Epilogue: 7 months later.

"Ugh." you say, wrinkling your nose as you toss yet another smelly diaper into the disposal bin. "I'm never going to get used to this. How does such a small kid manage to piss and shit so much? I'm just lucky that I only have super-acute hearing and not super-acute smell." You brush your red hair away and look at yourself in the mirror of your living room. You're wearing a snug 'League of Propriety' babydoll tee shirt and a pair of yoga pants. You run a hand over your midriff. Much as you hate to admit being so vain, you are deeply relieved that your pregnancy didn't leave you with any stretch marks. Half a year's gone by, and pretty much all of your excess baby weight is gone, except for your still-swollen breasts.

You hear a soft giggle behind you and a hand rests on your shoulder, another pushing a saucer with a cup of coffee into your hand. Julia, of course. "The miracle of life, huh Rick? I would say that you should start trimming the four letter words from your vocabulary, in case little Falcon ends up developing his mom's superpowers..."

"You mean he hasn't already? There's no way the racket he makes when he needs a change or to be fed is natural." you say wearily.

"...buuut, honestly," Julia says softly rubbing your shoulder, "I'm kind of relieved. I thought you might have some kind of massive personality change or get post-partum depression or something, especially considering the circumstances, but you're still the same old best friend and idol that I remember, right down to your prickly personality. Rikki the glamorous single mom is pretty much the same as regular Rikki, just more tired and cranky. Speaking of which, you really should let me help you more with taking care of the baby. I had to bring up my little sister practically by myself while my mom spent years in and out of the hospital and my dad was stuck at work."

Sighing, you shrug and take a sip of coffee. "Well, I have to prove that I can do it myself before I start delegating. At least that's what I told myself at first. In truth, I'm probably going to start taking you up on that pretty soon. Practically every minute I-"

An urgent, high-pitched wailing starts coming from the room where the crib is. Grumbling, you head that way. "Yeah, yeah. Already hungry again, I know. At least this time I'm wearing a shirt that I don't care about getting vomited on." Julia trails behind you as you slug down the coffee and hand her back the cup and gently heft up your 6 month old son, who is bawling his eyes out as usual. His face definitely takes after yours, only getting his 'cafe au lait' skin tone and curly hair from his biological father. Though you don't admit it, you had been rather disappointed that it wasn't a girl, if only because this way you're constantly reminded that he owes his existence to you being unable to say "Don't cum inside of me" due to a second man's cock filling your mouth.... or that it is only due to a gang leader's momentary whim that your son is part black instead of part latino.

Casually, you lift up your shirt and your bra, and bring him up to your tit. You keep the conversation with Julia going casually as you breastfeed. "It's another, what, 6 months until we can wean him? I am counting the days. I respect the need for antibodies and all that nutritional stuff but between having to do this a thousand times a day and spending every spare moment I have pumping myself like a dairy cow for when I'm not around, I'm about ready to throw any and all expert advice overboard. Remind me again, how much more maternity leave do I get before the League marks me inactive?"

"I don't think there's a system for it, really. It's all about favoritism." Julia replies. "Raven Woman is, like, the #2 in the whole League, right? And she said you could take as much as two years if you wanted. No reason not to take her at your word."

"Yeah," you reply. "I wish I knew what I did to impress her so much, we barely even met aside from some brief help she gave me in my last case before I blew up like a balloon. Definitely a lot more helpful than Petite Mort's advice."

Julia coughs softly and smiles. "So, don't take this the wrong way, but I am a little surprised. I mean, I absolutely wouldn't have blamed you putting him up for adoption. Seems like this kind of thing happens a lot more often than the League likes to admit to the press. As far as I can tell there isn't much stigma around going that route. I mean, setting aside the fact that this is the 21st century, everyone knows it's different for heroines."

"That's kind of the problem." you say with a frown. "All of these rich people bidding hundreds of thousands of dollars in donations to charity on the League's behalf, just to have a chance at adopting a 'super baby'. The whole thing seems really gross and shady, frankly. I think a lot of those so-called families see it as an investment or a status symbol, their ticket to fame, not an actual fucking person who needs to be cared for. Less than, what, 50% of kids with a superheroine mom and even fewer with just the dad ever develop superpowers? And since he's a boy, statistics say the chances he'll grow up to be a super too are much smaller, like, 1 in 10. But if I gave him up anonymously I'd be tortured with guilt that he'd end up in a group home or something. It's a real no-win situation."

Little Falcon finishes feeding and you put up up on your shoulder, giving him pats on the back. "So, the particular brand of apathetic, grudging motherhood that I can offer seems like the least bad option."

Julia giggles and smiles warmly. "Aw, you don't give yourself enough credit, Rick. And here I was just thinking that having a mixed-race baby was going to be a boost to your career."

"Fuck off, bitch." you say with a laugh, laying your son back in his crib and putting a pacifier in his mouth.

"Oh," Julia adds, "and speaking of sub-standard mothers, isn't it about time to be getting him ready to go over to his father and grandmother's house for them to take over? It's almost 6 o'clock. And even if you aren't going on any patrols until the baby is weaned, you don't want to fall too far off your training routine. Really, you should start making some costumed appearances again just so the press knows you won't be gone too much longer."

"No, not tonight. Sorry, Julia, I've been putting off telling you, but..."

"Ohhhhhh." Julia nods, grimacing nervously. "Say no more."

Half an hour later there is a very soft knock at the door. Extremely soft. So much that most people wouldn't be able to hear it. Taking a deep breath, you pull it open, having changed into a less-stained tank top and a pleated polka-dot miniskirt. Your mother, Molly Drakeson, is in the doorway, with the same scrupulously neutral, vaguely depressed expression she always has.

