Dream a Little Dream of Me

by Genevieve Darcy Granger

Before the world ended, Simon could sleep through a tornado. But now that the dead walk, he's always on his toes for anything that goes bump in the night. Living at the Sanctuary hasn't changed that – and his girlfriend only makes it worse.

Hands. Warm. Small and delicate fingers with the pinkies naturally curved in. Thin wrists easily encircled by Simon's thumb and forefinger. So fragile that Simon could snap them but he doesn't. He doesn't want to. Instead, he laces their fingers together and pins the hands to the headboard above her head.

Her brown curls are tossed about everywhere and he smells cherry blossoms. Simon buries his face in her neck and she's whining high-pitched right in his ear. He burrows in deeper and she envelops him in warmth, sucking him in deeper and deeper and he's almost there and so is she –

Abruptly, Simon woke up from his dream, hissing and drawing away from the source of warmth that is his girlfriend Heather. Fuck. It's embarrassing to him that he has to wake himself up so he doesn't come in his pants like he's fourteen years old again, sneaking his older brother's Playboy magazines under his mattress next to crunchy socks. He drags his hand over his face and stares up at the ceiling.

Despite Heather being his girlfriend for almost three months, she's still blue-balling him. But Simon knows why. She's a virgin, she's young, she doesn't want this relationship to be one purely for sex – and Simon doesn't just want her for her body. They had told each other 'I love you' since she moved into his rooms, but at the end of the world everything still feels rushed and like a desperate clawing to not be alone. But neither of them wanted that, they wanted the real thing and with each other they believed they had it. Simon was going to wait for her.

Still, Simon is a red-blooded man. Sleeping next to her every night as she saps away his warmth, steals his blanket, unknowingly grinds her fat ass into him, snoring away… she's the best torture he could ask for.

With a small huff, Simon rolls back over to Heather, hooking his arm over her and dragging her to him until she's tucked under his chin like a teddy bear. His erection is still there, but he can't do anything about it. His best bet is to try and fall asleep again, and eventually sleep does come only an hour before he has to be up again. And when he wakes, his erection is there again, too.

...

Warm. Soft. Cherry Blossoms. Heather. So warm – cold.

Simon jerked awake at the icy cold sensation on his feet. He kicked backward before he realized the cold came from Heather pressing her feet against him while she slept. It was amazing how even though Heather hogged all the blankets, her feet were perpetually cold – even in the summer, though during that time it was a bliss to have cold feet.

Carefully, Simon moved his feet away, trying not to wake Heather. But though he tried his best, she woke up anyway as he unknowingly dragged the blankets off of her feet.

"Simon," Heather whispered, voice thick and rough with sleep. "S'matter?"

"Nothing, baby," Simon answered, his own voice hoarse, "Go back to sleep."

"Can't." The more she talked the more her voice warmed up, though she still sounded exhausted. Heather worked in the kitchens and had the early morning shift. She'd be up soon with Simon. "I'm too cold, Simon."

Sitting up, Simon pulled the blanket back into place over them before he pulled Heather to him again, this time practically on top of him. "I can keep you warm, Heather," he mumbled to her sleepily. Ever so slightly, he rubbed his burgeoning erection against her hip. "I can keep you warm lots of ways."

Squinting at him through the dark and without her coke-bottle glasses, Heather didn't say anything at first. Though she couldn't see his face well enough, Simon could see her and even the tell-tale blush in her cheeks. She was so bashful, and she didn't see how beautiful she was.

Eventually, Simon got his answer when she pressed a shy kiss to his mouth and then pulled away. Heather bit her bottom lip and then sensuously rolled her hips, encouraging his erection to further rise.

With a small growl, Simon slipped his hands down underneath the blanket, pulling her leg until she was astride him, pulling at her makeshift t-shirt nightgown until he could grab her derriere in both hands. He moved against her harder, pushing up against her core and even through the thin fabric of her panties and his briefs, he could feel a building wetness.

The only sound was there mutual heavy breathing as their lips hovered close together, not quite touching. This close, Heather could see the details of Simon's face easily and Simon stared deep into Heather's brown eyes. "Tell me, tell me what you want, Heather," Simon murmured in the dark, brushing his nose against hers, back and forth, back and forth. "Tell me what you need."

All drowsiness was gone now, and Heather sucked in a deep breath as she grinded down harder against him, pressing her chest to his. "Want you," she told him desperate, voice pitched dangerously close to a whine, "need you, Simon." Shyness overtaking her again, Heather buried her face in his neck and actually did whine this time. "Take me, Simon."

Twisting his head around, Simon's lips found hers, groaning into her mouth as their hips continued to move in tandem. It was like the roll of the ocean, building up the tide and soaking the sand higher and higher with each climb toward their pleasure – and there hadn't even been any penetration yet.

Heather came from the friction alone, crying out shrilly. Her eyes closed and mouth dropped open as she froze on top of him, shaking. Simon watched, soothingly stroking his large hands over her rear and up her back, digging his fingertips into her soft skin. With a small grimace, Simon pulled her hips, maneuvering her off his clothed erection so he doesn't finish to soon, sliding her up to rest on his bare lower abdomen. "You okay, baby?"

"Y-yes." Heather dropped her face back down to his neck again, a little embarrassed. "I didn't mean to…"

With a short chuckle, Simon dropped a kiss into her hairline. "No, Heather, don't be. That was beautiful." He dropped another kiss on her forehead. "Is that enough for you, baby? Or would more be too much?"

She shook her head and then shyly peeked back up at him. "I want more." Her hand snaked up to his face to cup his cheek, brushing her thumb over his chin. "I want to make you feel good, too."

He kissed her thumb and whispered, "Sit up and we'll get these panties off." Wiggling his eyebrows meaningfully, he added in a deeper pitched voice, "I can feel how wet you got them and they're started to stick to my stomach."

Immediately, Heather went red and looked away, though she did look pleased with herself as well. She did as he said and carefully sat up, pushing herself off his chest until she was sitting on him. Heather raised herself up on wobbly, orgasm-weakened legs, and Simon hooked his fingers through her panties and pulled them down. In a somewhat awkward, shimmying dance, they got her panties off and Simon brought them to his nose.

"Simon," Heather hissed in admonishment, her hands over her hotly blushing cheeks.

