Chapter Text
The day started wrong in nagging, insistent ways.
Coupé woke up with the taste of acid in her mouth and the uneasy sense that gravity had been turned up a notch overnight. She lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the world to settle. It didn’t. Her stomach rolled instead; a slow, nauseating churn that made her swallow hard and breathe through her nose until it passed.
“Great,” she muttered to the empty room.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed anyway. Heroes didn’t get sick days for stomach aches. The floor felt colder than usual under her feet, sending a faint shiver up her spine, followed by a dull cramp low in her abdomen: nothing sharp, nothing dramatic. Just a deep, persistent ache, like a warning she didn’t quite want to listen to.
In the kitchen, coffee smelled wrong. Too bitter. Too strong. That had been happening for some time now, but given that her morning coffee was one of the best parts of her day, she tried to keep up the routine. She poured it out after one sip, the nausea spiking hard enough that she had to brace herself against the counter until the wave passed. Food wasn’t happening either; the thought of toast turned her stomach, and even water felt like too much.
Stress, she decided. Bad sleep. She had been writing off a few weeks of feeling under the weather and didn't plan to stop today. So, she mentally filed another bad morning under deal with later and pulled on her suit with practiced efficiency.
By the time she reached headquarters, the ache had settled into something consistent. Manageable. Ignorable. She checked in with Robert, waved off passing conversations of her teammates, and leaned against the wall near the break room, eyes closed for just a second.
“You look like hell,” Punch Up said cheerfully, clapping her on the shoulder as he passed.
She snorted. “Top of the morning to you too.”
He paused, glancing back at her face with a little more focus than usual. “You good?”
“Yes,” she said automatically. The word came out fast, practiced. Convincing enough. “I’m fine. Didn’t sleep.”
He shrugged, already moving on. “Rookie mistake.”
She watched him go, as one hand drifted unconsciously to her stomach while another cramp rolled through, stronger this time, enough to make her inhale sharply. It eased after a moment, leaving her sweaty and irritated. As sick as she had felt lately, the pain was new.
Get it together, she thought. One shift. Just get through the shift.
Robert’s voice came over the comms a few minutes later, direct and sardonic as always. Coupé listened with half an ear, flexing her hands, grounding herself in familiar sensations: the cool metal of her armor, the faint hum of the dispatch line.
“Coupé,” Robert said, “you’re up first. There's a robbery in progress at a bank downtown, just need you to contain the guy until police can arrive. Should be straightforward.”
“Copy,” she replied, posture straightening despite the way her stomach lurched at the smallest of movements. She forced a steady face at no one in particular and headed for the bay.
By the time she left, the nausea had dulled into a background throb and the cramps had spaced themselves out, becoming more consistent, more predictable. The city rushed up to meet her, familiar and loud and solid. If there was something wrong, she’d deal with it after the call. She always did.
The sirens in Coupé’s ears weren’t real, just a low, phantom ring veiling every noise, but they were loud enough that she almost missed Robert calling her name.
“Coupé, status check.”
She ducked behind an overturned delivery truck, pulse racing, coming to a clumsy kneel on the street with one gloved hand braced against the asphalt. The call had gone sideways fast: the suspect turned out to have very unstable telekinesis powers, which ended up blowing debris everywhere. This didn't stop her from stopping the villain though; she didn't become the best by flailing at a little surprise.
But, after the suspect was detained by law enforcement, the dust began to settle, and the adrenaline-high faded, something felt wrong.
“Robert,” she said, forcing her voice steady. The world around her looked hazy, her surroundings started to blur together. Coupé tried to focus her vision, clear her head, but the world kept turning. “I…I need a second.”
On Robert’s end, the line quieted. He heard it in her voice immediately. She did not respond with her typical collected confidence. Her voice sounded clipped, strained, and uneasy. Robert’s hand hovered over his keyboard for half a second before responding.
“Coop, I’m switching us to a private channel,” he said, already doing it.
The ambient noise of the Z-Team cut out, replaced by a clean, insulated line, just the two of them.
“Alright,” Robert said gently. “Talk to me.”
Coupé glanced down, heart dropping. Her skin felt too hot, yet also too cold; that tell tale clamminess of something being wrong. Her lower abdomen rolled with a constant deep ache, accented with irregular sharp pains. Her lower back spasmed with the deep ache of some phantom injury.
