Don't own the characters, but they are precious!

The hot call had come in three hours ago at 10 AM, a bomb threat from a man who said that if he wasn't given $2 million by 2 PM, he'd blow up two government buildings. Team One was sent out in all their sirens and Kevlar and weapons. Though they did their best in their negotiations, the first bomb was blown at a school district building, killing three civilians and injuring many others. The bomb had been detonated by the man who had built it, David Maccabee, and it was only seconds before he was shot that he revealed that the second bomb was remotely timed for one hour. He flipped the switch just as he was taken down by Sam. They had one hour to find the building, find the bomb, and disarm it.

Winnie Scarlatti hated bomb calls. She knew it was selfish, but every other call was miniscule in comparison to having her husband be so close to harm's way. When the call had come in that morning she'd been tempted to ask Donna of Team Two to take it, though they'd just been relieved from duty and it was a completely ridiculous idea. She just didn't want to see Spike get hurt.

She winced as a foot poked into her ribs. At thirty-seven weeks, this was her last day on the job before she quit to start getting ready for the baby. She'd had a couple signs of early labor and her doctor had told her it was better to be safe than sorry.

"Easy there, sweetheart," she whispered to the little boy as she ran a hand over her belly. "Daddy's always careful."

She'd had to put her headset on mute for a moment so she could talk herself down from crying. Ever since she found out she was pregnant, hormones had set in hard and strong. She cried when someone died, she cried when someone was injured, she cried when any member of the team was in danger. She'd been a wreck for the past eight months, though lately she'd been finding some techniques to pull herself together. She'd learned that, whatever she did, she couldn't think about Spike. She was sure to be a mess if she did—the thought of anyone in danger put in mind the idea of him being in danger, and that just set her right off. No.

She thought of math problems when she was about to cry. Algebra, calculus, statistics, whatever. She was good with numbers, always had been, and the logic put her at peace. Spike was a genius at everything, and the only thing related to smarts that she felt she came even close to matching him at was math. Even then they were pretty even. But math calmed her.

She was almost done with mentally calculating what exactly 23 to the tenth power was when she heard Greg talking to her over the headset. She let out a frustrated huff as the numbers went out the window of her pregnant brain.

"Winnie, we need the floor plans for the Kennedy building," he ordered, speaking of the government building that doubled as a library and the offices for one of the largest law companies in the state.

"Sure thing, Boss," she said shortly, fighting to keep her voice calm and polite. Her answer still had a sting to it.

She heard Greg chuckle and realized he must have forgotten to mute his headset. "She sounds a little angry."

"You must have messed up her problem," Spike, who was riding along with Greg, answered.

"Her problem?"

Winnie could hear the affectionate grin in her husband's voice, and she just had to smile in return. "She does math problems to calm her down. She's stressed out about it being a bomb call. Worried about me."

"Math problems," Greg repeated, laughing to himself. Winnie smiled at the kindness in his voice.

"Floor plans are on their way, Boss," she said.

Winnie sat back in her chair and took a long drink of water, taking advantage of the little wave of calm that could be had while the team was driving. She stood up a stretched, trying to walk out the kinks in her back by taking in a couple rounds about the office. She smiled wryly to herself as she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window.

One of the first things Spike had said when they found out she was pregnant was that he couldn't wait to see her waddle. He wanted to see her swelling up—not just her belly, but all those other lovely symptoms that pregnant women are afflicted with. He wanted to help her paint her toenails and shave her legs when she got too big, and he even—she declared this proof of his undying love—wanted to come with her to look for all those huge pregnancy clothes she'd have to get to supplement her wardrobe. He'd chuckled at her response to this before wrapping his arms around her and reminding her that there would be more to follow this one, wouldn't there, and they both needed to decide on the clothes she'd been wearing so often.

But he loved seeing her waddle. Around the house, at work, through the store. He'd died laughing when Leah started a waddle jar at work, loudly declaring that anyone who saw Winnie started to sway from side to side on her strolls about the workplace had to put a dollar in the jar to help support the fund for the baby's future college endeavors.

Spike would sneak up behind his wife just to spot the famous walk. She'd turn around and grin at him as he exclaimed, "Ha! You're waddling!" Then he'd sweep her in his arms, give her a huge kiss, and tell their baby boy about all the things he was looking forward to doing with him.

Winnie grimaced as she felt the familiar burning in her chest. She would not miss the heartburn. Nor would she miss the backache, the intrusive doctor's visits, Spike's ever constant watch to make sure she ate healthy. It was not uncommon for her to ask Leah to bring her something, anything, with sugar and chocolate and sprinkles. She'd feel bad about it later and confess to Spike, but he'd just laugh and take that as another reason to kiss her.

She wouldn't miss the people who somehow felt they had a right to give their advice on her pregnancy, her labor, how she raised the baby. Winnie and Spike liked to shop for groceries after work sometimes, and she couldn't count the number of times a kindly old couple had stopped them and inquired after the baby before Winnie was pulled off to the side to hear about all the horrors and pains of giving birth, while Spike was made to listen to the husband give his account of how helpless you feel, how totally and completely incapable, as you watch your wife go through this incredibly difficult task, and you can do absolutely nothing. The couple would say their kind goodbyes, wish them the best, and leave the young couple to stare at each other with horrorstruck eyes before bursting out laughing and reminding each other that it'd be okay, and they'd get through it together. They always did.

Winnie was distracted from her reverie as she heard Spike humming over the headset. She knew he'd left it open on purpose; he wanted her to hear the old Italian lullaby, taught to him by his ma, that he sang to their baby every night before bed.

She smiled and rubbed her belly as she hummed along. Piccolo baby, sicuro e caldo, sai quanto ti amiamo.