A/N: I had initially mapped this out as a one-shot, but I feel like it took a left turn somewhere. I may continue with it. I may leave it as-is. ...We shall see. Let me know what you think!
She leaned over the kitchen sink and stared up at the dry erase calendar to her left. Just shy of three weeks since she should have placed a discreet red dot in the lower-left-hand corner marked for the 8th day of the month. She glanced down at the half-empty blister pack of small white pills on the counter. She thought she'd have a bit of time to settle into the idea. Elizabeth was nothing if not a thoughtful, meticulous planner. But this was fast—too fast.
In fact, it was Henry who brought it up first. And while she wasn't entirely opposed to the idea of a baby, they were still young. Not to mention, he'd only just made it back from his deployment. Their time together was a precious commodity—a scarcity until now. She so loved kissing him anytime she pleased, waking up in his arms each morning, fooling around with him in the living room, the shower, and up against the fridge. A baby would change things.
"Hey," he offered gently, taking note of her furrowed brow. "It's you and me for good now, Babe. I'm not going anywhere."
With the last of her reservations quietly ebbing, she conceded. She'd toss the remaining pills, and they'd begin trying within the year. In the meantime, she thought, they'd just play it safe. In seven years' time, she'd never missed a dose; a baby would take some time.
The conversation ignited something carnal in him. He was so excited, they barely made it to the bedroom before he was inside her. She hadn't even had time to dispose of the pills.
"Babe," she said breathlessly, between his demanding kisses. "This is purely recreational." She let out a slow, even breath when his hips met hers. Perhaps a little recreation would do her some good. Still—she wanted to be perfectly clear. "We're not making a baby right now."
He shifted his weight, and the pressure between her thighs began to build. He buried his fingers in her hair, and gave it a gentle tug, tipping her head back so his lips could find the spot just below her ear that always made her moan.
"Practice," he responded, unable to extricate himself from her, as his hips found a slow, grounding rhythm.
It was all so beautifully new again. Just like that, they were newlyweds, taking time to explore each other—to play freely and to make love on top of the washing machine at the drop of a hat, after their time apart. They couldn't seem to keep their hands off each other.
She could have sworn she felt the faintest flutter when she placed a hand against her flat abdomen. She only vaguely recalled taking a small, unopened foil packet out of Henry's hand, and mumbling something about being in the clear. The way his fingertips felt against her skin at that moment, she could hardly form coherent thoughts, let alone sentences. She tossed it onto the floor as he slid a hand between her legs.
She must have miscalculated.
It happened five weeks ago. Celebrating his first full day as a newly-established professor, he'd brought home a bottle of red wine and a dozen white roses.
They took their time undressing each other, pausing to revel in each caress of newly-exposed skin. They kissed passionately as their bodies moved together, their limbs tangling, as the world went hazy around them.
She awoke the next morning to a gentle kiss on her forehead. She smiled, turning to bury her head in the crook of his arm.
"Morning sleepyhead." His fingertips softly traced the gentle curve of her back, "Last night was..."
She nuzzled softly into his chest. "I think we got another good practice round in," she joked; her voice belaying the faintest hint of uncertainty.
"Oh," he said, clocking his wife's tone.
"Don't do that," she sighed. "Don't 'oh,' me."
"What? I—"
"Henry." She said flatly, lifting her head to glance up at him. "I don't want you to get your hopes up. Babe, we haven't even officially started trying yet; I'm not ready. It's gonna take time, anyway." She maneuvered herself to pull away from him. "…Besides, it's too late this month."
He reached for her, laced their fingers together and placed a soft kiss just below her knuckles, bringing their joined hands down to rest against the soft skin just above her navel.
"Hm," He said, stealing a glance at the unopened condom on the floor.
"I'll get there, babe." She smiled, reassuringly. "And trust me, you'll be the first to know when I am."
He flashed her a devilish grin. "Well... as long as we're just practicing," he teased, hooking one leg over his wife's hip, turning her onto her back, and climbing on top of her as she burst into a fit of laughter. He covered her mouth with his, and she smiled against him, trying and failing to contain herself.
"That's my second favorite sound," he mumbled, between kisses.
She raised a brow at him, as his lips traveled across her jaw, down her neck, and between her breasts.
"Second favorite sound?" She questioned.
He gave her a wry smirk, and disappeared beneath the covers. "What's your—?"
"Ohhhhhhh..." she moaned softly, the air slowly leaving her lungs, as her back arched up off the bed. "Yesssss."
He moved to join her at the sink, wrapping his arms around her midsection, and softly kissing her neck.
"Not now, Henry—I…"
He dropped his arms to his sides, and took a step back.
"I think I ate something." She reached to pull her hair back, and heaved herself over the sink, retching violently.
When she finished, she stood up, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.
"Ah," he said knowingly. "How long ago?"
She turned to face him, blinking back tears, unable to meet his eyes.
"Last month. I think it was your first day of work. Or—or maybe it was the next morning? I'm not sure. …Henry, I'm three weeks late."