Ignoring her, Simon licked them, too, tasting her salty essence. He could visibly see the creamy spots and sucked the fabric clean, maintaining eye-contact with Heather as she watched in a mixture of horror and arousal. Tossing her panties aside, Simon sat up and kissed Heather again, sharing the flavor of herself. When he broke the kiss, his voice was firm as he told her, "You're going to let me taste that well between your legs one day, Heather, and when I do, I promise you, you won't ever want to climb off my face again."

All she could do was whimper in his ear in response.

"Take your shirt off, Heather."

"Yes, Simon."

"That's my good girl."

Off came her nightshirt and she barely had time to toss it aside before Simon was pushing her breasts together and sucking both nipples into his mouth. Instantly, Heather moaned and brought her hands up to his hair, grabbing fistfuls but holding him in place.

"Oh, Simon…"

Gently, Simon nudged her down until she was sitting on his erection again, slicking the outside of his briefs with the juices from her first orgasm. His briefs were uncomfortable tight, his erection intensely hard that he felt he might explode too soon. Over three months of pent up sexual frustration was building up in this moment.

Releasing her nipples with a wet pop, Simon watched the erect buds tighten harder in the cool air. Everything was hot and cold. The sweat on his back exposed to the air was cool, uncomfortably cool. His erection was hot, almost uncomfortably hot, baking in the cradle of Heather's thighs. He wanted to be inside her – he had to be inside her soon. "Lift up again, Heather, let me take my underwear off."

Ever obedient, Heather raised up again, steadying herself by gripping his shoulders hard. Her pupils were blown open wide in the dark, her curly hair frizzing up further. Lips parted, she was panting her anticipation. Simon didn't keep her waiting as he pushed his briefs down to his thighs, holding his erection up and brushing the head of it through her lower lips. Heather's bottom lip trembled in response before she sucked in into her mouth, gnawing at it with her teeth that gleamed in the darkness.

"You ready, Heather, baby?" He lined himself up at her entrance.

Eagerly, she nodded and pressed a passionate, brief kiss to his mouth. "Make me yours, Simon."

Covering her mouth his to muffle her cry, Simon rammed up into her waiting heat. Once there he was consumed by a vice like grip fluttering around him to adjust to his large size, soaking him in juices until they dripped down his length to his nest of pubic hair and further still to his tight, hot balls. Fuck, Heather was tight but she was more than that. She was warm, so warm and wet and his just as much as he was hers.

Fully adjusted, Heather started to move, once again both of their hips rolling in tandem. The only difference was this time it was so much sweeter, deeper, fuller, harder. Every sensation was heightened, and as Simon pumped up into her as she grinded back down, he thought Heather was well worth the wait. And Heather thought Simon was a wonderful first.

Wrapping one arm around her, Simon gently held her chin with the other, encouraging her to look at him. "Oh, you're so perfect, Heather," Simon groaned between desperate kisses.

Between her breathy gasps, Heather couldn't even form any words besides his name. She jerked forward, pressing her forehead to his, her nose and his competing for space between their hungry kisses.

The previous cold had dissipated completely. Heather was clawing down Simon's back in the revels of her pleasure. Her short, blunt nails cut trails of fire through his sweat and the pain intermingled with Simon's pleasure, spiking it higher than before.

And then it crested – they came together, hers triggering his or maybe the reverse, they could hardly tell. The darkness of the room whited out in bliss, volume reaching a pitch that would later make Heather blush at the thought of others possibly hearing. After they fell back on the bed, Heather tucking herself under Simon's arm and burrowing in his side, all other discomforts there might have been forgotten.

Breathing heavily, Simon huffed into the air that smelled of sex and sweat, "Bet you're not cold anymore, Heather."

As if to prove his point, she pressed her nose to his chest, giggling, and wrapped her legs around one of his. She was warm from head to toe.

"Seriously, Heather, was it…nice?" Simon thought so but he's not one to be narcissist or leave a woman wanting.

"Yes, Simon," Heather said, stroking her hand down his chest to his stomach, patting him fondly there. "I can definitely go back to sleep now."

Simon chuckled, and grabbed Heather's hand, not needing her to reach lower if she was ready to sleep again. He brought it up to his mouth and kissed each knuckle, and then trapped it to his chest over his heart that still thumped a little too fast.

And when sleep found Simon again, there were no dreams or interruptions – only the comfortable, lulling heat between him and Heather.

...

After that night, nothing changed between them except there were nights when that became a repeat occurrence. Other than that, there relationship remained the same. But Simon's dreams became more vivid, and if anything, his libido ran higher. Having tasted the real thing, his dreams just couldn't compare.

Of course, Simon also woke up from plenty of other reasons as well.

...

Warm. Soft. Cherry Blossoms. Heather.

"Simon…"

Wet. So warm. Heather. So good. Perfect.

"Simon."

Yes. Heather. Good. Just like that.

"Simon!"

A pillow smacked Simon in his face and he jerked awake, sitting up straight in bed and looking around wildly for the threat. Blinking in the dark, he relaxed once he recognized his room, and Heather's small hand wrapped around his forearm. With a small groan he dropped back down and rubbed his palms into his eyes. "What happened, Heather?"

"Um…"

Dropping his hands, he turned his head and looked over at Heather where she was curled up on her side of the bed. She didn't take up much room. Simon, actually, was the one who gravitated more towards the center, leaving Heather just a sliver of the edge that she clung to if she wasn't clinging to him for warmth. Seeing her all the way over there, Simon opened his arms to her and Heather wiggled over until he wrapped his big arms around her in a bear hug, pressing his mustache to the top of her head, too tired to move his lips in a kiss.

Eventually he mumbled, "Heather, tell me what's wrong."

"It's stupid," she mumbled back dismissively, allowing herself to be swallowed up in his embrace.

"No, it's not. If it's bothering you, it's not stupid."

"It's just…" she trailed off with a frustrated whine. Simon waited patiently, knowing that she'd give him an answer once she thinks of a way to say it. "I had to go to the bathroom, and I didn't grab my glasses when I went. But then when I got to the bathroom I thought I saw a spider so I came back to get my glasses and when I looked it really was a spider, so I came back. And I tried to just go back to sleep, but I really have to pee and I can't go if there's a spider in there."

Still half asleep, Simon tried to process what she just babbled. It took him a moment, but then the metaphorical light bulb went off. "You want me to go kill it for you?"

"Please."

With a small chuckle, Simon kissed her forehead and then rolled out of bed. "Okay, let's go."

By the time he killed it (still sitting right where Heather left it), Heather was pushing past him to rush to the toilet. Simon tossed it in the trash and left for their room to give her privacy. Heather joined him in bed five minutes later. He opened the blankets to her and she crawled in, pressing a kiss of gratitude to his nose.

