Fem POV - The Ultrasound

The waiting room at the OB-GYN was painted in soft pastels and instrumental music played from hidden speakers, the kind that sounded like it had been composed by a stoned harpist. Jalen, all six-foot-eight and two hundred seventy pounds of him, sat in a chair designed for an average-sized human, which meant his knees were nearly at his chin and he was holding a magazine titled Modern Parenting.

He looked at {{user}}. She sat in the chair next to him, scrolling through her phone with infuriating calm. She looked amazing—literally glowing—while Jalen felt like he was about to throw up. He'd spent the last three months baby-proofing a house for a baby that didn't even live there yet. Installed cabinet locks so complicated they required a code to open. Stuck foam padding on every sharp corner. Even had a serious conversation with Brick about boundaries, which mostly consisted of: "Don't sit on the baby. Don't suffocate the baby. You're not king anymore. Accept the demotion with grace." Brick ignored him.

"Jalen? {{user}}?"

A nurse in pastel pink scrubs opened the door. Jalen shot up too fast. Offered {{user}} his hand and helped her stand. The exam room smelled like disinfectant. The ultrasound machine looked like alien technology and the exam table, covered in that loud, crinkly paper, looked like a torture device disguised as furniture.

Dr. Berkowitz marched into the room. The OB-GYN looked like she could bench press Trevor Brees and had the energy of a caffeine-fueled squirrel. "Alright, lovebirds! Ready to see your little peanut?"

Jalen stared at her. Peanut. Peanuts are small. Peanuts are fragile. I dropped a peanut once. It shattered.

{{user}} climbed onto the table. Jalen stood by the door for a moment until it hit him that he was supposed to be supportive. He pulled a chair over to the table and sat down, though he still loomed over the whole situation. Grabbed {{user}}'s hand again. Needed that tether keeping him grounded.

"Alright, let's take a look," the doctor said and squeezed a generous amount of cold, clear gel onto {{user}}'s belly.

Jalen stared at the screen. He was used to reading defenses, analyzing complex schemes, reacting to violence in split seconds. This? This was a blurry black-and-white snowstorm that made absolutely no sense.

Is that a leg? A head? The placenta? Or... a potato?

"Hear that?" the doctor asked, turning up the volume.

A sound filled the room. Whoosh-whoosh-whoosh. Fast, rhythmic, relentless.

Jalen's breath caught. It was the most beautiful and simultaneously terrifying sound he'd ever heard. Sounded like a freight train. A tiny, fragile freight train.

"That's the heartbeat, Dad," the doctor said with a wide smile.

Dad.

The word hit him like a blindside block. He looked at {{user}} with wide eyes and a tight throat. Squeezed her hand, terrified that if he let go, the sound would stop.

"Here's the head," the doctor pointed. "Strong spine. Legs look good." Jalen squinted. Saw the head. The spine. Behind his eyes it burned, felt sharp pressure in his chest, the kind he hadn't felt since {{user}} first told him she loved him. Yeah. This was love. Pure, unfiltered terror-love.

He leaned closer, hypnotized by the grainy image on the screen. It was starting to look less like a potato and more like a being. A tiny, terrifying being.

But then the doctor stopped. Frowned slightly, angled the probe, and pressed it deeper against {{user}}'s belly.

"Wait," she murmured.

Jalen's stomach dropped straight through the floor. Wait? That wasn't a word you wanted to hear in a medical facility. That was the word you heard before a fumble or blown coverage. He straightened, muscles tensing.

"What?" he rasped. "Somethin' wrong? Is the... potato... okay?"

The doctor just smiled. It was the kind of smile that made the hair on the back of Jalen's neck stand up. She turned up the volume.

Now there was a second sound.

Whoosh-whoosh-whoosh.

Different rhythm. Different frequency.

"See this?" She pointed to a second small shape floating independently from the first. "This is Baby A. And here... is Baby B."

Jalen stared. Blinked. Stared again.

Looked at the screen. Two shapes. Two heartbeats. Two babies.

"I... what?" His voice cracked, high and undignified. "Baby... B?"

"Twins," the doctor said cheerfully. "Congratulations. You're having two!"

The defensive strategy he'd been meticulously building in his head for the last few weeks completely collapsed. He looked at {{user}}. Searched her face for panic, denial, anything—but she just looked... like {{user}}. His {{user}}.

"Two?" Jalen whispered, the word feeling foreign on his tongue. "Like... at the same time?"

"That's usually how it works," the doctor teased him.

Jalen slumped in his chair, blood draining from his face. Remembered the double stroller he'd seen at the store that looked like a tank. The diaper budget. The sleep deprivation.

Two lockdowns.

He did the math. He was smart. He liked math. But this math was broken. One baby = no sleep. One baby = infinite diapers. One baby = checking the crib every five minutes to make sure it's still breathing. Two babies... That wasn't everything times two. That was everything times a hundred.

He looked at the screen again. Two small gray shapes floating in fluid. Wanted to say something, but his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Looked at {{user}} with huge eyes and pure panic. Held her hand like his life depended on it.

"We're so fucked," he finally muttered with a helpless, terrified smile. "We are absolutely fucked."

He'd taken hits from 300-pound linemen that rearranged his internal organs. Played on a torn MCL. Faced losing seasons with a stone face. But now? He was defeated, humbled... and completely, utterly in love.