The very first thing she says is as prickly as you'd expect. "'Falcon'? Really? Someone's going to have to live with that name for his entire life, Rikki. A little on the nose, don't you think?"

You smirk defiantly. "I was only thinking of you, mom. When he gets teased about it in middle school it'll be one more thing for you to say you were right about."

Molly shakes her head and rolls her eyes, walking through your penthouse apartment that is progressively being more and more cluttered with childcare supplies. "Did you dress up for me, or did you forget I was coming and have an evening out on the town planned to try and give him a new brother or sister?"

"No, no," you say, "just making a little statement that I am about a hundred miles past caring about your puritanical bullshit by this point. I did nothing wrong. I'm not sorry. I saved lives. I'm a hero. Period."

Surprisingly, the lithe, beautiful woman who gave birth to you, wearing a crushed velvet gown, looks down at her feet with guilt. "You're right. I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to come out like that, dear. Come here." she wraps her arms around you and gives you a hug, resting her head on your shoulder and kissing your cheek. "I love you, Rikki. I love you more than anyone in the world. Even more than I loved your father."

You feel your heartstrings being tugged and blink away tears. "H-hey. Cut it out. I can handle verbal sparring, don't try and ambush me with this Hallmark channel stuff, now. Besides, you're pushing up against my boobs too tight, you're gonna make me leak." you laugh nervously.

"Well, sorry again," Molly says. "But I mean it. I... well, I can't say that I wasn't a little disappointed, but - and please don't take this as an insult, I'm just stating facts - I knew this was probably coming. It's just the way of the world these days. Besides that, you have your father's libido, and I can't ask you to try and be me. I was more afraid that you were going to do something... really wrong." she clears her throat. "I am really proud of you for accepting responsibility."

A sudden spine-chilling cringe of guilt runs through you. You wonder if you'll ever be able to come clean with her that you did actually do exactly what she was afraid of, and under truly unfortunate circumstances... and that that had been the very first thing you tried to do when you realized Kevin had gotten you pregnant. It's a blessing that your stepfather Eddie's business kept him from traveling up here to visit too. Damnable religion. You have a sneaking suspicion that Whole Glory and the other religious-themed superheroes had a hand in the policies that pushed you into carrying to term even if the League and the U.S. government's stated reasons were purely pragmatic.

"But honestly, I'm a bit worried that you're taking it on yourself do all of this yourself." Molly says. "I don't want you to give up your dream of becoming an A-rank superheroine just because of some judgment you think I'm going to pass on you. Surely you're aware that the ratio of villains to heroes keeps going up, even though the absolute numbers of the League are growing? And with all those costumed fools with their master plans, the glory-hound heroes just love to ignore the plight of the common shopkeeper or pedestrian dealing with muggers, robbers and the like. This city needs Nightingale. You shouldn't put so much weight on the prejudices of an old lady who probably ought to be on antidepressants."

"HAH!" You throw back your head and laugh, cackling wildly. "Are you serious?! You're joking, right? You ACTUALLY thought there was the slightest, most infinitesimal possibility that I was going to give up being a heroine because you wouldn't approve of me doing it while being a single mom? If I didn't still care about being a hero, well, let's just say you might be disappointed in me for more than just the plight of the poor shopkeepers getting robbed."

Molly furrows her eyebrow and gives you a dark look. "Amazing. You have a truly incredible talent for pissing all over any goodwill someone who cares about you tries to offer you, Rikki. If ingratitude was an Olympic sport, you'd have ten times as many gold medals as I earned by now."

"Gold medals that you only got because they weren't able to properly test for superhuman agility back th-" you start to say but she mutes you with her sound powers.

"NO! I'm NOT going down that route again. The truth is, I do have something to chide you about. I'm not joking when I say I don't think you're responsible enough yet to handle this. And that 'Kevin' boy... a noveau riche high-school dropout criminal... I don't think he's going to pick up the slack. So, of course, I will have to. I'm moving back to Acropolis City so that I can help you with this. And after 10 years of letting you do whatever on God's green earth you want while I do my best to pick up the pieces, I am NOT taking no for an answer." your mother says sternly.

Stepping around the corner to peek in on baby Falcon and make sure you didn't wake him up with your overly loud laughter, you smile at Molly."Hahaha. You know you're going to have to say hi to your old frenemies from the League at some point, don't you?" you say, smirking. "You're almost certainly going to hear them use the term 'GMILF'. You know what that means, right? You're only, what, 47, right mom? That's not too old, not for a super. Maybe my bad behavior will rub off on you and in a year I'll be helping you take care of a new little bouncing bastard with a much more sensible name."

Molly's mood suddenly darkens and she looks away from you. You frown. "...Hey, come on, I'm just teasing you, mom. I didn't mean it like that. I know that my dad and Eddie both really appreciated that you've always been the responsible one. I think even my shithead of a stepbrother appreciated it. I still say he's going to come crawling back any year now. Did you ever hear anything about him by the-"

"It isn't that." she says, a sudden anguish creeping into her tone of voice and tears forming in her eyes. "I didn't just come here to tell you that I'm going to support you in this. There's something I've always kept from you that I need to finally come clean about, I can't have it on my conscience forever... especially now. I need to tell you something that I've always shamefully kept hidden. Something that is entirely my fault, something I can't possibly admit to your stepfather. And I need you to help me decide what to do."

You're stunned into silence for a moment. What? WHAT? This, you did not see coming. "Hey, uh, Julia?" you say loudly. "Do you think you could go make a food run to Antoine's and pick up some pasta to go for us? One of the things I inherited from my mom along with her great looks and talent for somersaults is a complete inability to cook edible food."