Guessing Game
My lovely little Ghost pregnancy not short Drabble.
Word Count: 7.7k
- - -
Moments of silence with your husband were usually tranquil and serene in the comforts of your own home. It was rare for the aura between you both to be fueled with unbridled tension and hesitation to even breathe properly.
The two of you said nothing for the longest time in the sanctuary of your living room, on your comfortable couch. In the silent man’s hand, he held a test, which he proceeded to set down on the coffee table in front of him.
Positive.
A little pink sign on a tiny screen, bright as day, staring at you both like a sore thumb.
That’s supposed to be a good thing, Positives usually mean good things. Happy, joyful, erratic, exciting. Good.
Positives however, can also be scary, terrifying, petrifying.
Your heart sank deep into the bottom of your stomach, a dreadful ache following suit that lingered as every minute passed in this silence.
You hated it, but you didn't know what to say.
It started off as an odd feeling, just a couple of days ago. A bit of dizziness in the morning, a slight queasiness after, but nothing more. You blamed it on allergies, or a migraine due to lack of proper sleep, anything but that single, simple idea of what it could’ve been.
The signs grew more unquestionably obvious with every day passed, the sickness, the shift in your emotions, the sinking feeling as the possibility grew more and more intense with each passing hour.
You went out during a grocery run, and couldn't stop yourself from arriving at a pharmacy, heading towards that one particular aisle containing just what you needed.
You didn’t even know when or how-
You stopped yourself right there. You’d be an absolute fool if you considered finishing that thought for a sentence.
You know how it happened, of course you knew. Question was, you couldn’t exactly remember when. It sort of happened quite often.
Just for good measure, you had also bought three other boxes, which were currently jumbled in your bathroom sink, each revealing the same exact message.
A part of you, a tiny part of you, buried underneath all the stomach burning anxiety and dread of this new onset reality was kind of delighted, excited in fact, bringing forth upon you a wish you never realized you’d forgotten about. One you believed you had no right to have after the life you lived.
To have a baby with the man you loved, truly loved. A fair amount of the population’s absolute dream.
An honest, beautiful dream, but for all you knew, it was only yours. At one point, not once did you ever think if it was his dream as well.
That was until a few weeks ago once it was brought up, during a late-night discussion in bed.
“How do you feel about a baby?”
An honest, curious question had never made the man stiffer in his life, feeling his hands on you grow stiff like dead branches before he released you, catching you completely by surprise.
The both of you were stable, financially at least. Emotionally however, all that bustled through Simon’s head were the great cons that outweighed the pros.
An honest, simple question turned into a forty-minute discussion over both your heavy worries and concerns. His concerns, his fears, his terror of bringing a version of himself to this dangerous, unpredictable world of chaos and death, bred by the man who enjoyed creating such.
You reassured him constantly, by then just wishing to end the topic then and there. An honest question grew too harshly awkward, painfully dragged out at the realization that Simon may not have wanted children at all.
It was a thorn you shouldn’t have pricked your finger on, so you were content to step back and let the topic go.
Simon’s face, brows contorted with distress still, realized your ache at this discussion. You didn’t wish to scare him, and the last thing he wanted was to scare you, which was exactly what he was doing.
When it came to you, his heart softened at the reality of you being the doe eyed mother of his child, born with your love and beauty, your charisma and valor. A headstrong boy or girl with a mother like you to guide them along the way, this world lacked that kind of bond in the places no one dares to check.
“Is this something you want?” Simon finally speaks his mind, concerned over what was going through yours.
Immediately, you begin to release everything, slowly listing out a series of options that came to the top of your head, ones he wasn't expecting to hear. Going to a clinic, figuring out your options, that sort of thing if he didn’t want the baby.
Simon immediately stops you from speaking further.
“Forget about me for just a second,” Simon states, realizing he may have come off too harshly on this matter towards you, potentially giving you the wrong idea.
“What about you?” He asks in a calm, softened tone. Me?
“Is this something you want?”
You hesitate, glancing everywhere but him as your fingers clench at the bedsheets.
His hand takes yours, his other lightly sweeping through your hair. “Tell me the truth. I won’t force this on you.”
You look him in the eyes, those eyes you absolutely adored.
Oftentimes, you hear him say he doesn’t deserve you, but sometimes you can’t help but find him adorable for him being blatantly unaware of when you think in vice versa to this.
His consideration on your behalf melted your heart to its very core.
“I’ve always wanted this, Simon.” You admit, unable to hold back the tears as you look down.
“At one point in my life, I never even thought of it, but lately… “ You huffed out a weak laugh, wiping your soaked cheeks with the back of your fingers.