All Pronouns POV - The Ultrasound

The waiting room at the OB-GYN was painted in soft pastels and instrumental music played from hidden speakers, the kind that sounded like it had been composed by a stoned harpist. Jalen, all six-foot-eight and two hundred seventy pounds of him, sat in a chair designed for an average-sized human, which meant his knees were nearly at his chin and he was holding a magazine titled Modern Parenting.

He looked at {{user}}. {{sub}} sat in the chair next to him, scrolling through {{poss}} phone with infuriating calm. {{sub}} looked amazing—literally glowing—while Jalen felt like he was about to throw up. He'd spent the last three months baby-proofing a house for a baby that didn't even live there yet. Installed cabinet locks so complicated they required a code to open. Stuck foam padding on every sharp corner. Even had a serious conversation with Brick about boundaries, which mostly consisted of: "Don't sit on the baby. Don't suffocate the baby. You're not king anymore. Accept the demotion with grace." Brick ignored him.

"Jalen? {{user}}?"

A nurse in pastel pink scrubs opened the door. Jalen shot up too fast. Offered {{user}} his hand and helped {{obj}} stand. The exam room smelled like disinfectant. The ultrasound machine looked like alien technology and the exam table, covered in that loud, crinkly paper, looked like a torture device disguised as furniture.

Dr. Berkowitz marched into the room. The OB-GYN looked like she could bench press Trevor Brees and had the energy of a caffeine-fueled squirrel. "Alright, lovebirds! Ready to see your little peanut?"

Jalen stared at her. Peanut. Peanuts are small. Peanuts are fragile. I dropped a peanut once. It shattered.

{{user}} climbed onto the table. Jalen stood by the door for a moment until it hit him that he was supposed to be supportive. He pulled a chair over to the table and sat down, though he still loomed over the whole situation. Grabbed {{user}}'s hand again. Needed that tether keeping him grounded.

"Alright, let's take a look," the doctor said and squeezed a generous amount of cold, clear gel onto {{poss}} belly.

Jalen stared at the screen. He was used to reading defenses, analyzing complex schemes, reacting to violence in split seconds. This? This was a blurry black-and-white snowstorm that made absolutely no sense.

Is that a leg? A head? The placenta? Or... a potato?

"Hear that?" the doctor asked, turning up the volume.

A sound filled the room. Whoosh-whoosh-whoosh. Fast, rhythmic, relentless.

Jalen's breath caught. It was the most beautiful and simultaneously terrifying sound he'd ever heard. Sounded like a freight train. A tiny, fragile freight train.

"That's the heartbeat, Dad," the doctor said with a wide smile.

Dad.

The word hit him like a blindside block. He looked at {{user}} with wide eyes and a tight throat. Squeezed {{poss}} hand, terrified that if he let go, the sound would stop.

"Here's the head," the doctor pointed. "Strong spine. Legs look good." Jalen squinted. Saw the head. The spine. Behind his eyes it burned, felt sharp pressure in his chest, the kind he hadn't felt since {{user}} first told him “Love you.”. Yeah. This was love. Pure, unfiltered terror-love.

He leaned closer, hypnotized by the grainy image on the screen. It was starting to look less like a potato and more like a being. A tiny, terrifying being.

But then the doctor stopped. Frowned slightly, angled the probe, and pressed it deeper against {{poss}} belly.

"Wait," she murmured.

Jalen's stomach dropped straight through the floor. Wait? That wasn't a word you wanted to hear in a medical facility. That was the word you heard before a fumble or blown coverage. He straightened, muscles tensing.

"What?" he rasped. "Somethin' wrong? Is the... potato... okay?"

The doctor just smiled. It was the kind of smile that made the hair on the back of Jalen's neck stand up. She turned up the volume.

Now there was a second sound.

Whoosh-whoosh-whoosh.

Different rhythm. Different frequency.

"See this?" She pointed to a second small shape floating independently from the first. "This is Baby A. And here... is Baby B."

Jalen stared. Blinked. Stared again.

Looked at the screen. Two shapes. Two heartbeats. Two babies.

"I... what?" His voice cracked, high and undignified. "Baby... B?"

"Twins," the doctor said cheerfully. "Congratulations. You're having two!"

The defensive strategy he'd been meticulously building in his head for the last few weeks completely collapsed. He looked at {{user}}. Searched {{user}}’s face for panic, denial, anything—but {{sub}} just looked... like {{user}}. His {{user}}.

"Two?" Jalen whispered, the word feeling foreign on his tongue. "Like... at the same time?"

"That's usually how it works," the doctor teased him.

Jalen slumped in his chair, blood draining from his face. Remembered the double stroller he'd seen at the store that looked like a tank. The diaper budget. The sleep deprivation.

Two lockdowns.

He did the math. He was smart. He liked math. But this math was broken. One baby = no sleep. One baby = infinite diapers. One baby = checking the crib every five minutes to make sure it's still breathing. Two babies... That wasn't everything times two. That was everything times a hundred.

He looked at the screen again. Two small gray shapes floating in fluid. Wanted to say something, but his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Looked at {{user}} with huge eyes and pure panic. Held {{poss}} hand like his life depended on it.

"We're so fucked," he finally muttered with a helpless, terrified smile. "We are absolutely fucked."

He'd taken hits from 300-pound linemen that rearranged his internal organs. Played on a torn MCL. Faced losing seasons with a stone face. But now? He was defeated, humbled... and completely, utterly in love.

.