# Doctor's Orders

Title: Doctor's Orders
Status: Complete
Characters: Anon, Fang
Rating: SFW
Classification: One Shot
Author: Anonymous
​
“Well, I think congratulations are in order.” Dr Anning smiles, removing her stethoscope and letting it hang around her neck. “It appears you’re on track to have a perfectly healthy baby girl.”
​
I squeeze Fang’s hand, unable to keep the goofy smile off my face. This wasn’t where I thought I’d be just a few years ago, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Fang smiles back at me, still a little frazzled from all the poking and prodding she’s endured for the last hour. These checkups always stress her out, but I know once outside she’ll be unable to contain her enthusiasm. We’ve had checkups with Dr. Anning for the past six months, ever since Fang surprised me with the best news of my life. The doctor is a specialist in cross-species reproduction, and a pterosaur to boot, so she’s a perfect fit for Fang’s case. She’s been wonderful so far, answering our questions and alleviating our fears for the past half year. Now that Fang is in her third trimester, the end is within sight.
​
“Alright then, you’re free to go Mrs. Mous.” Dr Anning teases, Fang leaping out of her seat. Well, as much as she can with all that extra weight she’s carrying. I keep my mouth shut, Fang made it clear early on she won’t tolerate any smart-ass remarks from me. “Just make sure to schedule another checkup next month with the receptionist.”
​
I get up and open the door for Fang, her expression darkening as she stares me down. I know it annoys her how protective I’ve become over the last couple months, but I just can’t help it. She rolls her eyes and struts past me, punching me in the shoulder as she goes.
​
“Actually, could you wait a moment Mr. Mous?” Dr Anning looks up from her clipboard, right as I’m about to follow Fang. “There’s a few things I want to go over with you, if you have a moment.” Fang glances back, as confused as I am. The implication is clear enough, Dr. Anning wants to talk to me in private. We’ve always discussed everything as a group, even the things I wish I went on in life never knowing. What could she want with only me?
​
“Well? Go on then.” Fang reassures me with a smile, nodding toward the end of the hall, “I’ll wait for you in the lobby. Don’t take too long, I’m starving.” I chuckle as I wave her off, Fang is always hungry these days. Closing the door behind me, I sit back down as Dr Anning gathers some paperwork. An uncomfortable lump rises in my throat as I wonder what this is about, my mind conjuring all sorts of horrible scenarios.
​
“Alright Mr. Mous,” Dr Anning adjusts her glasses, “There are just a couple things I should inform you about as the delivery date grows near.”
​
“Are Fang and the baby okay?” I blurt out, unable to stomach the tension, “I know you said there aren’t any problems, but-“
​
“Lucy and her child are completely healthy.” Dr Anning cuts me off with a raised hand, familiar enough with my wife’s two names. “I meant what I said earlier, nothing is wrong. The Omniceptive worked flawlessly.”
​
I breathe a sigh of relief, running a hand over my brow. Dr Anning is well aware of my skepticism around Omniceptive, the miracle medicine that makes healthy cross-species reproduction viable. It would have been almost impossible for Fang and I to produce a baby without it, and certainly not a healthy one. No matter how many times I’m reassured it’s safe, I still have the occasional nightmare about Fang birthing a horrible Cthulhu-esque monstrosity, or even worse something absolutely beautiful yet perfectly still.
​
The intricacies of how the drug works are still lost on me, but from what I understand it turned my genetic material into a “blank”. I had only passed on the bare minimum of my own D.N.A. to make everything work, and Fang took care of the rest. So while typical children are a fifty-fifty split of their parent’s genes, our child is closer to roughly ninety five to five. So while the drug fundamentally works, the practical result is an almost identical clone of Fang. There was never any chance of us having a boy. Fang worried the news would disappoint or even upset me, but I had just smiled and said, “This is perfect, now I’ll have two of you!”
​
“So, what did you want to talk to me about then?” I ask, self conscious I’d been oddly silent for the past several seconds. Dr. Anning passes over a Manila folder, a small plastic brochure poking out the top. Pulling it out, I turn it over and look at the cover. A cartoonish smiling pterosaur smiles on the front page, giving a giant thumbs-up below a gaudy multicolored title. “Nesting Instinct and You!” This brochure looks like it belongs in an eighth grade health class. The recognizable cliché art style conjures up many uncomfortable memories.
​
“I’ve dealt with many cross species pregnancies Anon, and each species has its own quirks.” Dr Anning takes advantage of my stupefied silence to explain, “I find it’s valuable to give the father some idea of what to expect. You’re the first human I’ve dealt with, so I imagine some extra information would be especially helpful in your case.”
​
“So… nesting instinct?” I ask, still struggling to convince myself what I’m reading is accurate. It sounds outlandish, but I remind myself Fang is a completely different species. It wouldn’t be the first time I had encountered some strange differences between the two of us.
​
“Lucy is now in her third trimester, so the instinct should kick in over the next week or so, growing stronger as the delivery nears.” Dr Anning points to a list in the folder, “These are the things she’ll likely gather from around the house to build her nest. Pillows, blankets, mattresses, towels, anything soft. Even clothes, especially if they smell like you. If you have a favorite shirt, expect it to go missing.”