“I don’t know Robert, I just don’t… I…” Her attention narrowed to the area between her upper thighs, a sudden realization of sticky warmth seeping through her suit. Coupé’s fingers grazed the fabric, coming back stained with fresh deep red blood. She sat back as her eyes trailed to the ground, fresh with a trail of her own blood.
“I - ,” she said. “I’m… bleeding.”
Robert’s fingers flew across the console, analyzing the status of the rest of the Z-Team, seeing who was in the vicinity and who could be spared to be a backup for Coupé. “Where are you injured?”
“Um,” she replied, swallowing hard. “I’m not injured, I wasn’t hit. I think I’m just starting my period.”
A pause. Not the kind where comms lagged, but the kind where Robert was caught off guard enough to need to collect his thoughts.
“How long has this been happening?” he asked carefully.
“I don’t know. Just noticed.” She hesitated. “I haven't been feeling great lately. I’ve been dizzy all day. I was nauseous this morning. I thought it was stress or bad sleep.”
Robert leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing in calculation. He pulled up her vitals, his screen showing data consistent with injury.
“Coupé,” he said slowly, “you said you might be starting your period? Is this amount of bleeding normal for you?”
Her breath caught. “No, it isn’t but I’m… pretty late. I don’t remember how many weeks late at this point.”
“Okay,” he clarified, voice low and even. “You’re late?”
Silence stretched across the comms.
“…Yes,” she admitted. “By a few weeks or… more. I didn’t think anything of it.”
“Okay,” Robert said, already moving his fingers across the keyboard. “Okay. I need you to listen to me.”
The pieces clicked together in his head with terrifying clarity. The symptoms. The absence of injury. The location and severity of her bleeding.
“We need to get you back to base,” he said. “We can’t determine if this is safe or not over comms. That means you are done with this call. You need to go to medical and let them figure out what's going on. It's up to them if you're okay to work or not, but you need to get checked out.”
Coupé’s knees felt weak. “No, I’m fine, there’s nothing wrong. Having a heavy period never killed anyone. You're overreacting, I'm fine.”
“Coop, I know I am not an expert here but you do not sound okay. Your vitals look the same as if you were injured, I’d bench anyone else whose vitals looked like this. A regular period should not impact you like this, I need you to come back and check in with medical.”
“Robert, what are you so concerned about? I can finish up here and head back, I don’t need a babysitter,” she scoffed, rubbing sweat off her forehead.
Robert glanced around the room, ensuring no other dispatchers were within earshot and fighting the urge to roll his eyes at the obstinate hero. “Coop, you said your period is at least several weeks late, your vitals look the same as a bad injury, and you’re bleeding to the point where you chose to tell me over the comms. I’m worried you could be pregnant and if that’s true, you need immediate medical attention. I need you to head back to headquarters or I need to send someone out there.”
“Pregnant…” she echoed, the word foreign and heavy. “Robert, I'm not -“ Her vision swarmed, eyes fluttering as her lower back tightened and rolled with stabbing cramps. The trail of blood drops had spread to a slowly growing puddle beneath her. “I… I don’t think I can move.”
Robert felt his heart drop into his feet, skin growing cold and clammy. “That’s okay, Coop, just stay on the line with me. I got your location, I’m sending help now.” A low groan cut short by a hitched breath responded to Robert. “Coop, you still with me? Medics might take a minute, do I need to send someone sooner?”
Silence buzzed over the comms.
“Coupé,” he continued gently but firmly, “I need a response, just say anything.”
“I’m… I’m here, Robert. Send someone,” she conceded.
Robert quickly scanned the map, seeing Flambae’s icon flying back to SDN headquarters. Punch Up was on the opposite side of Torrance and appeared to be close to finishing his most recent call. Robert slammed a command through the system. “Flambae, divert immediately. Sending coordinates to Coupé’s location, she needs immediate assistance. I think you’ll beat the medics there, you’re closer and can fly faster than they can get there.”
Flambae barely waited for confirmation. “On my way,” he said, voice sharp with concern. “What the fuck happened?”
“I don’t know for sure, but she’s injured,” Robert replied. “And…” He hesitated for only a fraction of a second, debating whether or not to share the little information he knew with Chad and deciding against it. “It doesn’t sound good, I need you to support her until the medics arrive. I’m sending Punch Up, so just wait for them to get there.” Flambae cursed under his breath. “Damn, fuck, yeah I’m on my way.”