"Did you wash your hands?"

"Simon, you know I do. You don't have to ask me that."

"I know, baby, I'm just teasing you."

"Tease me later," she said, lightly smacking his chest. He curved his body around her and she settled back against him, sharing a pillow and carefully pulling her bushy hair out of his face. "Let's sleep now."

"I'll hold you to that, Heather."

And in the morning, he did.

...

Heather's freshly spanked rear is red and tender looking, and it quivers from the touch of his mustache as he kisses it better. When he flips her over, her pussy looks just as abused, begging to be soothed with kisses as well, and Simon dips his head to do just that…

"Simon!" Heather hissed sharply in his ear.

Immediately, Simon's eyes snapped open and darted to her concerned ones. "Heather, what it is?" He whispered to her softly, soothingly. She's on the verge of tears, and he brought his hand to her cheek to comfort her.

"I think," her voice tremored before she continued, "I think there's someone out in the hall."

Rolling over, Simon grabbed his pistol from his bedside table. He used to sleep with it under his pillow, but once Heather started sleeping with him, he moved it a little more out of reach. Considering how often he wakes up now, it is a good thing his first instinct isn't to grab the gun anymore.

With quiet and controlled grace and experience, Simon walked over to the door, pressing his ear to it. He couldn't be sure if he heard anything with how loud his heart beat is in his eardrums. Not seeing any other option, Simon jerked open the door and aimed his gun at – "Laura?"

"Hey, Simon," she greeted him casually in her pajamas, a bag of homemade kettle chips from Worker #34 under her arm.

"What are you doing up? Midnight snack?"

"Yeah, just finished my shift. Figured I'd grab this before heading back to my room. I missed dinner."

Simon nodded understandingly, finally lowering his gun. "See you on the run tomorrow."

Laura groaned lightly before rolling her eyes. "Don't remind me."

"Bright and early, Laura."

"Can do, Simon."

Gently, Simon shut the door and returned to bed where Heather sat huddled naked under the sheet. "What was it?"

"Laura who grabbed a snack from the kitchens," Simon explained as he returned the gun to its resting spot.

"Oh." Even in the darkness, Simon knew Heather was blushing, feeling silly for jumping to conclusions. But he couldn't blame her for being jumpy. Jumpy is what kept Heather alive for all this time before she came here.

Knowing that his Heather was not going to let this go so she could sleep, Simon smoothly began, "You know, Laura has the right idea."

"How's that?" Heather asked sullenly, picking at the sheets rather than meeting Simon's eye.

"I'm a little famished myself, especially after all that tumbling we did earlier."

Now Heather was blushing from the memory. "Yeah… I'm a little hungry, too. I could go for a sandwich."

"Chicken sandwich sound okay?" Simon smiled at her.

"Sounds perfect actually," she said, her tone much brighter now.

He held out his hand to her, "Come with me, Heather. But you gotta be quiet."

"So long as we don't fuck in the kitchens, that shouldn't be a problem." Still, Heather took his hand all the same.

"Don't give me any ideas," Simon growled, and Heather giggled before allowing him to drag her down to the kitchens where they did share a sandwich before Simon managed to convince her to fuck her pinned against the pantry door.

And every time Heather has to go to the pantry to fetch the ingredients for breakfast or dinner, she blushes and warms over at the fond memory she and Simon made there.

...

Happiness. Warm. Heather. Cherry Blossoms. So warm. Soft, so soft. Gentle. Rising and falling.

"Simon," Heather gently prodded him awake.

Mid-snore, Simon snorted awake, lifting his head off of Heather's soft, rounded belly. "Hrmmm?" He sniffed, and rubbed at his nose. The smell of sex was still in the air, and when he pulled his hand away from his face, there were smudges of wetness.

Oh.

He had fallen asleep after eating her out, having grinded his erection into the sheets until he came, too.

Cautiously, Simon rolled his hips and felt an uncomfortably stickiness.

Oh.

Well, that's embarrassing.

"Simon, I can't breathe. Can you move off?"

Obediently, he shimmied to the side, too tired to try and clean up the mess.

He had nearly dropped off to sleep again when Heather spoke again in to the darkness.

"Simon?"

"Hm?"

"I'm still cold."

"Mm."

Simon rolled off the mattress, nearly falling flat on his face. He shuffled over to the chest of drawers and rummaged through Heather's drawer, searching, searching. There.

Crawling back into bed, Simon kneeled before Heather's spread legs. Her sex was exposed, glistening from her previous orgasms, cooling off in the night air, permeating that same air with the muskiness of femininity. For a moment, he admired her as she was.

A brown mole here low on the underside of her breast, a blooming bruise from his fingertips there on her delicate, fish belly pale stomach, pink stretch marks over her hips, a fading red blush of his handprint on her inner thigh where he pried her legs and pinned them open while she orgasmed. Just…

"Beautiful."

He looked back up at Heather's face, half hidden behind her wild bush of hair, and smirked at her. She blushed but otherwise said nothing, and Simon was glad to see that she didn't cover herself. Heather grew more confident every day.

"I love you, Simon."

"I love you, too."

Sitting forward, Simon pressed a soft kiss to her mouth. Then he pulled away and helped Heather dress in her pajamas. First a soft nightgown Simon found especially for her – black. Then a pair of purple leg warmers that he smoothed up her legs. That was it. Simon then pulled her into a tight embrace, yanking the covers back over them but kicking the soiled sheets to the side. Both of them were asleep before they even knew what happened.

...

Heather. Cherry Blossoms. Warm. Wet. Tight. Heat. Small wrists. Soft. Curly hair wrapped around his hand, Bushy hair that springs back up into place after he pulls it. Hair that he tugs and she moans in response. Hair, hair everywhere, smothering him. Cherry blossoms flooding over him. Can't breathe.

Sputtering, Simon was pulled out of his dream with a mouthful of Heather's bushy, brown hair in his mouth. He spat it out carefully, and pushed it back towards her. It was a little wet. Shit.

Chuffing out a breath, Simon shook his head and settled back down to sleep, but sleep would not come. He closed his eyes, but couldn't sleep. But when he opened them, Heather was rolled over on her side, facing him. So, he stared at her, eyes roving over her freely, calmed by her presence.

