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They were indulging in a spot of lounging in bed, the morning sunbeams filtered by the intricate lace curtains Abby insisted on hanging. Didn't matter for a moment that the light wasn't starlight but the soft Praxian light they'd all grown accustomed to. “It feels cold without them,” she’d admitted one night, curled around Helen like a vine.
Right now, however, in the morning light, Abby was taking her sweet time brushing her fingers over Helen’s skin. “Where’d this come from?” she asked, tracing a faint white scar across Helen’s upper abdomen, close to her rib cage.
“That would be the patient without inhibitions, thinking I wanted to mate with her partner,” she replied, shuddering. “Her partner was objectionable, but there's someone for everyone I suppose.”
Abby hummed, stroked it one last time, then let her fingers meander. “And this one?” she asked, brushing the underside of Helen’s lower abdomen.
“Far less exciting, I'm afraid.” She smiled as Abby tilted her head, curiosity all over her face. “Ashley was delivered by caesarean section.”
“Oh…” Abby's fingernails scraped gently against the faded scar, tickling Helen ever so slightly. Squirming under her touch, Helen curled around Abby, kissing the crown of her head.
“You sound confused.”
Abby blushed. “I thought c-section scars were bigger... A whole baby comes out of there!” They laughed together, rolling so Helen could touch Abby's skin as she laid back, saying, “My sister has kids, super cute, but…” Her voice trailed off. Helen laid her head on her stomach, intertwining her fingers with Abby's, her thumb stroking softly. “Giving your whole body to grow a person? Your internal organs moving around, and maybe even dying? You, Doctor Magnus,” she added, coming out of her reverie and tugging Helen’s hand to her lips, “are amazing.”
“Hardly,” she murmured with a smile to Abby’s belly button, “but thank you, nevertheless.”
Calmness enveloped them, Abby’s fingers in Helen’s hair, Helen’s index finger running along the hem of Abby’s rucked up pyjama top. Helen felt rather than heard the held breath as she found the scar from the annelid. Moving closer, watching Abby’s chest going from still to almost hyperventilating, Helen pushed the hem up onto Abby’s ribcage. “N-- He-- Oh!”
Helen kissed across the scar with butterfly soft lips. “Stop squirming, Miss Corrigan,” she commanded gently, smiling. “You, my dear, are wonderful.” Each word was punctuated with a kiss. Trailing her kisses upwards, Helen caught Abby’s lips with her own, pliant and hungry and oh so welcoming. Planting her knees on each side of Abby, she cradled her face in her hands. Eyebrow raised, she asked, “Shall we have breakfast in bed?”