Chapter Text
Gregory’s first memory was a funeral. A little girl named Mary Genevive Edgeworth, his cousin. She had died shortly before his own parents’, which brought him into his aunt and uncle’s care. He was the same age as her, they even looked alike, as cousins sometimes do. Everyone in their small town in rural Virginia didn’t dare ask questions. It was just an awful coincidence, nothing more. To everyone outside their family, at least.
His parents had never died, and the daughter didn’t die, either. At least, not in the traditional sense. Gregory was so lucky to have parents that, despite not fully understanding, still supported him and did the best they could. A forged birth certificate, a new wardrobe, ‘aunt and uncle’ instead of ‘mom and dad.’ They even helped him pick out his new name: Gregory Marcus Edgeworth.
That was how he grew up. He went to school, he made friends, he played sports and roughhoused with the other boys. Things were good. That was, until puberty hit. It was simple enough to hide his changing body from others, but what about the things that wouldn’t change? Noticeable things, like his voice.
He needed to find a way to deepen his voice, fast. That was when one of his friends offered him a cigarette after school—all the boys were starting to smoke, as everyone did back then. He could hear how gruff and manly their voices became, on top of their voices naturally deepening. He quickly accepted, and got hooked.
His voice was definitely more masculine with his tobacco usage, so he accomplished that much. He didn’t appreciate how scratchy it made his throat, but sacrifices had to be made; One more to the list was nothing. Over time, the cigarettes morphed into a coping mechanism for him. Helping him deal with the changes, both to his body and his place in the world, as he neared adulthood. He had been waffling on what he wanted to do with his life all through highschool. He had found a love for law with debate club, but he doubted he would be able to get into any good schools. He still applied anyway.
He needed to get out of his hometown. If he wanted to live how he truly wanted, he needed a place where no one knew him. Gregory loved his parents dearly, he knew they would be keeping in contact. They understood his choices, and helped him in any way they could.
He was accepted to a few colleges dotted across the country—none Ivy League, but he expected as much—and decided on the one with the best law program of them: UCLA. It cost him an arm and a leg to get to California, even with his parents’ help, but he managed. He would finally get to become the man he wanted to be.
He had heard of GRID, and AIDS, but most people at his highschool used… harsher terms. Whispers of a ‘gay disease.’ But moving to Los Angeles dropped him in the thick of it; an AIDS walk had taken place not long before he moved there.
Gregory felt much less alone here than he did in his hometown, being the only transsexual in a hundred-mile radius. People could be more open here, and he found his own community. Being a law major, he offered his help to many people that blurred the lines of gender and sexuality. It was freeing, despite the fear that pervaded many interactions. At least most people didn’t believe it was airborne, anymore.
One of the first things he did in LA was legally change his name. From helping his community, they repaid him by showing him the ropes of the process. They helped him form counterarguments, even preparing mock trials for him. With that, on top of his legal history studies—and case precedent—it was a swift day in court, and he would never hear that name ever again.
Once his name change was posted in a small column in the paper, some people’s attitudes towards him changed. His small community of men and women and others grew, while some classmates ostracized him. But it only took a few months for most people to forget about that small blurb, and eventually even people who did care barely remembered in the first place.
His friends—some clients, some classmates, some met by happenstance—helped him present himself how he wanted. But Gregory didn’t want to just present, he wanted to be. That was how he found out about hormone therapy, but it was extremely hard to come by. He tried going in as a man with a hormonal imbalance, which technically was true, but the Sex: F on his driver’s license thwarted that. A supportive fellow law major even offered to go in with the same plan and give him the supplies, but the shots were done in-office. Gregory was out of options, and his smoking became worse as a result. That was, until a client told him how to get in contact with more… illicit ways of receiving treatment.
The Meraktis Clinic, not-so-secretly run by the mafia, was the go-to for many—medically speaking, everything was above-board, even if the staff were criminals. Gregory hated going against the law like this, but he had no other choice; he promised himself he wouldn’t accept any bribes or deals from them. He wasn’t planning on defending businesses in criminal court, anyway.
With the shots, his voice became naturally deeper. Deeper than it had ever gotten with just tobacco use. His skin became oiler, and he gained more muscle. His period stopped. The fat in his hips moved and redistributed. He didn’t need to hide in ill-fitting clothes anymore, he only had to bind down his chest. With the good the testosterone was doing, Gregory decided to finally quit smoking; he didn’t need it to cope anymore. It took a long while to fully stop, with cravings and relapses, but he finally did it. He could see how gaunt his face was from using cigarettes for so long, but he couldn’t change that now.
