Abby Maitland awoke, groggy and uncomfortable. She desperately wanted to roll over and sleep on her stomach as she was accustomed to. But, 8 months pregnant, that was not a viable option. As she rubbed the sand from her eyes, she noticed the pillow besides her was empty. No impression showed that Connor had ever used it.
She shifted to arise, to search the flat for him, but found her legs constrained. Looking down, her heart caught at the sight of Connor snuggled up next to her stomach. One arm was flung over her thighs and his cheek was pressed against her round belly, his hair dark against her yellow nightgown. He must have fallen asleep down there.
Pregnancy had terrified Abby. She was used to being fiercely independent and it galled her every time her growing child made her rely on others. Hormones had made her cry the first time Connor had to help her tie her shoes. And she still spent a few moments struggling vainly to rise from the sofa unaided before finally giving in and asking for a hand up. She had never planned, never particularly wanted, to be a mother.
But Connor has been brilliant, and so excited. He was so devoted; massaging her when she was sore, weathering her tempers when she couldn't control them, popping out unasked when she had the slightest craving. Abby had never felt quite so cherished.
Nor had she felt so stir-crazy. About two weeks ago Becker had flatly refused to allow her into the ARC. She hadn't been out into the field in months, but even the menagerie was deemed too 'dangerous'. She'd scoffed at that but Connor had agreed. After he and Becker had tag-teamed Lester, there wasn't much left to argue about. At least they had allowed her to bring Rex, Sid and Nancy home with her. They were good company while Connor was at work.
She smiled down at her husband again. Every night in bed, he would lie his head next to her growing belly and talk softly to their unborn child. Often it was just nonsense, his usual brand of harmless nerdery. Whether Han or Greedo shot first, who was a better captain: Kirk or Picard. A chuckle escaped her as she remcalled last night's debate on the merits of earthbending versus waterbending. She had drifted off before he'd decided which was superior.
But some nights he made her heart ache with the things he said. When he told stories of how they met, their first kiss, their wedding. He spoke of his deep love for Abby, and for the baby. Promised to love and protect them always, no matter what. Their job was dangerous and promises were hard to keep but the determination in his voice left Abby with no doubt that he would always, always, do whatever it took to come home to his family.
Connor stirred when she brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead.
"Mmm, Abby?" Sleep-heavy eyes sought her face as his hand settled gently over her stomach. "Is anything wrong? What is it?" His brow furrowed a bit as he tried to get his bearings and shake off the mantle of sleep.
"Shh. Nothing's the matter." His eyes devoured her as she ran her fingers through his hair. "I love you, Connor."
He still got that funny little hitch in his breath sometimes when she said that, as if he were surprised to hear it, surprised it could even be true. But a second later he was beaming up at her. "I love you too, Abby."
Shifting up on the bed, he moved to kiss her warmly, but a flutter beneath his palm stopped him. Abby settled her hand over Connor's as their baby kicked furiously away within her, and chuckled when Connor commented the child would definitely have her athletic ability.
Connor rose to his knees and took her hand. "Come on, love. We'd better get some breakfast into the two of you." He began nattering on, asking if she'd prefer porridge, or egg in a basket, offering to run out for some sausages she felt up to a full English breakfast.
With a tug of her hand, she pulled Connor back down on to the bed and silenced him with a kiss. Subsiding, he snuggled up to her, gathering her close in the warm safety of his arms as he explored her lips. It was another hour before they made it to the kitchen.