“I don’t know, I’ve always wanted to be a mom, but there’s so many worries I have.”
“Like what?” He asked.
“If I’d even be a good mom,” you proceeded, the tears continuing to fall. “If I could even take that responsibility, if the man I thought I’d marry when I wanted to grow up would be there alongside me all the way and have a cute little family.”
The dreadful worries began to crowd your head, much against your better judgment. If you’d carry them to full term, if Simon would stay the entire way, if he second guessed and didn’t want the baby any longer, or if something happened to the baby?
He holds you close, cradling your head close. Softly, he hushed against your forehead, his nose pressed against the crown of your hair.
“But, what if you don’t want-“ you proceeded, feeling his head shake against your head.
“No,” he stops you. “Don’t say that, love.”
He goes quiet, growing lost in his thoughts as you continuously sniffle, patiently wiping your eyes repeatedly. His comforting hug felt so stiff, so foreign, so tense. You always melted in his embrace, but the hesitation that flooded your bones prevented you from doing so.
“I don’t know if I can hold that responsibility of bein’ a good father.” He brings himself to admit, a personal truth that hurts even him to exhale it. Maybe it’s the shock still setting in that makes him say this, but it's still pure, brutal honesty.
Your heart sinks at those words. Even if you were to try to convince him that you could physically see him pacing around a pink or blue tinted nursery, swaddling a baby in his broad arms, he’d never see it that way, feeling himself incapable of clutching something so delicate and pure in his hands.
Never did he see himself being a good father, compared to the life he had, but your words gave him a bit of an epiphany.
If the man you wanted to marry during your childhood’s hopeful dreams was going to remain to help raise a beautiful child and have a happy family, that didn’t mean you’d be doing it alone. He’d take on this role, and he wanted to stay beside you, regardless of it all.
A child with your eyes sounded wonderful. It was interesting really, you were thinking the exact same about him, the excitement and anxiety deep down in both your stomachs still.
“But I want to try,” Simon admits, holding your hands securely in his.
- - -
“Can we start this over?” You spoke up, breaking through this painfully tense silence you’ve felt unable to sit through for a second longer.
He quietly nodded, watching you rise up, plucking the test from the coffee table before walking out of the living room.
You stopped in the middle of the hallway, feeling your fingers trembling as your nerves refused to settle.
This wasn’t how you wanted this to go. You wanted to surprise him in some cuter, more innocent way, but he had caught you completely by surprise as you opened the bathroom door, finding Simon standing on the other side.
Seeing his head tilt down and catch a glimpse of that test immediately destroyed every possible opportunity to surprise him, though you knew it was something you couldn’t be disappointed at forever.
Taking a calm breath, you gather up all the excitement you could muster in your body before turning around, quickly heading back towards the living room entryway.
Before you could muster a word, you were met with a strong wall of warm, black shirt clad muscle, your husband enveloping you in his broad arms, clutching you like his only saving grace.
Simon heard your laugh erupt from your lips, this sudden gesture catching you by surprise as you hugged him back, feeling your feet lift off the floor once you secure your arms around his neck.
With your happiness came tears, joining in with your wide smile. Simon’s eyes glistened with pure, raw emotions, consisting of adoration and raw, unfiltered love the second he looked into your eyes before flooding you with passionate kiss after kiss.
He was scared though. He would always be scared, but for now, he turned his walls into open gates, allowing you to flood his very being with warmth and light, feeling the happiest he’s ever been, following second to his proposal to you.
“A little you,” he muffled against your lips after kissing you for a final time.
“A little you,” you repeated with a giggle.
“With those pretty eyes of yours.” You whisper up to him, grazing your free hand against his cheek once he set you down.
“Christ save me if it has your attitude,” He mutters against your forehead before placing another kiss on it, forcing a snort from your nose in amusement.
That night, he brought you flowers and your favorite chocolates, promising to take you out to eat at your favorite restaurant the next evening. Even after all this time, he still wasn’t a fan of public places, but this was such a celebration, he would do it all in the name of you.
5 weeks.
It wasn’t enough for an ultrasound worth seeing to check for something exciting beyond the size of a pearl or rice grain, but now there was something here. Someone there, and it would soon rely on the two of you to protect it, to love and cherish it.
This would mean you would have to be away from your military lifestyle, taking on this new role while Simon continued on with his. You had to admit you were jealous, especially as the wave of maternal thoughts continuously reminded you of this new position.
With this blessing came so many worries. Simon would have to continue his lifestyle, meaning he’d be gone for long periods of time. How could you cope exactly with this? What would happen, especially after the baby was born?
Maybe you were just thinking ahead.
