Disclaimer: As much as I wish they were, they ain't mine.

A/N: Its angsty...no surprises there!

Spoilers: Up to and including Season 8

***

"Lay with me,

I'm alive when you're here with me, stay"

-"I'll find a way", Rachael Yamagata

***

As she looked in the mirror, marvelling at her ever expanding belly, her thoughts turned to him. She had moved past trying to stop thinking about him. It had never worked anyway, somehow he always managed to take a position of unstated importance in her everyday existence; much like when he was here, physically and corporeally here.

Placing her hand firmly on the top of her bump, she rubbed small circles through her dress, taking an unfamiliar moment of joy. She wondered what his hands would look like cradling her own, so close to the product of their...she hadn't quite reached the point where she could say 'love', even in her own thoughts: it never ceased to knock the air from her lungs, plunging her stomach to an extreme depth and she was not prepared for that this morning.

It had been a while since she had allowed herself the peace of thinking about him: he was always present but she forever attempted to divert her attention so that she wouldn't be found, head in her hands, painfully considering a life without him. Yet, here, in her own home, her own bedroom, there was a greater freedom to permit her memories to come forth; here she was only restricted by the constrictions of her heart when the memories became too much, too powerful, too clear.

Moving back to sit on the bed, her hand remaining on her belly, she allowed the barriers to fall and allowed herself this moment to remember.

She remembers his hands, the way they would trace a line down her cheek, instantly soothing her fears, providing a support when an embrace would have seemed like too much.

She remembers his lips, the way he would hold them in a manner similar to a pout whenever he was confused or looking to her to give him an answer that would make his seem less extreme, less bizarre; the way his top lip would curve slightly up to the left when he was wishing to make her smile but was unsure of her response.

She remembers his nose and how he always used to complain about its size even when she would think it was beautifully proportionate to the rest of his face; the way it would feel against her neck when they hugged, sometimes cold at the tip if they were outside yet still managing to make her feel warm inside.

She remembers his arms and how they would feel wrapped around her, sometimes locked securely around her waist, at others around her back; she remembers that the first time he hugged her, when it had seemed ok to do so, she had never felt more safe.

She remembers his chest and how it would feel against her cheek; she remembers the beat of his heart and how it would keep her securely pinned to reality when the world seemed to be falling at her feet.

Most of all, she remembers his voice. When he had first disappeared she had thought that it would be the first thing that she would forget; that her brain would choose to hold onto more visual memories. And yet, his voice remained and she was grateful for that, especially when she woke in the middle of the night, instantly searching for the phone to call him only to realise that he wouldn't be there on the other side. In those moments, when her waking mind had fully had the chance to comprehend his loss once again, she searched for his voice, hoping to seek at least some comfort from its smooth tone.

Suddenly she senses a kick, her hand instantly searching for her tiny baby's feet within her.

"Let me tell you about your dad..."

And then the tears begin to fall.