Because that was what this was, wasn’t it?
Labor.
And he was sure he would freak out about it soon, but at the moment, he had a slightly bigger thing to be terrified about. Al—his toaster-fearing, hand sanitizer eating, English-hating alien of a not-quite boyfriend—was sitting in the driver’s seat, familiarizing himself with all the pedals, levers, and indicators of Jude’s car.
“You really don’t need to drive us, Al,” Jude insisted for the thousandth time since Al had wheeled him out of the engineering classroom. “The pain isn’t excruciating or anything. I’ll get through it.”
“But it will become excruciating soon.” Al flicked the turn signal up and down, wrinkled his nose, and did it again. “And you should not be driving when that happens.”
“Thanks, that’s super reassuring,” Jude deadpanned.
“Apologies.” Al grimaced. “Perhaps ‘excruciating’ does not mean the same thing in my language as it does in yours?” He did not say it with any amount of confidence, and Jude did not bother to dignify it with a response.
“You don’t know how to drive,” he argued instead.
“I have observed the task for many months, and feel confidence I can pilot your bad car back to your home without incident.”
“What happens if we get pulled over by the cops?”
“Corbin provided me with a human driver’s license,” Al reminded him, and adjusted the rearview mirror.
Jude scowled.
Why did Corbin have to be so thorough?
Curse him and his efficiency.
“Okay,” he countered, “but if they run your license through their system, they’re gonna figure out it’s fake, and they’ll take you to jail.”
“Then I will not alert the police to my presence on the road.” Al said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, and it made Jude want to pull his hair out.
“What is not computing for you here?” he said in frustration. “You have never driven a car in your entire life. Don’t you think that’sslightlymore dangerous than me risking a contraction on the road?” Contraction. That’s what they were called, right? Dammit, why hadn’t he done more research on this before it was actively happening? Not that there were many how-to books lying around about laying alien eggs.
“I have knowledge of much more advanced transportation devices,” Al said simply. “Your bad car is not as difficult to navigate. You remember that I had my own spaceship, yes?”
“That you crashed.”
“Pfft.” Al waved a dismissive hand. “This was not my fault.”
Jude’s temple ticced, and had it not been for the contraction that tore through him at that very moment, he would have had something far less kind to say. Instead, when the pain had passed, he tenderly reminded Al, “It was a little bit your fault. You’re the one who drove… er,flewit when you already knew it was a piece of junk.”
“Tea pot, introduce yourself to tea kettle.”
“It’s ‘pot meet kettle,’ and I wouldn’t be driving my car to an unfamiliar solar system—I’d be driving it five miles on roads I know to get us safely home.”
The fleeting look of disdain that Al always got whenever anybody mentioned inches, feet, or miles crossed his face. “Why do you not use the metric system like the slightly more efficient humans?” he’d asked upwards of about a hundred times, but he held back and did not make today time one hundred and one. Taking a deep breath, he visibly composed himself and said in a calculated tone, “Jude, you are in the beginning stages of giving birth. I feel great amounts of concern for you, and would feel less of it if you would allow me to drive your bad car to your home for you.” To emphasize his concern, he gave Jude wide, pleading Bambi eyes that he turned a milk chocolate brown.
Damn, the bastard was good.
“Fuck it,” Jude said, pressing the base of his palms against his eyes. “This whole situation is absolutely batshit insane. I’m havingcontractions. I’m givingbirth.” He dropped his hands like weights, feeling more manic than he had in his entire life. “Why not have an alien drive my car? How is that any crazier than the million crazy things that have happened to me since that night I decided it would be a good idea to drive out into the desert and count stars?”
“Jude,” Al said gently, but Jude wasn’t done. The weight of everything was crashing into him all at once, and he was discovering, at the worst possible time, that he had not actually processed—likereallyprocessed—what it meant to be pregnant with Al’s eggs. It had been too big for him to fully comprehend, but now he had no choice but to face it, and frankly? He wasn’t doing great.
“I can’t do this,” he said abruptly. “It’s too much. This isn’t my life. I’m just a pathetic nobody destined for mediocrity.” A cramp chose that moment to creep up on him again, and he leaned against the car door, clutching at his belly with a groan. “It’s too much,” he repeated through the pain, and dear god, was he on the verge oftears? He clenched his eyes shut, willing them away. The pain wasn’t debilitating yet, but the mental pressure was starting to be.
“Breathe, Jude,” Al said, much closer than Jude expected. He’d leaned over and was practically straddling the center console in order to be with him. Gingerly, he took Jude into his arms and stroked his hair while Jude forced himself to breathe through his contraction.
“It is normal to feel fear,” Al whispered to him. “I will not lie and tell you this will be without pain, but I will also not allow harm to come to you.”