Only time would really tell if you were true to your word of physically and mentally preparing for it.
Your only regret for the moment was not preparing an adorable pregnancy reveal surprise for him, though time will tell if you have a chance to make up for it.
- - -
You were craving s’mores, but not just any s’mores.
You were dying for that crispy, burnt marshmallow taste, but despised the idea of smoke from a campfire, your nose suddenly souring at the thought, and the rainy weather outside had been unforgiving these past few weeks.
You’ve taken to baking a lot lately these past few evenings, scattered along the last few weeks, keeping your area lit up with the warm stovetop light, melding perfectly with the cozy ambience of your kitchen.
Your kitchen had been your experiment room, your science lab, smelling of rich chocolate and burnt marshmallows as you set your clear glass pan onto a heat protected surface, closing your oven with a gloved hand.
A Graham cracker crust, a rich, fudgy brownie filling, and marshmallow fluff that toasted delightfully on top, thanks to the broiler in your oven.
They were just a more aesthetically pleasing version of slutty brownies, delicious looking ones at least.
21 weeks in, the changes were growing ever so obvious. Your abdomen grew a bit plush, but still thankfully secured under the sanctuary of Simon’s gray t-shirt.
Since you woke up this morning, all you craved was brownies. But fuck it, it was a better craving than something sick, like ice cream and soy sauce, or some other horridly confusing craving you discovered other pregnant women had.
Don’t even bother trying it.
“You gonna finish it this time?” Simon piqued as he stood at the other end of your kitchen counter, watching you cut into this delectable creation, hearing the crunch of the graham crackers as fudgy chocolate and gooey marshmallow clung to your knife from the cut.
It was in the oven for about fifty minutes, but the possibility of raw eggs was nothing compared to the amount of sugar in this invention. At the very least, he made sure you had eaten proper, healthier food throughout the day until now, so satisfying this craving wouldn’t truly hurt every now and then.
“Of course, I will,” you looked up at him after plating four sizable slices on the plate, bits of melted marshmallow coating your fingers of your opposite hands. “You think this is all just for me? You’ve wanted s’mores just as much as I have.”
You tilted your head to the stove, gesturing towards the kettle that whistled for attention during your discussion. “I want some of that earl grey tea too, please.”
You say that because he usually doesn’t drink sweetened tea with his desserts, that was his given fancy. Plain tea cuts through the sweetness perfectly.
“Alright, as long as you only eat two of those. That much sugar will drive you up the damn walls.” Simon mentioned while gathering two mugs from the top cupboard, setting them on the counter.
“Bite me, Riley.” You muttered in amusement, clutching hold of the tray with a still gloved hand while making the final cuts to your dessert.
“I have. Can still see it from here, love.” His voice trailed into your ear from behind you as he passed by, his form lightly, yet innocently brushing along your backside to get the earl grey from another cabinet.
You smiled, a tint of color flushing your cheeks as you licked the remnants off the side of the knife before placing it in the sink.
It was silly, really. With sugar, came the surge of arousal. Hormones really loved to mess with your mind and turned you from his ever doting, needy little wife into his ever doting, needy little wife. It was a tough price to pay.
Tough price to pay indeed.
- - -
“Once this baby sees you, an’ once it touches your skin, they’ll see you as their entire perfect world.” His lowered tone rumbled deliciously from his throat, trailing along the skin of your neck in a similar fashion to his hands.
“You’ll be a wonderful little mother.” He mutters this promise to you, this elegant truth, whether your mind allows it to be believable or not.
Simon’s soothing words mumbled along the shell of your ear, his arms secured around you like a shield of comfort, more secure than any soft blanket after being tossed in the dryer.
You were fresh out of a warmed bath, warm enough to sleep in without being scalding, scented with your favorite bath soaps and oils, turning you into a glistening queen as he sat beside the tub to keep you company, talking about anything and everything to your heart’s content until the water was bordering the edges of lukewarm and cold.
You seemed more concerned over how you appeared as time passed, as if Simon would ever view you any less than desirable. He didn't understand this sudden change in attitude at first, viewing you as nothing more than a diamond after spending decades trapped in coal. Pure, utter perfection bred from years of mind melding pressure from the eyes of the world.
Scars or not, your changing body was gorgeous to him, going through a beautiful process to nurture your growing child.
Simon’s war weathered hands worked wonders along your skin, massaging along your shoulders down to your legs, working the muscles that would eventually grow swelled with time. He never minded this, knowing you’d deserve everything you deserve and more for this laborious task of carrying his child.
Old Friends of yours, and the internet of course, recommended that moisturizing was key during pregnancy, to combat those stretch marks.