Over his teen and young adult years, Gregory’s chest had continued to grow. He hated it. So once he finished law school, he decided he needed to fix that. Better to do it now than when he had a firm to worry about. He got in contact with the Hotti Clinic, which specialized in plastic surgery. He had bought a trenchcoat after graduating as a compromise between professional and body-obscuring, which was fantastic at hiding what remained after binding, but it still didn’t sit right with him. He needed them gone.
And the Hotti Clinic was more than willing to provide, given a little extra: On top of their monetary fee, they asked for his legal counsel should they get in hot water. “What if we get sued for helping people like you?”, was their argument. Gregory did end up agreeing— this clinic wasn’t doing anything outright illegal—and under the knife he went. A weight was off his chest, literally.
After he was fully healed, he finally looked the way he wanted. He had started up his own firm with a bit of help from his parents, he had a good job, he had a home, he had a good life. But there was one thing nagging at the back of his mind throughout the years: he was terribly lonely. Most people still didn’t think transsexual men could be gay, and he didn’t expect men to understand what he was in the first place. Or respect him as a man if they did know.
He couldn’t be caught dead in a gay bar regardless, for fear of a scandal. And his friends from the community were just that, friends.
It would be wonderful to have a lover, but he knew it simply wasn’t in the cards. A relationship may not be in his future, but he could still have a family. A child. For once, Gregory was glad to have the anatomy he had. He had always dreamed of having kids, even back when he was little. Dreams of being a mother, which took quite a while to morph into dreams of being a father, even after he realized he was a boy. He wouldn’t be able to have a one-night-stand even if he did want to, so there was only one choice: artificial insemination. He had just turned 25, he was at a stable point in his life and career to start trying.
Gregory walked into the Novel Conception fertility clinic, and the receptionist immediately asked him if he was there to provide a donation. While that did boost his ego, that was not what he was here for.
“I’m here to discuss fertilization, actually, miss.” He responded as cordially as he could. He produced his driver’s license, pointing to the Sex: F clearly stated at the bottom. Finally that pesky marker was doing him some good.
“Oh! W-Well, we— we can certainly get you an appointment to discuss your potential options!” She was incredibly flustered, but he didn’t turn him away, which was better than he initially suspected. It wasn’t often people like him came in to get pregnant, after all.
He had stopped his testosterone shots as soon as he made the decision to start trying, and he had already had one period since. He didn’t exactly like that he had to stop his hormone therapy for this, but it was necessary. He wouldn’t want to wait too long and end up infertile from it.
“My name is Dr. Deo—” The physician introduced himself, looking up from his clipboard, “but… you can call me Dr. D.” His little joke fell flat when he saw who his patient was, obviously expecting something different. After going through the treatments he’d been through—as well as disclosing that he was a past smoker—the exhaustive physical exam began. Multiple vials of blood taken, and an ultrasound of his uterus to see if he was viable. He left that day feeling violated, but no more than his other gynecological exams. Everyone at the clinic seemed… uncomfortable with him, unsure of what to do regarding him. But they were kind enough.
At his follow-up, they confirmed what Gregory already suspected. “Well, you should have no problem getting pregnant. Your testosterone levels are still high, but since you stopped your hormones that shouldn’t be an issue.” The physician, Dr. Deo, told him, who already seemed to be getting more comfortable with him being here. Treating him more like any male doctor would treat any male patient, rather than the context being at a fertility clinic.
He continued, not looking up from his notes, “Treatment going forward is simple: You’ll be taking a medication to induce superovulation, and then we will go through with IUI with the sperm donation you’ve selected.”
“But— I haven’t chosen a donor yet.” He had been preoccupied with a large case, and thought he would have more time between his appointments here.
“Well, get looking, then! Our clinic is connected to Doe Cryo, though, so you can look through their options.” Gregory left with a large stack of papers of the various sperm donors to choose from, as well as a handful of pamphlets about what to expect during pregnancy.
Over the next month, when he wasn’t busy with his caseload, he looked through the pile of options; He culled it down to a handful that fit his preferences. He was very happy the profiles listed the anonymous donor’s ages, he didn’t want someone old enough to be his grandpa being the father of his child. Even if they would most likely never actually meet.
Eye color, hair color, blood type, and family medical history were listed as well. He wanted someone with similar features to himself, so his child wouldn’t come out looking nothing like him. He finally decided on a candidate who was 30 at the time of donating, tall with black hair and grey-black eyes. Like almost everyone from that bank, this donor wished to remain anonymous. Any child born from a sperm donation could ask to learn about their biological father when they were an adult, though, so it would be his child’s future decision to make. With Gregory’s own decision made, he scheduled his first IUI treatment.