Her face was scrunched up in sleep, a slight pout to her pink petal lips that would puff every time she exhaled. Heather's eyelids were smooth, though, her sleep untroubled. Her eyelashes would flutter from her REM cycle, but other than that she serene. Simon wondered if she dreamed about him the way he dreamed about her. It made his chest puff out with pride at the thought.

His focus narrowed to her nose. For a girl, Heather had kind of a large nose. It wasn't perky, but it was the perfect size for her coke bottle glasses to sit on without slipping. Honestly, Simon loved her nose. It was cute and it reminded Simon of a puppy.

And if Simon were completely honest, he loved how her nose was the first to lead Heather's expeditions over his body. Wherever her nose went, her mouth was sure to follow with soft lips and suckling kisses. Simon nearly went cross-eyed the first time he watched Heather take his length fully into her mouth until it was down her throat, the tip of her large nose nuzzling up against his pubic bone. He vividly remembers kissing her nose before her mouth after he came down her throat.

From there, that's become a habit. Two kisses for Heather, on her nose and then her mouth.

With a small smile, Simon did just that before tucking the blankets up under Heather's chin, careful not to wake her. After that it was all too easy for Simon to finally drop off into a dreamless sleep that lasted until morning when it was time to get up for the Hilltop run.

...

Oh, Heather, just like that. So good for me, always so beautiful. Perfect baby. Hollow your cheeks just like that. Fuck, yes, are you ready? Where do you want it? In your belly? On your face? All over your beautiful breasts?

You want it in your cunt? Well turn around, baby, and I'll pump you full until you're ready to burst. No better place for my come than in your tight pussy. I'm gonna put a baby in you one day, Heather. Your round belly will be even rounder with my child, and it'll be perfect because it's half you and half me – and we're already two halves of the same whole.

Heather, Heather, yes, yes, yes. Shit. You're close, I can tell. I'm gonna come. I'm gonna –

Nearly coming in his own pants, Simon woke up to a whine that was too realistic to be from his imagination. Rolling over, he saw that Heather had her back to him, shoulders tense. Was she having a dream like him too? Wouldn't that be lucky if he could wake her up for a midnight quickie with both of them aching for it and in the mood to just go at it like rabbits?

Moving over to Heather's side of the bed, Simon listened closely. She wasn't snoring, and her breathing was quick. There was a slight tremor to her as well, her bushy and curly hair quivering slightly, exaggerated the barely detectable shake of her body. Maybe his suspicions were right and it was a wet dream? Propping himself up on one hand, Simon peeked over her shoulder to see her face.

Heather's face was pinched tight, the pink of her lips no longer visible due to how thin of line she had worked her mouth into. Her eyelids were crumpled, nose twisted to one side, face half pressed into the pillow to muffle her sounds. She looked more… distressed than aroused. Simon didn't like it.

"Simon…" she called out softly in her sleep.

Now Simon knew what it sounded like when Heather moaned his name and pleasure, and it certainly did not sound like that.

"Simon, please," Heather called again, more sharply than before.

Not able to watch her any longer, Simon put his hand on her shoulder and shook her. "Heather, wake up. It's a dream. Wake up!"

With a start, Heather did wake up. For a moment she just stared with unseeing eyes, but then she rolled over and snuggled into Simon's chest, small and quick tears dripping down on his skin.

At the end of the world, bad dreams weren't something to take lightly. Every day as it was could be considered a nightmare. Gently, Simon rested his chin on the crown of Heather's head. "Tell me about your dream, Heather. It didn't sound like a good one."

"It's silly."

"Can't be that silly, you weren't laughing in your sleep, baby." His big hand ran up and down her back in long, fluid strokes.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Talking will make you feel better."

"Simon."

"Okay, we don't have to talk about it, but just know that I'm here for you, baby, and I love–"

"You died."

Simon lapsed into silence. While Heather worked in the kitchens, the only times she'd be in danger was if she cut her hand or if some jackass tried to shove her in the oven. Around the Sanctuary, everyone knows that she's his, so she was protected from unwanted attention, too. Really, only Negan would flirt with her, but Simon trusted both Heather and Negan to not cheat on him.

However, with Simon being Negan's right-hand man and top lieutenant, his life was constantly on the line. He's made quite a few enemies both here and at the other communities. And then, he also left the Sanctuary out into the world every day. Simon has dealt with more than his share of the dead up close. It's just as dangerous as the last every time he goes out there – every day could be his last. But it hasn't been so far.

"What killed me?" Simon finally asked. "If you say one of those dead-alives, I'll be disappointed in myself. I'd at least want to die in a heroic kind of way."

"Simon, don't say that." Heather's breathing was stuttering and she pulled far enough away from his chest to really look at him, her brown eyes deathly serious. "And…and it was a walker. I…only knew it was you because I knew it was you somehow. That's…all that was left of you. Not even enough to bury." Tucking her head under his chin again, Heather traced her finger around his nipple absentmindedly. "A truck could run you over and there wouldn't even be a bump. Just a squish."

"Jesus, Heather, you should write books." Simon settled back in to cuddle her closer, seeing in his mind's eye exactly what she was describing. He could understand why she was so upset. "Can you write that on my gravestone actually? 'Not even a bump, just a squish,' sounds as neat as it is damn morbid."

"Simon, please," Heather said in nearly the exact same way she did as she was dreaming.

"Sorry, Heather." Simon squeezed her shoulder in apology, brushing his nose, mustache, and lips over her forehead as he stared out into the dark.

They held each other in silence, neither one close to falling asleep again after that.

Eventually, though, Simon spoke again. "I can't promise you that I won't die out there. Or get bit. Or shot. Or break my leg. Or have something happen. I can't promise you that. You know that."

"I know," she said, her voice pitifully small and it broke Simon's heart.

"What I can promise you," Simon pulled back and tilted her head up so that he could into her eyes, "is that I will love you forever – right up to the end and after, baby."

She stared at him. And stared. Unbelieving. Then she finally relented. "Is that a proposal?"

Tilting his head at her, Simon shook his head.

"Til death do us part," Heather expounded, "In sickness and in health. For richer or poorer. As long as we both shall live."

Understanding dawned on him, and Simon dipped his head down to her. "It was." The tip of his nose bumping against hers, his forehead pressed to hers, his mustache brushing against her lips as he solemnly vowed, "I do."

"I do." Heather kissed him, and when they parted, she added meaningfully, "I love you, but this is not how I imagined my wedding."

Laughing in the dark, Simon jerked her to him tighter. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well, actually a Halloween theme."

His eyes glittered with amusement. "I love you, Heather."

"Does that mean no wedding?" She teased.

