I'm allowed to be medically pissed at you, Tim!”

“What?” He sat up, as quickly as possible. “Why?”
“You cannot fly in your condition. Not even women are supposed to fly past the 25th week, much less a high-risk, experimental pregnancy. With quadruplets, no less!”
“Don't-” Tim began to protest, before thinking over his fallacy. “...No, you're right Dr. Dreyfuss. I'm sorry. But the circumstances were...short notice. Both I and the babies are fine. I'll be back tomorrow for an official checkup, if it'll make you feel better.”

“It would put my mind at ease, yes,” the doctor said, before adding “As long as you're not flying back.”

Tim paused, like he was being scolded and punished in elementary school all over again.
“I- I did buy round-trip tickets. If I can't fly, I won't be back very soon.”
“I can live with that, Tim.”
“...But...” He gulped. “But...I was fine flying up here. It's the same trip back, anyway. Wouldn't I be alright with one more?”

“You probably would,” Dreyfuss said. “But I don't accept 'probably.' Imagine if you went into labor on the plane? Without anyone from the clinic there to help? For your sake and the babies', you need to find another way back.”

“But it's a 10 hour drive! Maybe even more! I can barely drive ten minutes before feeling sore.”
“Look, call Spencer. This is a discussion for you two. But I am restricting you from air travel. Doctor's orders.”

“Ugh. Fine. I understand.” Tim hit the end call button without another word. Lying back down, he gripped the tip of his tail in one hand while drumming the fingers of the other on his belly. The cubs were starting to wake up, prodding and poking his fingers from the inside. It was a far cry from the martial arts he'd had to endure only months before and much cuter. Pulling up the recent contacts page, he called back Spencer, who picked up within the first couple rings.

“Hey. What'd he say?” Spencer answered.
“He...says that I should be flying this late in the pregnancy. He doesn't want me to come back unless it's on the ground.”
Spencer was silent a moment before saying “He's right. He really is. I feel really stupid for not having thought about that.”
“I think he's being overprotective of his job. If I got up here fine, I should be fine going back, right?”
“I don't know...Is it worth the risk?”
“It's fine!” Tim said, almost shouting. “It's the same trip! What difference does it make!?”

“The difference it could have made the first time,” he said. “It's dangerous enough for a pregnant woman, and at least she could just squeeze the babies out herself.”

“Ew,” Tim made a sound in disgust. “I've already paid for the flight. I don't want to waste that kind of money just on what might happen.”

“I don't want to risk you on what might happen,” Spencer responded. “Or my children. And I just got a raise anyway. We're not exactly scraping by. It's not worth it.”

“But the drive is ridiculous,” Tim said, feeling more pressure building behind his eyes with his desperation. “I can't make that by myself, especially in a shitty rental car.”
“Then I can just come and get you. Why are you being so defensive?”
“No way, your hunk of junk couldn't handle it.”

“NO!” Spencer roared, signaling the end to the argument. “It's. Not. Worth it. This is about safety, okay? You're responsible for more than yourself right now!”

“I....I....” Tim choked, the lump in his throat difficult to speak around as the floodgates opened on his eyes. Tears fell onto his fur and whiskers. “I-I can't stay here, Spencer. I. Can't. I don't want to. Everybody here hates me, hates my guts. My own family can't even be in the same room with me, and- and...Jesus Christ, what if my dad comes home? He kicked my ass for being gay, what happens when he sees me pregnant? What am I supposed to do about that? And I don't know where he is and no one will tell me so he could be home any second, for all I know. I'm scared shitless right now and I can't stay overnight. I'm- I'm- I'm stuck here, okay? I'm trapped. What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

Tim's words became rough, heavy sobs, the kind that he became very good at keeping quiet. He curled onto his side and face the wall, crying mostly into the pillow for fear of being heard. He dropped the phone by his side so he could hold himself, but gingerly picked it up again once he heard Spencer's small voice saying his name from the earpiece.

“Baby, listen. Listen to me, fuzzbutt,” he said reassuringly as he heard Tim's sniffles through the mouthpiece. “You're not trapped. You're a grown man and you can leave whenever the hell you want to. I don't want you to even think about your asshole dad. You won't see him and he won't see you. Go stay in a hotel or something for the night. Use the credit card, I'll take care of it. I'm coming to get you.”

Tim sniffed, the words soothing his mind out of its panic. His eyes burned, but the pressure from his tears was gone.

“B-but it's...too far. You can't-”
“I'm getting an overnight bag together right now. I'll be in town sometime tomorrow afternoon. Samantha will let me use her car.”
“N-now? Are you serious?”
“Absolutely.”
“But the kids?”
“They can have a sleepover at Aunt Sammy's tonight. If I don't leave soon, I won't be there fast enough.”
“But...” Tim sighed, wondering if it were even worth protesting. “Okay. Just be careful, okay?”
“No worries, Papa. Daddy's on the way.”
“I love you, Spence.”
“I love you, too,” Spencer said. Tim could almost hear the smile on his face. “You keep the A-Team safe for me, okay?”
“We're not calling them the fucking A-Team,” Tim said, a laugh choking its way out.
“Then give me a better idea by tomorrow. See you then.”

Spencer hung up. He had a flair for the over-dramatic. He always thought that saying 'goodbye' was just boring. Tim dropped the phone next to his chest and sighed, feeling relaxed for the first time all day. He felt the weight of his body and his belly pulling him into the mattress he used to remember so well. It was nice to get off his feet. He felt himself quietly purring as he closed his eyes.

Behind him, a shuffle outside the doorway woke him from his relaxation. Tim awkwardly flipped over onto his other side just as he heard footsteps making their way down the rickety stairs. He felt momentarily dizzy as all the blood and weight in his body shifted from his left to his right side, but he was over it just as quickly. He sighed, tugging his shirt down over his belly once again and trying to blink excess tears from his sore eyes. The worst thing wasn't crying, it was everyone else seeing that he had. But a way out was coming for him and he'd be out of this nightmare soon enough. He'd be very happy never to see this part of his family again.