The sweet almond oil was merely a plus, as well as the vanilla scented cocoa and shea body butter you used to seal in the moisture. You glistened like an absolute goddess, perfuming his dreams as he cradled you close at night.
It was even working on him, his hands always felt a little bit softer after such a routine each evening.
“An’ before you know it, our little kid will be drinkin’ their tea through their sippy cups.”
A small smile tickled the corners of your lips, a short, amused snort leaving your nose from the comment.
There it was, that smile that Simon adored so much.
A part of him knew that this wouldn’t be the last time these raging hormones would drag you down, but what good was a husband if not an anchor to your worries and concerns?
- - -
“Just one sip?”
“No.”
“But Si-“
“No.” Came his firm reply yet again, all while reading through today’s mail.
Wine. You wanted wine. You craved it desperately, but you couldn’t have it.
Whatever idiotic, controversial topic you had read off your phone or heard from one of your girlfriends was something he wished he could rip from your head and shove it back to where it belonged.
He knew you liked wine, particularly sweet ones, and was aware you had very well missed it, but regardless, he was dreadfully against it.
He cut back on cigarettes for his baby, so like hell any single drop of alcohol was going to touch your tongue, even if it was just for a taste.
Simon got you sparkling grape cider after you spent two days complaining, but it wasn’t the same. Who cares? It was sweet and didn’t have alcohol.
“But the doctor said-“
“The bloody doctor’s not here, is he?!” Simon’s voice raised instantly, leaving you stunted as he glared at you from the corner of his eye. Like hell you were going to use that no-good doctor’s words as an excuse.
You groaned, rolling your head back before stomping out of the kitchen.
“Fuck you, Riley!” You shouted at him from down the corridor before shutting yourself in the bedroom.
“Love you as well,” he mutters, gathering the ripped open envelopes in his hands.
The silly stories of men being concerned, if not frightened for their wives’ outbursts sounded absolutely absurd. If anything, he tried his very best to hold back any sign of amusement, any twitch of a smile or accidental huff of laughter at how adorable you looked being irritated over something you couldn't have.
It’s not the worst he’s seen you before, but thinking that now, he wasn't sure if he was speaking too soon.
You’ll get over it.
- - -
“You’ll be a wonderful father, Simon.” You reassured him, remaining by his side as a subtle roar of thunder echoed in the horizon from miles away.
30 weeks, 30 weeks and the broad, physical changes started to set in.
The bump stretched through most of his shirts, but you were more than content to be comfortable in his black hoodie. You found him after dinner outside after he had done the dishes, leaning on his crossed arms against the porch fence, a lit cigarette in his hand as he took in the storm’s afterglow ambience.
You rubbed his forearm soothingly, settling your hand against his open palm as his fingers relaxed from the touch of yours.
You knew he still struggled with the new mentality of this reality.
Every day, you saw it flash across his eyes once or twice a day, leading him to disappear every so often for minutes at a time to gather his bearings. Ten minutes grew into thirty, evolving into him remaining on your front porch for an hour, watching the rain fall merely inches in front of his face.
“I never saw myself bein’ a father,” he admits slowly after such a long silence, his lowered tone almost muffled by the storm.
You nod to his confession, despite the burn in your heart to hear it.
He says this due to his mother’s words, an echo of a memory voicing through his thoughts from so long ago.
“He’s your father and there’s always gonna be a piece of him in you.”
The thought alone was more terrifying than his fear of you going into labor if he wasn’t around.
If the bastard was alive, he’d make sure he’d stay dead in a ditch far from society, making it impossible for him to ever learn of his child’s name, preventing him from even mentioning it in crude vain.
“But seein’ you like this,” He continues on, giving your fingers a gentle squeeze, “Seeing you carry my child, our child I mean, made me realize exactly why.”
You nodded slowly again, feeling a bit more considerate to his truth. He didn’t need to voice it, for it was a truth you’d known for quite a long time. You didn’t need to know a cruel, heatless man to understand that your husband was nothing of the sort, not by a long shot.
“You’re not your father, Simon.” You squeeze his hand as you say these words, feeling his gaze trail to yours.
“You know not what to do, how not to act, and I know it's not going to be easy, but I’m here too,” You gently encourage him, trying your best to keep hopeful for him to see what you saw.
“We’ve got each other, right? And like you said, once they see you, they’re gonna view you as the perfect father.”
Simon wondered how he got so lucky to have a woman like you in his life, sporting a gentle love he had only known from his mother.
Stepping away from the railing, Simon lowered his hand along the smooth fabric shielding your belly. Smoothing his palm against it, his eyes followed your fingers as they trailed along his inked tattoos, mindlessly swirling over the patterns as you stepped closer to him.