"Good night, Heather."

...

For once, Simon wasn't dreaming, but that made sense. He and Heather had a vigorous and thorough love making session before they finally passed out. But though he did not dream of Heather, Simon still found himself waking up for no discernable reason at all.

Staring up at the ceiling, Simon went through a mental list, checking to see if he was supposed to do something pressing yesterday or if he had anything stressful coming up. Nothing was ringing any bells, and it really bothered Simon. It wasn't like he left the stove on or anything like that. But somehow it has become habit for him to wake up in the middle of the night.

Glancing over at Heather to see if she was okay, Simon smiled at the sight of her curled up on her belly, clutching the blanket tightly in her fist, face buried in the pillow much like it was earlier. He lifted his head to check and – yes – there was still a slight wet spot from where she'd bit into the pillow and drooled with mindless pleasure. Lucky for Simon, though, Heather didn't drool in her sleep, though she does snore. But they're soft, cute little snores, whereas she claimed before his snores are like freight train. He refused to believe her. If anything, his snores would be like a small truck. She had laughed at that. Simon thought her braying laugh was just as adorable as her soft snores.

Simon was still smiling at the memory when he slipped off into sleep, not even aware that he was still smiling.

...

Heather's braying laugh washes over them, and Simon laughs along with her. Why are they laughing? He can't remember. Rolling over in their bed, their safe haven, Simon grabs her hand, fingers intertwined. She squeezes his hand three times – a silent 'I love you' – too busy laughing to actually manage to say the words. Tears stream down her face, her cheeks are flushed, and Simon's sides are beginning to hurt. The moment feels perfect. Heather hasn't stopped laughing…

Simon woke with a start when he realized that that wasn't Heather's laugh but her cough. Sitting up, he looked over at Heather and she was curled up on her side, hogging all the blankets. Still, despite her hogging the blankets, Heather is visibly shivering. And when she coughed again, she violently shuddered.

Frowning, Simon reached over and placed his hand on her forehead. She's burning hot, a cold and clammy sweat on her skin. "Heather, baby," Simon said, unsure if he should bring her to the doctor or bring the doctor to her. Either way, she's definitely not working tomorrow and she needs medicine.

He was about to try to wake her again, when another fit of coughs racked her body. Quite suddenly, Heather threw off the blankets and quickly sat up before leaning over the bed and emptying the contents of her stomach. What technically counted as a meatloaf and salad splattered all over the floor, the smell of sickness in the air.

"Oh god," Heather sobbed, and immediately coughed again, still gagging, tears streaming down her face.

"Heather, don't worry about it, I'll clean it up, but I have to get Dr. Carson first, okay? Don't move. Stay here." Simon rushed to assure her, gently patting her back before he's gone for the doctor.

Fortunately for Simon, the doctor stays right next to his practicing room, so Carson has time to grab a couple of things he thinks he might need just from Simon's description alone. Unfortunately for Simon, though, he forgot that he was only wearing his boxers, so when he charged into Carson's room, he's lucky he didn't scare the man to death. As it is, Carson should consider it a blessing that Simon was wearing anything at all. Most nights Simon and Heather wore nothing to bed.

Shoving the old man into his bedroom, Simon pushed him aside to get to Heather, too. "Did you throw up anymore?" He questioned her as he took her hand comforting, giving it the three squeezes like she did to him in his dream.

"Yes, I couldn't help it," Heather gasped helplessly. Her eyes were wide and glassy with tears. "What's wrong with me?"

"That's what I'm here to find out," Dr. Carson said as he stepped over the mess on the floor. The smell was heavy in the room and it drove Simon to open their small slotted window, letting the cold night air wash it away. He'd rather Heather be cold than have the smell drive her to throw up again. He and Dr. Carson awkwardly moved around each other as Dr. Carson examined Heather, and Simon threw towels on the mess to sop it up.

Between them, Heather was on the bed, miserable and sniffling. She hadn't stopped crying, though her tears were silent and less violent than before. She still coughed, too, but had nothing else to vomit up, so she mostly gagged on mucus and stomach bile. Simon's own stomach twisted. He could handle sick people easily after dealing with the dead, but that made it no less hard to watch Heather obviously be in such misery.

"You're sure you've had your tonsils out?"

"Did you see my fucking tonsils?" Heather snapped, obviously irritated at the dumb question.

"Well, I'd say it's walking pneumonia, but you have unusual added symptoms that would make me think of tonsillitis," Dr. Carson hummed patiently, a curious look on his face as he stared at her as if she were some specimen in a jar.
Head snapping to Dr. Carson, Simon muttered, "Walking pneumonia? Are you sure?"

"Verily, without a blood test. Around this time of year, it would be common. But if she has it, so will others. Not necessarily you even with your intimacy, but this is hardly something that remains an isolated case."

"Shouldn't be so bad," Heather croaked, not seeing the irony in that. "I've had walking pneumonia before."

Dr. Carson didn't bother saying anything else to her, instead drawing Simon to the side. "This is something that needs medicine – and more than just nearly expired Nyquil."

"Tell me what and I'll get it."

"Plenty of it," Dr. Carson emphasized, "Heather works in the kitchens, does she not?"

Simon knew what he meant. While they quietly discussed what this would mean, Heather rolled around on the bed restlessly. Simon's gaze kept straying to her, and finally he couldn't stand it anymore. "We'll discuss this more in the morning." He moved toward Heather, but Dr. Carson grabbed his arm. Staring at the old man's wrinkled, withered hand, Simon resisted the urge to do anything horrible, instead settling for shaking it off easily. "What? What can't wait?"

"Heather's other symptoms… the nausea, for instance."

"What about it?"

"Well, it could be just a gag reflex." Dr. Carson gave Simon a meaningful look. "How is Heather's gag reflex?"

At first, Simon was angry, his brow flattening into a heavy line above his rapidly darkening eyes.

Carson rushed to explain, "If her gag reflex is strong, the mucus shouldn't make her vomit like this. But if not, it's very well that it might."

Through his teeth, Simon hissed, "Heather usually doesn't gag so easily. She's gotten the sniffles before, allergies. She doesn't throw up easily unless it's bad food, but she hasn't complained – and I'd be throwing up, too."

Shaking his head, Dr. Carson looked down at his feet before he continued, "Well, it might be something else. I do believe it's walking pneumonia, especially if I have other complaints later today. But the vomiting isn't normal."

"What are you getting at, Carson?"