​
“Wait, hold on.” I stop her, an awkward implication jumping to mind, “There isn’t going to be anything in there… right? I didn’t think Fang would lay a-“
​
“Oh goodness, no!” Dr Anning laughs me off with a wave of her hand, “Don’t worry, that part will be about what you expect. No, the nesting instinct is a byproduct of our evolutionary past, completely vestigial.”
​
“So she doesn’t really need to do any of this then?” I ask, hoping we can sidestep all this weirdness.
​
“Technically, that’s correct.” Dr Anning grows more serious, making sure she has my full attention, “Realistically? No. While the instinct no longer serves a practical purpose, it’s still very real. Ignoring it would be very stressful for Lucy, and she’s already under a lot of strain as it is. It’s safer for both of them if she does what her body tells her to.”
​
“Okay, okay.” I capitulate, recognizing a lost battle, “Sorry, this is just all so strange to me. So, what can I do?”
​
“Well, you’ll need to hide some supplies for yourself." Dr. Anning continues, counting on her fingers, "A couple sets of clothes, a pillow, and a good sleeping bag. Don’t be cheap, get a nice one. You’ll be using it for several weeks after all.”
​
“Why do I need to hide it?” I ask, noticing she’s prepared a list of recommended supplies already
​
“Because if she knows about it, she’ll add it to the nest.” Dr Anning answers, “I understand you’ve requested paternity leave for the weeks surrounding the due date. That’s good, but once the nest is built I recommend asking for extended lunch breaks.”
​
“Why…?” I ask, afraid to hear the answer
​
“Lucy will be compelled to stay in the nest as much as possible.” She explains, “She will expect you to provide meals regularly throughout the day."
​
"What, like a bird?" I ask, incredulous. Damn it, this starting to spiral out of hand. "Okay, let's see... I take it I can't just leave out a sandwich platter or something?"
​
"You could." Dr. Anning's disparaging tone implies what she thinks of that option. "However, during Lucy's nesting she will be instinctively appraising you as a mate and provider. Failing to meet her expectations may make her judgmental."
​
I remember Fang's mood swings during the first months of pregnancy with a shudder. The day we accidentally ran out of dino-nuggets will be forever burned into my memory.
​
"Okay, yeah." I rub the back of my head, the problems continuing to pile up, "Should probably avoid that. What else do I need to do?"
​
"I recommend investing in a high quality blender before the delivery." Dr Anning points to a particular sheet in the folder, "There are several brand I recommend, but feel free to make your own decision."
​
"Dare I ask what the blender is for?"
​
"That is for your daughter." She answers, adjusting her glasses, "Tell me Anon, do you know how long human babies breastfeed?"
​
"Um, let me think." I scrounge my memory, trying to think of an answer. I never paid much attention to babies before, and I slept through most of health class. "I'm not sure. A year, I think?"
​
Dr Anning nods, "That's right, roughly one year, with semisolid food introduced after about six months. However, pterosaur children wean themselves off completely within the first two months."
​
"Really?" I ask, this isn't something I would have expected, "That seems fast to me."
​
"That is fast. It's a fairly unique trait to pterosaurs, other species are more typical." She explains, brushing back her hair, "It's another byproduct of our evolutionary past. You may have noticed pterosaur women are not particularly...well endowed."
​
I hadn't noticed actually, but I keep that to myself, nodding along with her.
"So, what's the blender for?" I try to shift the subject away from anything Fang might disapprove of, "I think we were just planning on buying typical baby food."
​
"If you can handle the taste, then by all means go ahead." Dr. Anning waves me off.
​
Hold up, what the fuck does she mean by 'taste'? A horrifying thought begins to emerge, the terrible implication becoming inescapable. I've seen enough documentaries about baby-chicks to guess where this is going.
​
"No..." I mutter, in sheer denial. Dr. Anning nods, confirming my suspicions.
​
"Wha- Really? You're serious?" I plead, praying that this is a cruel joke. "I'm really going to have to- There's no other way?"
​
"It's not as bad as you fear Anon." She reassures me, placing a comforting hand on my knee. "Blending the food and spitting it out will be enough to trick her into eating it."
​
Well, that's a bit of a relief. At least I won't be sticking my finger down my throat like a bulimic three times a day. Still, feeding my daughter like a baby bird does not sound like a fun experience.
​
"How long will I have to do this?" I ask, knowing any answer is going to be longer than I'd like.
​
"Roughly six months." Dr Anning smiles, trying to cheer me up, "Don't worry too much, it won't be so bad. I've heard some fathers consider it a good bonding experience."
​
I don't think there's much chance of that. This is all so much to take in at once, I'm feeling overwhelmed. I can see why Dr. Anning wanted to have this meeting. If I had to figure this all out myself I would have gone insane. As much as I dread dealing with all this, I know I won't hesitate. I'll do anything for my two girls, for however long it takes. If I have to put up with a little weirdness to start a family with Fang, I'll gladly do it.