“We should get ready for bed. Now come inside, I’m not supposed to be breathing this stuff in.” You softly say to him, meeting his nod as he chucked out the cigarette towards the puddles of mud out in the yard, before pressing a kiss to your forehead.
“You chose to come out here.”
“Because my husband needed his wife and child to remind him how much we love him.”
- - -
“What is that?” You ask from the entryway to the kitchen the next morning, lured in by a new scent melding with the usual aroma of ground coffee and toast.
“Food.” He curtly replied, standing in front of the stove.
The fragrant, slightly spicy smell was delightful to you, but you weren’t sure about what it was. You had an idea, but you dreaded what it could’ve been. Maybe that’s why your husband stood the way he did at the stove, purposely blocking your view from the pan.
“Simon, what is it?” You asked again, your curiosity getting the better of you.
His head craned a little, sparing you a glance over his shoulder, seeing you slightly hidden behind the wall. “You won’t like it.”
“Just tell me what it is.”
“Black pudding.”
“Oh.” The contorted face you made immediately confirmed your views on it.
“Want to try?” Simon offered as he glanced back towards the pan.
“No.” He expected that response. You were content with everything he enjoyed in a full English breakfast except that, everything but that.
“Y’sure?” He piqued while plating both your foods, setting the pan back on the stove before setting one of the plates down on the table. He motioned for you to sit with a tilt of his head, watching you hesitantly approach.
He plated the so-called monstrosity on both your plates, knowing very well you couldn’t deny the hunger, despite being well aware of your thoughts for it. Won’t like it until you try, at least.
“Why does it look like that?” Your nose almost scrunched at it as you sat down.
“Cause it’s made with blood, love.” Simon states while filling up two mugs with hot beverages. “Good for ya.”
The look you gave him made it almost impossible to hide a smile any longer.
“Won’t disappear the longer you keep starin’ at it,” Simon chimed after watching you prod at your eggs once he sat down.
“Why’d you do this to me?’ You looked at him with a bit of a pout, frowning at his held back smirk as you proceeded to put your portion onto his plate. Christ, you’re like a little child with steamed veggies.
“Cause it smells good, yeah?” Damn him for knowing that.
You shrug. “I guess.”
“Won’t cause harm in tryin’ it,” Peering back down at his plate, he worked at his own helping, hopefully taking this opportunity to change your mind on what he viewed as essential to an english breakfast.
“Here.” He offered a tiny amount on the tip of a fork to you. You hesitated, your head retching back like a kid avoiding a foul-tasting medicine.
It looked so horrid to you, even if it did look like charred, sliced sausage, but it smelled incredible.
“C’mon, or I’ll keep ya at the table.”
He sounded so strange when he teased, his jokes as terrible as this blood pudding appeared. Nevertheless, you opened your mouth, accepting the food.
“It’s spicy.” You mutter as you chew slowly. By now, Simon couldn't hold back his amusement any longer, watching you swallow before glancing back at your plate, particularly towards the now vacant spot beside the tomatoes.
“Still hungry?” He pried.
You nodded. There were many other tasty options for you right in front of you, but as you picked up your fork, you refrained from selecting anything else.
“What do you want?” He questioned after noting your continued silence.
“That.” You muttered almost shamefully.
“What?”
“That.” You craned your head to motion at the black pudding still on his plate.
A fraction of a smirk formed on his face as he placed it back onto your plate, a low chuckle leaving him. “Good, right?”
“I guess.” You shrugged before putting a more sizable piece in your mouth, almost looking ashamed to eat it.
You weren’t ashamed for eating a peanut butter sandwich with pickle slices in it. How is this worse?
It was truly amusing, if you weren’t pregnant, you wouldn’t even be in the kitchen at this very moment.
“This a new craving now?” Simon couldn't help asking midway through you popping another piece in your mouth, hearing you muffle in agreement while covering your mouth.
“Our little one’s a true Brit now, yeah?”
“Don’t say that ever again.” You chuckled into your hand, cutting another sizable piece with your fork. Simon couldn’t be more amused and ever so happy that you were his wife and mother to his child.
- - -
The anxiety of the small baby shower that was soon to happen later on in the day prevented you from getting a good night’s rest, so you settled to do your favorite little hobby: baking, at six in the morning.
Specifically, making specialty cupcakes for the party.
Usually, you would’ve used boxed mix for that quick fix, but in this case, you did what you called “doctoring up” the cake mix.
An extra egg, swap the amount of water for milk, and use the good vanilla paste from Mexico.
