Within the next week, Dean discovered that this child had apparently inherited one unfortunate trait from Theodore.
The ability to make pregnancy deeply inconvenient.
The nausea stopped being occasional.
It became creative.
Coffee was impossible before ten in the morning, despite Dean having once considered it a basic human requirement. Eggs were worse. Toast was acceptable unless somebody added butter, at which point his stomach reacted as though he had been personally poisoned.
One afternoon, he opened the refrigerator, smelled cold chicken from the night before, and closed the door so quickly that Ducky jumped.
The worst offender was Minerva's favorite winter tea.
Dean had drunk it for years.
Now the scent of citrus peel and cloves made him leave rooms.
Seven listened to the list during a routine appointment with the calm expression of a physician who had apparently heard worse.
"Any vomiting?"
"Twice."
"Keeping food down?"
"Most of it."
"Weight?"
"Stable."