"When was Heather's last menstrual cycle?" Dr. Carson asked bluntly, openly searching Simon's face with bravery only an old man who knows how valuable he is would have. "Protection isn't something the Sanctuary has, that I know of definitively."

Simon's brain shut down for the span of three heart beats.

Thump-thump.

Thump-thump.

Thump-thump.

And then it started back up again.

Try as Simon might, he couldn't remember, and that wasn't something that Heather kept private. She was especially whiny during her period, and Simon was used to being treated as a giant heating pad, his hands glued to her stomach and his form curved to her back. But that was a while ago. Too long. And with the way they've been going…

"If it takes you this long to answer, it's too long."

"Shut up!" Simon snapped.

"I brought a test with me, so we'll be able to see."

"Are you serious?" Simon hissed, nervously glancing over at Heather. She didn't seem to hear a single thing, though she wasn't asleep yet.

"If a woman throws up, I've taken to bringing one with me just to save me the trip. There's nothing left to do at the end of the world but survive and fuck for entertainment."

"Spare me," Simon growled. Heather was more than cheap entertainment, he loved her. She was his wife. The possible mother of his child. Possibly. Maybe. It's very well likely, if not now then later. "Give me the test."

"Here. Plus sign means yes." Dr. Carson passed it over from his coat pocket and then shoved his hands in his pants pockets. "You do realize she's the one who has to pee on it?" He condescendingly asked Simon.

With a sneer, Simon shoved Carson out of the room before contemplating the stick in his hand. Should he get Heather to do this tonight or…?

Simon couldn't wait.

"Heather," Simon began in a hushed voice, "Heather, I'm gonna pick you up and take you to the bathroom, okay?"

"What for?" She sleepily questioned him, glaring at him with squinting eyes. "I promise I won't throw up anymore, Simon. My stomach is empty."

"I know, baby, but just trust me on this."

Still glaring up at him blearily, Heather acquiesced with a sigh and held up her arms to him. Not wasting time, Simon scooped her up bridal style and slowly carried her to the bathroom. Simon himself was strong, and Heather wasn't a light thing but she wasn't particularly heavy either. In this moment, though, Simon felt like she was the most precious thing in the world, and cradled her tighter to his bare chest. "I love you, Heather."

"Mmm, you too," she said.

In the bathroom, Simon sat her upright. "Okay, Heather, you have to pee."

As soon as her feet touched the ground, Heather shivered. "Yeah, I'm cold," she pouted. She turned to him with that same pout.

"Heather, I need you to pee on this." He passed her the pregnancy test.

All sleepiness in Heather disappeared as soon as she saw the stick. "But…but…Dr. Carson said it was walking pneumonia."

"Yes, he still thinks it is, but your vomiting made him suspicious," Simon told her gently, "and we haven't exactly been cautious. Do you remember your last period?"

"Yeah, my breasts were sore," Heather complained, sagging against the wall tiredly and rubbing at her chest in memory. Simon's eyes followed the movement while her eyes rolled to the side as she remembered further. "But that was…two months ago. Maybe three." She looked back at him. "Fuck."

"I know."

"Fine, I'll do it." She shuffled off to the toilet, and Simon waited outside at her emphatic insistence. Heather was incapable of peeing if anyone else was in the room. He heard a flush and then the sink running as she washed her hands. Then she finally called him back in. "How long does it take?"

"He didn't say." Simon skirted around the sink cautiously, suspiciously eyeing the innocuous pregnancy test on the porcelain sink ledge. "But I think it only takes a minute."

"I hope so. I'm so tired, Simon." Heather leaned her head against his shoulder, and even though she was sick, her hair still smelled like cherry blossoms. Simon was thankful for the pleasing fragrance, a small smile curving his mouth under his mustache. "God, I don't know if I'm ready for a child if I'm so tired just like this."

"That's just the walking pneumonia," Simon comforted her.

But then his own brain started turning as he considered having a baby. It was something he had wanted all his life but never had. It just never happened. Life got in the way. But for it to happen now, Simon almost considered it a cruel joke. Still, he wanted to have this child even in this crazy world. A child would be worth it, especially with Heather. Worse comes to worse, a child is what he could remember Heather by… or vice versa, more likely.

"Do you want a baby with me, Heather?"

"I've always wanted a baby," she confessed to him earnestly. "It's just… the risks… and this world. I don't know, Simon. I'm scared."

"Don't be. People have had babies in the dark ages with less medicine then we have. Hell, we couldn't have picked a better place in this world to have a baby," Simon assured her confidently, stroking his hands up and down her arms, feeling her goosebumps and rubbing away the cold.

Leaning her back against his chest, Heather said nothing, her eyes glued to the stick.

Slowly but surely a little pink plus sign swam to the top.

"It's… positive? Positively yes or no?" Nervously, Heather began to babble, "It's pink, but it's too early to tell if it's a girl, right? Good lord, I don't know."

Spinning Heather around to face him, Simon kissed her nose and then passionately kissed her mouth. She broke it sooner than Simon would've liked.

"Tell me if I'm pregnant, Simon. I need to know!"

"You are," he informed her succinctly, and then added with a much sweeter, sappier tone, "We are."

"The hell we are," Heather disputed, "you're not going to get fatter and cankles and stretch marks and cravings and a baby come out of your fucking vagina." A bad cough silenced her tirade before she could build up steam.

"Heather, I'll love you no matter how you look." His fingers dipped below her shirt, tracing over her belly. It would be too early to be anything big, but soon it would be there before they knew it – maybe even before they'd be ready. "Besides, you already have a few stretchmarks. What's a few more? I think they're beautiful, Heather, because you're beautiful."

Despite herself, Heather started crying again. "Oh, Simon. A baby."

"I know," he brushed away her tears. "It's wonderful."

Heather hugged him, and Simon scooped her up and off to bed. It would have been a perfect time to make love, to prove to her that he'll love her body for all the changes, but as soon as her back touched the mattress, Heather coughed again. Simon was reminded of her walking pneumonia and how he needed to get her medicine tomorrow. More than that, with her pregnant, she'd need prenatal vitamins. Exotic food for her cravings to come. The baby would need a crib, diapers, clothes, formula, bottles, nipples.

"Stop worrying, Simon, and get into bed." Heather yanked him down by the hand, her grip as weak as a kitten's – or a newborn's. "We need to get all the sleep we can get while we still can."

He couldn't help but agree with her, and obediently climbed into bed.