He walked in on you shutting the oven after checking on the baking goods, the warm vanilla swirling deliciously in the air alongside fresh brewed coffee, lightly fogging up the kitchen window in front of the sink.
Six months.
Six months went by so terribly fast. With every passing day, you beamed with motherhood soon to come, spending your days as comfortable and as lazily as possible.
Those cupcakes would soon eye him every time he opened the fridge later today, making the mystery of the truth grow all the more curious in his head.
Only you knew the true gender, a secret you guarded very well the moment you two were alone after the doctor’s visit.
“You’re banned from the kitchen once I start frosting, you know.” You spoke up, showing him a little smile as you pulled out multiple sticks of butter from the fridge, setting them on the warm stove so they’d come to room temperature faster.
“More concerned for you walkin’ around half asleep.” He approached you, watching you huff and shake your head. “I’m fine-”
“Now now, don’t wanna hear any of it.” Simon gently takes you in his arms from behind, feeling you sigh against his chest before relaxing in his embrace.
Slowly, he trailed his hands down over your belly, cradling the underside of your swollen, unborn child.
His favorite activity, his most cherished act to do during his pastime, regardless of where the two of you were, was to hold them. To rest his hands along where he imagined little hands would press, or little feet that would kick back against.
He’d lightly rest his head against the side of your tummy in silence, feeling your fingers comb through his hair as you watched with content, seeing his facial muscles relax, his brow lowering in various thoughts of how their child would look like. These silly, innocent little thoughts always lulled him to sleep, temporarily banishing any and every harsh, dark thought that threatened to overtake him.
“You sure you wanna do this?” You softly ask, hinting towards the baby shower later this evening.
The baby shower was a shared idea between you and Kate’s wife, who began calling a few times a week to check up on you, taking a sort of maternal role on your behalf, providing a fair amount of support without being overbearing.
He was never one for parties. Public parties, anything that involved more than five people at least. But he knew all who were arriving and worked alongside most of them through thick and thin, they may as well be a sort of second family.
Simon had stepped plenty out of his comfort zone alongside you these past few months, doing grocery runs with you, eating out when neither of you felt like cooking, attending local events so you didn't feel cooped up in the house too often, despite Simon’s silent persistence that he would’ve preferred you to remain at home, except for the occasional doctor’s visit.
This baby shower will be here at home, a nice little event where everyone can have fun and bring the baby gifts. After learning what it meant, he couldn’t rob you of that experience.
“I’ll be alright,” He settles your worries, taking a gentle hold of your shoulders to guide you towards the door. “You need rest, love. Get a few hours to yourself, I’ll wake you for your breakfast.”
“Wait,” You tried to stop your steps, despite Simon insisting you continue walking forward.
“Make sure the cupcakes are taken out after fifteen minutes-”
“Will do.”
“And just set them on the-”
“Heat proof pans,” Simon confirmed, “I know. Go get your rest, love.”
- - -
You’ve never seen Simon so relaxed after a delicious dinner, sitting with most of the men in the living room, sharing a couple of beers, the good beers that Soap had brought for the party, conversing happily over various topics and stories, catching up after some lost time.
Through every shared chuckle, every change in subject between the men, Simon couldn't help but shift his attention over towards his wife, standing with Kate and her beloved, chattering your head off while mindlessly resting your hand over the baby bump.
You looked so vibrant, glowing in extravagant excellence. You wore a loose light pink dress that went past your knees, with comfortable, soft puffy sleeves. Tons of tiny blue flowers decorating the fabric of the skirt, accommodating your pregnant tummy beautifully.
You sipped a sparkling elderflower mocktail, thanks to an elderflower nonalcoholic beverage Simon had gotten you that you actually enjoyed.
Alejandro and Rodolfo arrived around four in the evening, apologizing profusely for being two hours late, but the fact that they even arrived had significantly warmed your heart.
“There’s no way we’d miss this special day, Princesa,” Alejandro stated after sharing a warm, heartfelt hug.
In Rodolfo’s hands he carried a large gift, a baby gift set his sisters had made for you, decorated in various yellows and soft, pastel greens, with kisses of pink and blue, a giant mystery to what the baby’s gender might’ve been. It gladly joined the rest of the presents that piled up in the corner of the room, remaining untouched until a particularly exciting event took place.
Kate’s wife immediately helped take the gift to add towards the pile. She had been an absolute dream with you, being as mindful as Simon, if not more than him, when it came to your needs. Arriving a half hour before the party began, helping with dinner, making sure you didn't stand for so long to rest your sore feet.
She was the apple of Kate’s eye, their relationship making you smile delightfully each chance you could.
“So, what’re you gonna do about the job?” Soap couldn't help but ask Simon, a question lingering in the air like a shadow.
