November 1, 2004—the first Monday of the month. Election Day.
Charlie and President Sawyer's odds of winning were admittedly slim, but Bella was family. She had to show up and show support.
Missing the televised debate due to being away on business was forgivable. Missing the actual vote was not.
And it wasn't just Bella. Even Natasha—five months pregnant now, her belly starting to show—had been brought back to Los Angeles for the occasion.
Chanel had been making moves lately. The No. 7 perfume had re-established its name in fashion circles, riding a wave of high-profile exposure funded by serious capital. With that kind of spending, you wanted results, and someone as vain as Bella would never pass up a chance to promote herself. As the industry's reigning style icon, she'd already graced the covers of multiple top-tier Western fashion magazines.
Her celebrity had far outstripped her earlier fame as a bestselling author. With Charlie's camp keeping quiet, the press aimed nearly every question at her.
A Black female reporter called out: "Has Chanel provided illegal campaign contributions totaling one million dollars to President Sawyer's campaign team? Is Chanel involved in money laundering and political dealings?"
Bella glanced sideways at the Chanel CEO standing off to one side—Roderick Kingsley, the future Hobgoblin. Is this a thing? Don't we do our tax evasion in the hundreds of millions? A million? That's barely a rounding error. Who launders that kind of pocket change?
Kingsley shook his head firmly. No such thing.
The question was baseless, pure attention-grabbing with zero evidence. Not worth a response. Kingsley was the sort of man destined to become the Hobgoblin; decency was never part of his makeup. The intensity of his personality was almost pathological. He shot his secretary a meaningful look: remember that reporter's name. We're suing her into the ground. One million? Who do you think you're insulting?
"Miss Swan, are you confident in your father's political campaign?"
Bella's expression was resolute. "Absolutely. I believe my father will win. He'll faithfully carry out his duties as vice president. Our family is his strongest pillar of support."
What else could she say? We're just here for the spectacle? The Vice Presidency is a glorified figurehead position?
"Miss Swan, a well-known Hollywood actor declared his love for you on camera during a talk show. Any comment?"
"Miss Swan, a Stanford professor has challenged the validity of your undergraduate thesis. Will you be pursuing legal action?"
Bella fielded a handful of questions. The rest were loaded traps—one impulsive answer and the media would have their headline.
At the Los Angeles polling station, Charlie delivered a brief speech about trusting the democratic process and encouraging support for President Sawyer and himself. Standard boilerplate. Then the family voted, and they left.
Black hat, dark sunglasses, long overcoat—from the outside, Natasha's condition was invisible. But once they were in the car and the coat came off, the family could see the difference.
Pregnancy out of wedlock was hardly remarkable here. Charlie, as stepfather, wasn't in a position to say much. That left Samantha to ask.
"...Whose is it? Whose child is this?" Her mother was nothing if not direct.
Natasha answered without a shred of hesitation. "Bella's."
Bella—who had been dangling a bottle of Coke in front of little Kitty—nearly spat blood. Her mind went blank. Her neck locked up. She stared at Natasha in horror. That is not what we agreed to say!
Natasha tossed her a flirtatious wink. Relax.
The smug curl of her lips hadn't even faded before Samantha smacked her on the back of the head. "There you go again with the nonsense! You've been like this since you were a child—willful, never listening to a word anyone says... Honestly, there should be a limit to how outrageous you can be. Bella? Ha! You've actually made me laugh." She pointed. "Look—even Kitty's laughing!"
Samantha was already cracking up as she spoke. Little Kitty hadn't picked up many useful skills yet, but reading the room was one she'd probably unlocked while practicing her Bella-flattery routine. Seeing her mother laugh, she giggled along. Then she caught Bella's bizarre expression, and her face scrunched with anxiety. She clamped her mouth shut, lips puckered, eyes darting between the adults.
What is even happening right now? Her tiny brain was drowning in confusion.
Sensing she might have been too sharp, Samantha softened her tone—this was her biological daughter, after all. She took Natasha's hand. "So you're keeping the baby? Were you away these past few months for the pregnancy? No more of that motorcycle and race-car nonsense, you hear me? The child comes first."
Natasha rubbed her mother's back and cooed reassurances, throwing in a dazzling smile at Bella between rounds of fussing. The message was clear: See? I said it straight out and nobody suspects a thing.
Bella bared her teeth at her.
She'd nearly had a heart attack. Thank God no one believed it. Truly... truly tragic.
For them, the pregnancy was monumental. To everyone else, it was just life. Even their parents didn't dwell on it. Independence was the norm here—no tradition of grandparents raising grandchildren. Of course, if Natasha had the baby and didn't have time to look after it, Samantha's door would stay open. Kitty was already in the house, and the two children would only be about a year apart. They could be raised together.
The miniature elephant family was a hit with everyone at home. Papa Elephant, Mama Elephant, and their three tiny calves—adorably stupid-looking, the whole lot of them.
The women were delighted. Even Ironhide, Jazz, and Ratchet—the Autobots bunking at their place—found the little creatures endlessly amusing.
Bella presented her expedition photos to Natasha like a trophy case.
"Who's this man?"
"That's Professor Serizawa. The professor's older than our dad, so you can skip the jealousy."
"And this muscular giant?"
"You've met him before—Hobbs Sawyer. A man whose only love is the weight room."
"This woman looks familiar..."
"That's Shaw. She and Root are... you know. I've told you about them."
Natasha was extremely interested in Bella's adventures. She rubbed her belly and regarded Bella with a look of mild resentment. She'd spent her whole life craving excitement and exploration, and what had she gotten after joining S.H.I.E.L.D.? Villain after villain. The adventure she'd dreamed of was nowhere in sight.
Meanwhile, here she was at five months pregnant, and Bella had just knocked out two back-to-back expeditions, each more thrilling than the last. The unfairness was maddening.
"I'll take you to see Kong when the time's right. He's basically being fed by me now. Not exactly friendly yet, but we can hold a conversation."
The beetle monsters that crawled up through the fissures were covered in parasites, each one the size of a washbasin. Kong didn't have it that bad, but there were still parasites. Contact with a pregnant woman was out of the question right now.