THE NAME BOOK

Caramelchan, you started something! Episode seven of the Birthdays series!

Same applies as before, you don't need to have read the preceding parts if you don't want to/don't have time (though I'd love it if you did): Harry and Nikki are married and Nikki's nine months pregnant. Leo took a job in Sydney and moved there with Janet and their son Jack.

[Apologies if I'm supposed to know Harry's dad's name. I CANNOT remember it for the life of me if I did know it, and my internet research is not helping me find it. I have taken liberties and made it up for the purposes of this fic.]

Disclaimer: Never has been mine, never will be mine.

NO spoilers. At all.

"Baby Cunningham's two days late. We should start thinking of a name."

You roll over, feeling the weight of the baby Cunningham bump like a dead weight, and you sigh. You're ready for the grand arrival now, and your back is more than ready. Baby Cunningham's not a little baby.

Harry props himself up on his elbow after pressing his lips against yours, your belly, and yours again.

"What's your name, little man?"

You raise an eyebrow. "You're still convinced it's a boy?" You'd mutually decided not to find out, and you haven't looked too closely at the ultrasound pictures, knowing both of you could locate the evidence of a boy if you looked hard enough, despite it being seemingly infinite years since your obstetrics training.

He chuckles, pressing his forehead against yours. "I have a feeling. My feelings are rarely wrong, Mrs Cunningham."

It's only been two months, and 'Mrs Cunningham' still gives you a little thrill. You don't suppose you'll ever settle quite into it, especially as you're still using Dr Alexander as your professional title.

"Let's just say it could be either, though. Because it would frankly be embarrassing for a girl to come out and have no idea what to call her!" he continues, and you place a hand on your belly, somehow not understanding how you can't have even the slightest feeling. It seems alien to you that you could hold something, someone, in your body for nine months, and know not the slightest thing about the tiny human being, exactly half you and exactly half Harry.

"I like Victoria." You start. Harry grimaces.

"Ugh. My first girlfriend. She was four months older than me, she'd had two boyfriends before me, and she broke my heart after two weeks."

You laugh. "If we rule out every woman you've ever been with, Harry, we're seriously cutting down our name list…"

He gives you a slight smirk. "That was rude. If we use your list, we can't use the first names of any of the Metropolitan police force…"

You don't grace that comment with a response. Harry looks a little disappointed, but presses his lips to your cheekbone before continuing. "Alright, we'll set a rule. We only rule out heart-breakers."

"Nathan, then, is really my only heartbreaker. I was fifteen, he was my first proper boyfriend, and he ran off with my once best friend, Selina…"

Harry looks appropriately horrified. "That rules out Selina, then, too. You've really only had your heart broken once?"

You sigh, slightly. "I never let myself get attached enough to get my heart broken. Until you, Harry. You'd have been a right heart-breaker."

His lips press against yours suddenly. "Good job I didn't then. Harry Junior is still on the table."

You chuckle, burying you face in the crook of his neck. "If you think I'm letting you name our child Harry Junior…"

He presses his lips to your hair, but seems to muse, suddenly more seriously. "I like family names, though. Babies should be named after people."

"How about Robert?" you breathe, almost nervous for his response, because despite the years, despite the number of time you've talked about it, it's always going to be a sensitive subject. Robert Cunningham was Harry's father.

"You'd be alright with that?" there's something of a choke in his voice, and when you look into his eyes, you're overwhelmed, for only a moment, by the love in them.

"I think it's a lovely name."

"I guess I could come to terms with Giselda for a girl." He offers, and you can see he's trying hard not to grit his teeth.

You shake your head, almost laughing. "You're that convinced it's a boy, huh? Don't worry, I don't like my mother's name…"

There's a touch of relief in his eyes.

"But I like Olivia, I like Charlotte, I had a friend at school called Cara, I've always liked Cara…"

He frowns amicably. "I like Cara." He nods slowly, "… in the furthest of possibilities he's not a boy…"

You roll your eyes then, wondering for how many years Harry will feel he has to live it down if Baby Cunningham's a Little Miss Cunningham.

"We gonna talk about middle names? I always thought, for a little boy, for everything he's been to us, I always thought-"

"Leo." Harry finishes, before you get the chance. You smile, and press your lips against his. It's moments like that, really, when you feel so intrinsically on the same page your heart skips a beat.

In the end, Robert Leo Cunningham (you don't think Harry will ever stop gloating) is ten days late (Harry blames your lack of punctuality), has a healthy pair of screaming lungs and a shock of dark hair (his father's entirely to blame for that). After 28 hours of labour, the nurses place him in your arms and your husband curls his arm around your shoulders, pressing his lips first to your son's forehead, then to yours.

"He's beautiful." You breathe, allowing your son to feed. When your eyes meet Harry's, his are full of tears. "He's ours."

Apparently, for the first time in his life, Harry is speechless.

I've got some seriously hard, important exams before Christmas, so I'm going AWOL until then now, as far as writing is concerned. But I'd love a little review on this one! Hope you enjoyed!