Despite Simon never once minding the fact that he stayed home for you, there was the inevitable possibility that he’d have to go back to work, which meant he’d be far out of his family’s reach.
He hated it, the thought alone shooting a sour taste over his tongue. He couldn't avoid the topic forever, but it was a discussion he’d need to have with you. It wouldn't be a pretty one, but he had to have it at some point.
“Don’t quite know yet, Johnny.” He replied, glancing back over towards his wife before looking towards the Sergeant. “An’ I’d appreciate it if its not brought up again.”
“No no,” Soap held up a hand in calm defense, “I get it. Honest, wouldn't blame ya if you stayed. Doubt she’d let yer ass through the door.”
Simon huffed, slightly joining in on the man’s chuckle. That’s a level of unbridled new mother rage he’s hoping he’d never get to see.
“Are these it?” Gaz called your attention from the kitchen, holding the tray of cupcakes you kept in the freezer.
“Yep! It is.” You cheerfully replied, getting Kate to gather the men towards the dining room, either filling up the limited chairs or standing around. Simon was adamant on giving you a seat to rest in, but after some quick, hushed words, you convinced him to sit down, remaining by his side once the cupcakes were passed out with little napkins.
“So, what’s the game here?” Alejandro questioned, taking the cupcake once you offered it before passing it along to someone else.
“The game is we each take a bite and tally up the color we get. Odd color wins, gentleman. Place your bets now.” Kate announces, hearing Gaz huff while peering towards the Scotsman, muttering a few hushed words.
“Ah ah ah! Not literally, you idiot!” You quickly speak out, going against Soap, who purposely leaned back against his seat to pull out his wallet.
He snickered, purposefully acting the way he did to simply get a rise out of you, finding every chance he could incredibly amusing.
“No bets at my baby shower, John.” You ordered, watching him raise his hands in playful submission.
The man himself wore a dark blue shirt. As blue as the Scottish flag, he had stated after giving you a hug when he arrived. Despite the idea of a boy, he did mention a girl would be just as, if not, even more delightful a thought.
He could see any child the both of you had absolutely loved to death regardless, not only by its parents, but by everyone else who came to show their support.
The man himself offered to begin this little game, the suspense forcing him to chuckle as he bit into the cupcake, causing cold buttercream to smear the tip of his nose.
His eyes significantly widened the second he looked down, quickly turning around for the others to view the small pocket of pink hidden underneath the dome of piped frosting.
A small chorus of laughter and cheers erupted from the table, watching the man gather himself as he set the cupcake down, licking the frosting from his lips.
Gaz was next, helping himself to the cupcake in front of him. He took a more interesting approach, proceeding to bite into the frosting rather than the cake, revealing the purposefully pastel blue dyed frosting, casting a smile upon the man’s face as the color matched the light blue button up he wore.
“Alright! We got a boy!” He announced, chuckling along with a few others before he set it down.
“Unless you’re jestin’ us and hinting that yer havin’ twins.” Soap added in while licking his thumb of frosting after enjoying another bite.
The strain and hesitant laughter that came from you was forced, feeling your hand give Simon’s a decently firm squeeze, quietly reveling in the secret blessing that it wasn’t. It was interesting enough learning from just one, you wouldn't know what you would’ve felt with the possibility of twins.
Up next was Rodolfo, who had worn a white long sleeve, but that didn’t stop him from scoring a dark blue bracelet he had lifted up in defense to failing the dress code, something you didn’t hold against him. He held up his cupcake, presenting it like a trophy to reveal the pocket of blue underneath, cheering with the others.
“Oye, you should sell these. Open up a little bakery,” He proposed before taking another bite, watching you smile and giggle. It was good to see your love for baked goods get appreciated by others. It definitely saved money from buying them elsewhere.
Your altered taste buds despised the store-bought stuff anyway.
Alejandro wore a light pink button up with rolled up sleeves, biting into his cupcake once his turn came around. His eyes widened at the blue frosting, faking a pitiful look of sadness before chuckling it off in amusement.
“Really pushing it on a boy so far!” He chuckled, shortly agreeing with Rodolfo’s comment on how tasty the cupcake was. All it was missing was a hot cup of coffee and he was set.
Kate’s wife wore a pastel pink sweater vest over a white shirt, biting into a pink cupcake to her absolute delight, almost tearing up herself over the welcomed match. Kate herself had gotten a blue cupcake, matching coincidentally well with her blue scarf resting around her neck.
“In our defense,” Kate’s wife states while clutching her beloved’s hand, “We’ll love who they are regardless!”