The first round wasn’t exactly pleasant, but no procedures down there ever are. Every two weeks, he would go in to see if he had conceived, and to receive another dose if he hadn’t. He was in his second month of treatment when the ultrasound finally showed something.
“Congratulations are in order! Looks like you’re pregnant!” Dr. Deo proclaimed, showing him the grainy display. “Never thought I’d see that.” He added, quieter.
The physician rolled his chair to a calendar on the wall, doing some mental math. “If everything goes well, you’ll have a baby in your arms by the first week of April, give or take,” He squinted and looked closer. “Hopefully your kid won’t be born on April Fools Day.”
Gregory had many check-ups scheduled to monitor his health and the growth of the baby, but he left the clinic that day happier than he had ever been. After months of trying, he finally got what he always wanted.
As the baby inside him grew, he was hit with what he knew would happen: Strange cravings, body pain, and unstable emotions. He felt incredibly guilty, despite the happiness of being a father. He had distanced himself from his community after graduating, for his own safety. He only remained close with college friends who only knew him as a man, the ones who took him out to guys’ nights at the bar or the bowling alley. But he still saw the names in the paper. The transgender people he had known, met once or twice, listed in the obituaries. He couldn’t tell if they had died from AIDS or some other unfortunate means, but he could draw his own conclusions. He felt terrible, and terrified, and powerless. The government said they would have a vaccine developed in two years, but that was almost a decade ago.
He knew he did all he could. He defended people like him when he could, keeping them out of jail or off the streets. He may not be part of the community anymore, but people still knew he was safe to come to. At this point, most people simply thought of him as a very strong ally. That was all he could do.
Gregory knew to be gentler with himself while he was going through this. How much pregnancy changed a person. Absolutely no one knew he was pregnant, besides the clinic, and he had no one to turn to. He couldn’t go to the bar with his buddies, having to lie about an investigation going long or some other excuse; He couldn’t drink, after all. He knew he would be turned away at the door from any pregnant women’s groups. He was doing this to have a family, yet he was alone through it.
As his baby grew, clients came and went, cases were won and lost. His emotions evened out and became more manageable. He continued his job as best he could, with his belly becoming more and more noticeable and making it harder to do certain aspects of his job. Once again, he was glad his trenchcoat was so good at concealing his body. It had to be one of the best purchases he ever made.
Gregory worked hard to turn his home office into a nursery, though the large bookshelves would have to stay. He’d just work on his cases at the dining table from now on. A crib, a rocking chair, and a baby monitor decorated the room, as well as parenting books and baby toys. He got a baby carrier for the car and to carry them out-and-about. He stocked up on formula, since he had no way of making his own. He was a busy man, juggling everything on top of the mounting exhaustion.
A few weeks before his expected due date, he finally had to close the firm down—he was the only employee—to prepare for the delivery. A note was posted to the front door, the answering machine was changed to reflect his absence; now he was solely focusing on resting. He watched more television than he’d like to admit, and reread many of the books in his collection. He had started reading aloud at some point, and he could feel his baby wriggling at the sound of his voice. He couldn’t do much else, having to lay in bed or sit in his recliner for most of the day. It gave him a lot of time to decide on baby names, though.
He hadn’t been thinking about potential names very much, he had other things to focus on. He had flipped through a few baby books, but that was the extent of his research ‘til now. He had a deadline fast approaching, though.
Atticus was a top contender. Sure, it was the name of a fictional lawyer from a book he enjoyed, but he liked the name! Arabella, Ada, and Sandra were girl names he was considering, after notable female lawyers. But Gregory didn’t want to tie his child down to law. Maybe something with a simple, sweet meaning. He picked up one of his books of baby names, and began skimming, trying to find one that stuck out.
Verity: truth. Alphonse: noble. Cassandra: to shine, to excel. Wilfred: to desire peace. Felicia: lucky, successful. Albert: bright. Liberty: free.
Cassandra definitely felt like a good name for a baby girl. Cassandra Edgeworth. And easy enough to go by Cass, should his child be transgender like him. But he wanted the same for a boy, and that was much harder to find with boy names.
He kept flipping through, until finally a name jumped out at him. Miles: dear, (possibly) soldier. It rolled off the tongue well, and they could go by Miley if they weren’t actually a boy.
He finally decided on names: Cassandra Arabella for a girl, and Miles Atticus for a boy.
He had been having contractions for days. Gregory waited until they were almost too intense to stand, then finally drove himself to the hospital as calmly as possible—not very calm at all, actually—with his hospital bag in tow. He was brought into a triage room to assess how far along he was, then was taken to a delivery room to get situated. They helped him change into a hospital gown, he was hooked up to monitors, and he was given his requested epidural for the pain. Then it was time to play the waiting game.
