B is for Baby
Before I even begin writing this fic, I want to give a few warnings. The first one being, I don't like Mpreg. I can't take it seriously, I can't write it, and I can't read it.
But that being said, I decided that maybe I should try my hand at it. As a result, I wrote this, which is the closest to Mpreg you'll ever see me come, and once you read it you'll realize that's not very close at all.
This was meant as a joke, but unfortunately my sense of humor is a little gory, so it's not for the squeamish. Though, seeing as this is B we're dealing with, I think that warning is a little obvious. And now that we're clear on those things, read on, and see why I was ranting for a week about formaldehyde.
L had been noticing B acting funny lately, but he'd paid no mind to it. B always acted… off, and L simply attributed that to the fact that the backup successor was not quite all there.
But never in a million years had he expected what had happened one night in the hallways of Wammy's House.
L had been on his way to pick up a midnight snack from the Wammy House kitchens when he was stopped by B, standing before him in the narrow hall like a gross parody of a reflection.
"L," B murmured, stroking his stomach, "I'm carrying your child."
L's heart seemed to stop for a fraction of a second. He looked down at B's stomach under the white shirt he'd taken to wearing in L's image. Sure enough, it poked out, straining the white cotton fabric under B's hand. It looked swollen, distended. Someone might have said B had a… baby bump.
"B," the detective murmured, staring dumbly at the lump under B's shirt, "males cannot bear children."
"But I'm pregnant, L," B murmured, stepping forward and widening his eyes. "When we made love you spilled your seed in me and now a child is growing!"
L stepped back, wanting to put as much distance as possible between himself and his creepy successor. He looked around frantically for an escape route. "B… we have never… 'Made love'. I have never even CONSIDERED having sexual intercourse with you."
B's eyes were so wide, so bulging. They seemed the stuff of nightmares to the older detective. "What are you talking about, L? You love me. And now we're having a baby."
L took another step back only to find himself cornered as his back hit a wall. He had nowhere to go. "B, that is against all the laws of human anatomy and physiology."
B rubbed his swollen stomach happily. "Want to feel him kicking, L? I'm going to name him after you, you know."
L had never wanted anything so little in his life. The only thing that seemed worse right now than touching that distended stomach was up and dying, and even that was looking pretty tempting in comparison to whatever was under B's shirt.
But L reached out a shaking hand to prod at the round tummy with two fingers, testing to see if the bulge was only stuffing.
He found B's bellybutton with one finger and, just below it, something puffy and swollen- something like stitches. A wave of nausea rushed over the older man. It was some kind of home surgery.
"B," he whispered, his voice shaking slightly, "did you break into the science lab?"
B smiled, showing sharp white teeth. "He looks like you, L."
Bile rose up in L's throat. There was an eighty percent chance that B had stolen a preserved fetus from the science lab and sewed it up inside himself.
"B, what you've done is dangerous… you could die from blood loss, or infection, or formaldehyde poisoning, because it is surely getting in your bloodstream from that fetus…"
"He's going to grow in me for nine months," B murmured, clearly ignoring his mentor.
"I'm going to call an ambulance," L announced, more to reassure himself than the delusional successor who was rubbing his belly and cooing softly to it. "They're going to take that thing out of you."
B traced small circles on his stomach. "Do you want to be called 'L' or 'Daddy'?"
L pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed '911'. It took a few moments to explain the situation, but soon enough an ambulance was speeding towards Wammy's to try to save B from his own handwork.
B grabbed L's hand and clutched at it, looking at him with those terribly bulging eyes. "Will you stay for the birth, L?"
L tried his hardest to suppress the urge to throw up. "Yes," he finally mumbled, squeezing B's hand slightly.
Months later, after B had made a full recovery in the hospital and was cleared to return to Wammy's, he decided it was his fault the pregnancy had gone wrong. The thing was, the baby he had chosen wasn't good enough. B must have had terrible taste in babies. Next time he wanted to carry L's child, he'd let L pick out the baby.
And surely enough, this small boy called Near arrived at Wammy's and L immediately began to favor him. B knew it was a sign, that it was finally his time to have L's baby. He knew what to do.
B got his needle and his thread and waited in the room that belonged to Near.
…and there we go. All this started just because my friend Krystyne mentioned how a snail-trail I drew on one of my numerous B drawings looked like a seam. Hate it? Love it? Feel vaguely nauseous? Whatever the case, review and let me know.