“They’ll be getting spoiled either way,” Kate added in, chuckling along with the flat-out truth.
Price wore a cerulean shirt, but gladly accepted your request to pin a pink little bow on the far right of his shirt collar.
By now, as the buttercream came to room temperature, a bit of pink tinted frosting clung to his mustache after his bite, but chuckling to the realization of this little mishap didn't bother him in the slightest.
“Well, look at that!” He chuckled as you quickly handed him a few extra napkins. “I’m on the same boat, they’re gettin’ absolutely spoiled by all their aunts and uncles.”
“Sure thing, Gramps.” Gaz pitched, purposely avoiding the captain’s gaze, hiding his smile in his own hand.
“That’s a name they’ll be calling you in about a year or two,” You pitched in, smiling at the smirk that inevitably spread across the captain’s face after the comment.
“Your turn, dear.” Price gestured to you, leaving you to nod along with excitement, despite already knowing the truth.
As basic as it was, you’ve never held so much disdain for this simple vanilla cupcake, this painfully bland dessert, especially when it came to the multiple test cupcakes you’ve made prior.
The toughest challenge was making the buttercream thick and pearly white, hiding the color underneath perfectly.
You’d be more than happy to make any other cupcake rather than this tragically boring mess, leading you to simply tear open the cake in your hands without tasting it, revealing to the crowd the flush of pink underneath vanilla sponge and frosting.
The tally was set.
An even number of four on four so far, all that was left was the final cupcake to break the tie, the final cupcake that sat in front of Simon.
Simon wore dark gray, insisting that it didn’t matter to him what gender the baby was, he’d love them regardless, just as everyone else. He didn’t want to think ahead and assume too fast, too nervous at the high expectations, keeping all those thoughts bottled up until he learned the truth.
He didn't realize just until now how much pressure was placed on his shoulders, being the last man at the table, a plethora of pink and blue cupcakes flooding his eyes, down to the simple, plain cupcake in front of him.
Sweet frosting coated his taste buds once he took a bite, the room dreadfully quiet after this action.
The suspense grew thicker and thicker, all eyes on him as his wife’s hand settled on his right shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze, soothing his heartbeat drumming in his ears.
Licking his lip, he glanced down at the cake in hand, unable to wait any longer.
Right there, in the center of the swirl of thick, smooth buttercream, topped with round pink and blue sprinkles was a soft, flush pastel pink pocket of icing.
Never in his life had he been so delighted to see such a color.
You watched Simon’s eyes light up, almost wider than saucers at the discovery. You stared at him with your hands over your mouth, a bright smile hidden underneath your fingers, your eyes flushed pink with hot tears.
“It’s a girl!” You quickly state towards the others before he could turn it around, watching multiple eyes light up, followed by large amounts of cheers and applause, those who sat rising from their seats instantly.
Simon had risen so fast from his seat, almost causing the furniture to tumble over as he secured you tightly in his arms, feeling your tears of joy dampen his shirt sleeve. His head buried deep into your neck, his light scruff prickling your skin as he purposefully hid his face from everyone who cheered in congratulations.
With your growing belly, Simon found holding you close to be a more endearing action as the days went by. Before the both of you knew it, your little girl would be squeezing between the two of you, urging to join in on such a hug, simply for the surge of attention from her parents.
Your fingers clung to his shirt, your ragged breathing muffled against his shoulder. Beneath the excitement, he heard you mutter to him how much you loved him dearly, repeating these words over and over. In response, he urged you to shift your head just enough so he could take you in a long, heartfelt kiss, before returning to you the same hushed words against your lips.
How you loved each other so. Simon never wanted to be away from you, the thought growing now more than ever.
He remained facing away from the crowd after you were let go, your attention immediately taken aside by Kate’s wife, who trapped you in a tight hug.
“Ya alright?” Soap approached Simon, seeing his refrained stance from the crowd, refusing everyone else to see him this way, teary eyed and emotional, all while keeping quiet.
Simon nodded, sparing yet another glance over towards his wife, smiling as wide as possible, bright tears beading the edges of your eyes, staining your beautifully flushed cheeks as Price took you in a hug, soothing your happy sobs with a comforting rub of your back.
This was better than you had ever hoped for, A wonderful make up for being unable to surprise him the first time.
A girl, a beautiful baby girl.
His future addition to the chamber of his heart, the apple blossom of his eye, his hopeful little dove soaring across an endless sky.
A daughter with the woman he loved most in this world.
For a moment, and just for a moment, he refused to let any dark thought in his mind ruin this happiness that flooded his bones and warmed his haunted spirit, lighting up the darkness like a small pink birthday candle.
He could hardly wait now.
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