Still, it took forever for sleep to find him not only because Heather coughed so much, but because all he could think about were baby names and if the baby would have Heather's bushy hair or her brown eyes or her big nose.

When he did sleep, Simon dreamt of a beautiful baby boy with Heather's eyes – but his black mustache. It was an odd dream, but a good one.

In the morning, he left as soon as he could, and found Heather's medicine as well as a single pacifier which he took as a good omen.

...

It took Heather nearly two weeks to get back on her feet again. Simon played nursemaid as much as he could, but when he couldn't, Negan sent one of his wives to watch her, a friend of Heather's actually: Veronica. Negan understood exactly how Simon felt – and one of Negan's wives caught walking pneumonia, too, so both men had their hands full enough as it is along with everything else.

But at the end of the day, after Heather was able to return to work, she didn't end up staying long. Her blossoming pregnancy made the smell of meat an instant trigger of nausea for Heather. She was forced to quit the kitchens. But the worst parts of Heather's pregnancy always seemed to occur at night and she, too, became such a light sleeper.

And when Heather couldn't sleep, neither could Simon.

...

The sour tequila burned down his throat, and Simon licked the lime juice and salt from his mustache. It was a hot day, sweltering, and Simon hadn't stopped sweating since he got up that morning. He hung halfway out of the truck like a dog, trying to catch a breeze, and he glanced over at Negan in the passenger seat. The normally suave looking man was now just as disheveled as Simon.

"The doc said we needed find nipple cream for Heather."

"Nipple cream? Sounds fucking kinky."

"It's to help her when she starts breastfeeding. That'll be our best bet besides formula."

"You know, I heard that if she fucking breastfeeds, she'll never let you play with her titties again. And she'll lose her titties, too. But hey, maybe she'll let you fucking breastfeed, too."

"Shut up, Negan." Simon turned away with a smile. Fuck, why was it so hot? It was winter wasn't it? Where had his tequila gone? This was such a damp, wet heat, all-consuming and powerful.

Simon's eyes snapped open once he realized that that was a dream halfway formed with a memory. He turned his head to the side and came nose to nose with Heather, her pupils dilated wide and her mouth hung open.

"Heather, what's wrong?"

"Oh, Simon, touch me." She snaked her hand across his chest, fingernails scrabbling through his chest hair. "I'm so wet for you. Please, Simon, touch me."

Blinking, Simon only hesitated for a moment before he rolled over and caught Heather's mouth in a passionate kiss. Her nausea had brought their sex life to a grinding halt, but now Heather was halfway in his lap just begging for it. Negan had told him that she might be a 'horny fucker' during her pregnancy. Simon couldn't deny that he had his hopes up for this.

His fingers slid through her lower lips, and Heather was right. She was so wet, so much so that foreplay would only be torture, especially with how needy she was being right now. Pinning her smaller body to the bed with his own – something he took advantage of now while her belly was still relatively small and soft in her supposedly second month of pregnancy – he hooked her legs over his hips and slid home with ease and a grunt. Heather keened in his ear for his efforts, bucking her hips up in encouragement.

He barely got his rhythm started before Heather's cunt started seizing around him and she released a whine that could shatter glass. Simon eased her through her climax, fucked her through it, slowed his pace so as to not overwhelm her. His hips rolled against her gently, shallowly pumping into her gushing heat before he came with another quiet grunt. Heather moaned at the feeling and deliberately clenched her inner walls around him, milking him further. No point in worrying otherwise. After all she was already pregnant.

For a moment they stared at each other, catching their breath. Then Heather blushed even redder if that were possible. "Um, can we… go again?"

"Hmm?" Simon hummed in his post-coital bliss. He could barely focus on her face, and exhaustion was creeping up on him fast.

Biting her lip, Heather added in a hushed voice, "I want more." To further prove her point, Heather rolled her hips up again and squeezed his already softened member in her walls, sucking him in deeper.

Now Simon whined, over sensitized and embarrassed. "Can you, uh, give me a minute, Heather, baby?"

She whimpered. "But I need it now, Simon, please."

Reaching down between them, Simon vigorously started rubbing Heather's clit, and again she came fast and loud, throwing her head back into the pillows. This time her orgasm pushed his spent member out of her pussy, and their intermingled juices dripped down her cunt to the other hole and stained the sheets. Desperately, she grabbed at his wrist. "Again, more, Simon, oh god."

Sitting back on his heels, Simon was hard-pressed to perform but he wasn't ready. Sliding down the sheets, he settled his mouth above her pussy and took a deep breath, inhaling the musk. Then he dived in.

Heather came three more times before she finally dropped her quivering thighs from the strangle hold she had around his head. Simon greedily gulped down air, jaw muscles sore, and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. By the time he crawled up alongside Heather again to give her a goodnight kiss, she had already gone back to sleep.

...

Simon wakes up to an empty bed. Strange. He's the one who always wakes up first, and one his favorite parts of the day is waking Heather up. He sits up and looks around, and there in the corner of their room they've devoted to their baby, is Heather standing by the crib.

God, she is beautiful. She still has that curve to her from her pregnancy, it hasn't gone away yet. There's an afterglow, too, the same kind of after glow that comes from good sex only this one is better, bright somehow. Heather cranes her neck to peek into the grey bassinet, a hand placed over her heart, clutching her robe shut over her breasts.

Suddenly, she looks over at him with a beaming smile, all knowing. "Come and see our baby, Simon."

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Simon softly pads closer, bare feet whispering over the floor. He's nervous, but it's the excited kind of nerves. They don't even know the sex, because while the Hilltop has an ultrasound machine, Heather gets too carsick to make the trip. Simon didn't want to risk her leaving the Sanctuary anyway. He moves closer to Heather who stands nearly a foot shorter than him, and tries to peek over her head at their sleeping baby in the bassinet –

A loud gurgle erupted in the night air and ripped Simon from his sleep. Damn. He'd been dreaming about the baby for at least the past month. It's killing him to not know what they're having. They'd been talking circles about the name since then, too. Simon still wants something traditional, but Heather keeps suggesting names with a C and refuses to compromise on that. All the traditional C names are just… granny-ish.

Another gurgle ripped through the air, and Simon jerked around wildly. The sound was like one of the dead-ones and it set his heart racing, the hair on his arms standing on end. "Heather," he whispered tightly, "do you hear that?"

"It's me," she moaned miserably, not sounding sleepy at all. "I'm so hungry, Simon, but I'm afraid I'll throw up."