“Would you like me to stay with you?” His delivery nurse, Carmen, asked, assumedly because he had no one with him for support.
“I— That would be lovely, but I wouldn’t want to take you away from… your work.” Gregory grit out, waiting for the medicine to kick in.
“You are my work, sir. And I have no other patients to wait on at the moment.” She looked over his and the baby’s vital monitors before sitting down in a chair near the bed. “I must say, I’ve never had a patient quite like you.”
“I wouldn’t think so.” He replied drily.
“If you don’t mind my asking—” At his nod, she paused, thinking over her words. “Why did you pursue childbirth? Looking like you do?”
“Because… I wanted a family. Simple as that.” He doubted anyone in his day-to-day life knew he was pregnant, he did his absolute best to hide it. Everyone thought he was a normal man, and that’s how he liked it. “And my anatomy can give me that.” He pushed his unstyled hair off his sweaty forehead.
“Have you thought about what to say if people ask questions about your… sudden baby acquisition?” Carmen asked, raising a red-orange eyebrow.
“I grew up lying about dead parents.” He had never admitted that to anyone, he realized. He shrugged. “It’s easy enough to tell people the child’s mother died.”
“I’m… sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t apologize, it’s what I had to do. Not many other options when you leave with a daughter and come back with a son.” He sighed as the pain began to ebb.
“Well, I’m glad you’re living the life you want, sir.” She stood to retrieve Gregory’s hospital bag when he reached for it, since it was too far away. Something in the room beeped then, and Carmen smiled sheepishly at him. “I guess that’s my cue to leave.” Some other patient must have needed her help. “I’ll have the obstetrician come check on you soon. If you feel an urge to push, or need anything at all, please press the call button there.” She informed him as she headed to the door. “It was very nice meeting you, Mr. Edgeworth. And I can’t wait to meet your baby.”
With the epidural finally working its magic, Gregory quietly read the random book he had thrown in his bag, eventually getting bored and listening to music on his portable radio instead. At least he had the forethought to put a crossword puzzle book in his supplies. The doctor came in an hour or two later to check on him and his progress, but he wasn’t quite dilated enough.
But half an hour later, he frantically pressed the call button as he felt the bed under him get drenched. His water had broken, but the doctor didn’t deem it urgent enough to start delivery just yet. Carmen stayed by his side after that, per Gregory’s request. His body was beginning to go into fight-or-flight mode as the pressure built, he didn’t want to have to think about pressing any buttons.
They made small talk—at least, Carmen tried to. He wasn’t very much of a conversationalist at that moment. “What do you do for a living?”
“Practice law.”
“Ooh, a lawyer. That must be stressful. Well, do you have any hobbies?”
“Reading. Bowling. Baking, sometimes.”
“I could tell, when you had your nose so deep in that book.” She giggled quietly. “Were you thinking about ever having more kids?”
“Absolutely not.” He couldn’t imagine going through this again.
“Yeah, I agree—” Carmen must have noticed something on one of the monitors, because she stood from her seat and pressed the call button for the doctor. He was checked over one last time, and delivery began.
He didn’t remember much through the frantic haze. There were people buzzing around him, telling him to do things, people coming in and out of the room. Everything was wet and sweaty and it felt like he was being split in half. He knew it wasn’t uncommon to need to fix tears done during delivery, and from the pain he wouldn’t doubt he would need that. He didn’t ever want to know what this would have felt like without pain management. He just wanted it to be over with.
After what felt like an eternity—but judging by the clock was actually a half-hour at most—a baby’s cry resounded through the room.
Lying limp and drained on the bed, his legs still in stirrups, he watched as they were gently wiped down and checked over by another nurse. He breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing as the professionals continued to work over him. He didn’t pay them any mind.
He was asked to remove the top of his hospital gown, and a small, pink… thing, for lack of a better word, was laid on his sternum, with a soft blanket draped over them. He held his newborn to his chest and tried to get his breathing under control, as his child did the same.
“It’s a boy, by the way.” Carmen told him as they worked on helping him deliver the placenta, setting a hand on his stomach. Another nurse offered him a tissue, he didn’t realize he had started crying.
Once everything was out of him, his baby was taken away for a few quick assessments while the doctor worked on stitching him up. When his child was brought back into his arms, a nurse gave him a ready bottle to feed the little one.
He looked down at his son. “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Miles.” He kissed his little pink forehead and held his tiny hand as he fed him. He couldn’t be happier.
Miles Atticus Edgeworth was born on April 12, 1992, at 12:08PM.