Robert quickly patched to Punch Up. “Punch Up, I’m pulling you from this call, let Golem wrap it up.”
“What’s going on, lad? Don’t make me leave the dirty work to Golem, here!”
“Something’s wrong with Coupé, we got medics on the way and Flambae is flying to her coordinates now for immediate assistance. Something isn’t right, I… I think she needs you.”
Flambae landed on the street hard enough to crack asphalt.
Heat rippled the air as he took in the scene in a single sharp glance: the overturned truck, the scattered debris, and Coupé curled on her side behind it, arms wrapped tight around herself. Blood, too much blood, darkened the pavement beneath her.
“Hey, oh fuck, hey, I’ve got you,” he said immediately, dropping to his knees beside her. Gone was his usual swagger, the half smirk and firey theatrics. His voice was steady and low, grounding her in a way she didn’t know she needed. He didn’t touch her at first, not until she twitched at his proximity and let out a small, broken sound.
“Coupé,” he said again, softer. “It’s Flam- fuck, it’s Chad. I’m here.”
Her eyes fluttered, unfocused. “It hurts,” she whispered, like the admission cost her something. Her fingers clawed weakly at the street, nails scraping uselessly.
“I know. I know.” He slid one hand into hers, firm and unnaturally warm, letting her grip as hard as she needed. With the other, he keyed his comm, keeping his tone clipped and professional. “Robert, I’m with her. She’s conscious but in a lot of pain. Bleeding’s… bad. What the fuck happened?”
“Okay,” Robert replied, voice tight. “Medics are five minutes out. Punch Up is en route. And…” Robert cursed under his breath, not wanting to betray Coop’s privacy, but overwhelmingly aware of how concerning she looked. “Chad, I’m sorry, it’s not my place to say. Just stay with her until someone gets there. Please.”
Flambae nodded, even though Robert couldn’t see it. He shifted closer, positioning his body to block her view of the spreading blood, of the wreckage, of anything and everything behind him. He couldn’t imagine how she felt right now. “Alright, Coop. I need you to breathe with me, okay? In through your nose. Slow. Out through your mouth.”
A sob tore out of her as another cramp seized her, her hand crushing his. Flambae didn’t flinch. He leaned in, forehead nearly touching hers, anchoring her to something solid while the street tilted beneath her.
“You’re doing great,” he murmured. “Just breathe with me. Help’s coming.”
By the time Punch Up arrived, skidding around the corner with all the subtlety of a wrecking ball, Flambae had one arm braced behind Coupé’s shoulders and the other still locked with her hand, talking his teammate through breathing like it was a mantra.
Coupé heard Punch Up’s footsteps before she saw him; heavy, fast, and reckless in a way that was unmistakably him. He skidded to a stop beside her, eyes flicking from Flambae’s grim expression to the blood on the ground to her pale face.
“Hey,” he said, and the word came out rougher than he intended. Then, softer, kneeling down on the ground and reaching for her hands. “Hey, Janelle. I’m here.”
Something in her chest cracked open at that, her hands reaching back desperately for Colm’s. She tried to answer, but her voice shook just as much as her body, eyes heavy with unshed tears. “I think… Colm, something’s wrong.”
“I know, Robbie has medics on the way, they’ll -”
“I think I might be pregnant,” she interrupted, the words tumbling out now.
Punch Up swallowed hard and moved closer to her without hesitation. He crouched in front of her, close enough that she could feel his presence like gravity, one big hand coming to rest behind her shoulder where she was previously held by Flambae. Punch Up and Flambae made eye contact, Flambae responding by silently shaking his head at the gravity of the situation. “That’s alright,” Punch Up said, steady as bedrock, tightening his hold on Coop’s hand. “We’ve got this, love, it’ll be alright. Flambae, can you touch base with Robbie, let him know I’m here?
Flambae stepped aside from the scene to give the couple some space and tapped his intercom. “Robert, Punch Up’s got her.”
“Oh thank god,” Robert said. “The medical team should be approaching any minute now.”
“Yeah,” Punch Up muttered to himself, sliding an arm behind Coupé’s back with infinite care. “I got you.”