"You have to try and eat, Heather," Simon said in the sternest voice he can muster. Usually that just gets her all excited, and he did see the slight perk in Heather as she rolled on her back to look up at him. Dr. Carson estimated she's about three months pregnant, though she's still not showing much. Just a little rounder but no more discernable then how round she already was.

"I know," Heather whined, pressing her knuckles into her eyes. "But nothing sounds appealing."

"What do you mean?" Simon tilted his head, sitting up fully and leaning slightly over Heather. He gently started to stroke her forehead, smoothing her frizzy hair away from her face. The texture of her hair was starting to change, he noticed. It felt rougher to the touch on the pads of his fingers. Heather complained about it, too. Simon asked around for some better conditioner, but one of the cleaning ladies – Gladys – told him that it wouldn't matter. Being pregnant would change things about her body. All her nourishment went to the baby, not her hair or fingernails. When he told Heather, she pouted at that, but quickly shrugged it off. Her hair was never he pride anyway, and Simon still loved to wrap it around his wrists.

With a deep sigh, Heather yanked her knuckles away and squinted up at the ceiling. "I want fucking pizza."

"Oh." Simon nodded understandingly. "Pre-Apocalypse food."

"Yeah."

"I miss steak," Simon said sagely, brushing his thumb over her cheekbone. Heather's gaze shifted toward him, and Simon bent down lower so she wouldn't have to squint so much. Immediately, her face relaxed, her pout already starting to disappear. "I miss shrimp, too. Cheesecake. Cheese biscuits from Red Lobster. Seafood in general but particularly those biscuits. Fantastic recipe and addictive."

"Fuck, cheese sounds so great right now."

"You have a cheese craving?"

"Yes," Heather hissed and crossed her arms over her breasts. "It's terrible."

Sympathetically, Simon attempted to comb his fingers through Heather's hair, but they kept getting caught on the snarls and knots. He gave up and settled for resting his palm on her forehead, nearly covering her eyes with his large hand.

For a moment, they sat like that. They didn't often talk about the old world; they knew each other's past, but neither of them had happy memories or anything to dwell on. Now more than ever they found themselves constantly looking forward to the future, a future with each other, a future with them together, a future with their baby. It was all they could hope for.

Heather had nearly been lulled back to sleep when her stomach issued another loud rumble into the room. She blushed hotly, embarrassed and miserable, and Simon held back his laughter. "Come on, baby," he began cajolingly, "let me find you something to eat."

"If you find something with cheese in it, I'll love you forever."

"Are you saying you don't love me now?"

"I'm saying that I'll never stop loving you no matter what you do so long as you bring me a cheese pizza."

Then Simon did laugh. "I'll see what I can do."

As it was, Simon scrounged up a box of mac and cheese, however instead of using milk to make the cheese, he used water. It wasn't as good, but Heather still moaned over it as she scooped the hot and gooey pasta into her mouth. And after she was finished eating, Simon a received a cheese flavored kiss for his efforts before they both tucked themselves back into bed to sleep.

...

Cherry blossoms and warmth, swaddled in blankets. Loved. Cherished. Happy. Protected. Safe. So warm – wet.

Simon opened his eyes and shifted nervously, wondering if that wetness was from him. Nervously swiping his hand over the front of his boxers, he relaxed a bit once he realized that the damp sensation was on… his back? What the hell?

Carefully, Simon rolled over, trying not to jostle the mattress too much and wake up Heather. She had taken to sleeping on her left side because she heard from Gladys that that is better for pregnant women. This meant more often than not she pressed against Simon. However, they changed sides of the bed to make it easier for her, but Simon still kept naturally sleeping on his other side. Now he was the little spoon.

In the dark, Simon gently pushed the blankets down, exposing Heather in her new maternity night gown, stretched tightly over her belly. She was about four months pregnant to their best guess, and while normally pregnancy was measured by weeks, they didn't have the luxury of accuracy. By now the baby – along with all the fluids in the amniotic sack and the placenta and such – was a hefty size that left a near constant ache in Heather's lower back.

Also, the baby had taken to sitting on her bladder. This wouldn't be the first time that Heather wet the bed because of this; and Simon doubted it was a more pleasurable wetness, given that her horniness had been officially tapped out. Simon was almost grateful for that because on the nights where she woke him up it lasted for hours – and he really missed sleeping.

But no, she probably just peed again. She stopped being embarrassed after the fifth time and instead started getting pissed off. Simon just thought her anger was cute, and by now, brushed off the bed wetting. If they were going to have a baby, wet diapers were something he'd just have to get used to. Heather only marginally relaxed after Simon comforted her with that.

As it was though, when Simon hesitantly patted around Heather's rear, he couldn't feel any tell-tale dampness. Besides, how would she'd be able to piss on his upper back between his shoulder blades? More than a little confused, Simon sat up on his elbow to examine Heather closer. Shifting his head to the side, he let the small window shine what weak, filtered-through-clouds moonlight there is on Heather. Her pale skin picked up the glow, and then Simon saw it. Heather's breasts – which had increased a full cup size and led to Simon driving all over creation looking for maternity bras – had popped out of her maternity gown, pink nipples hardened and exposed to the air. She didn't sleep with a bra because it was uncomfortable, but as Simon bent his head closer, he wondered if this would make her reconsider. Heather was… leaking, for lack of a better word.

Without thinking, Simon reached out and thumbed at her nipple, pulling his thumb away and examining it curiously. Rubbing the liquid between his thumb and forefinger, Simon looked back up at Heather's serene face. He dithered for a moment about whether he should wake her, and then decided – what the hell. "Heather," he began in a hushed voice, "Heather, wake up, baby."

She inhaled deeply and her eyelids fluttered open, pupils immediately connecting with his own. "What is it? Is it walkers?"

"No, no, nothing like that." Simon bit his lip and then nodded toward her exposed, creamy – in more ways than one – breasts. "Your milk has come in."

Owlishly, she blinked at him, her eyes wide in the darkness. Then she screwed them shut, face crumpling in embarrassment. "God, my body is so gross."

"Oh, Heather, no it's not. It's beautiful." Simon wiggled closer to her, resting his arm on her hip and rubbing at her lower back to take some of the ache away. "Your body is perfect."

"But it's not the body you fell in love with," Heather whined and pushed her face into the pillow to hide her tears.

"No, I didn't fall in love with the body. I fell in love with the girl." He dipped his head down and pressed a kiss to her bushy hair, inhaling the faint fragrance of cherry blossoms that still clung to her. "That's my baby in there. I'm incredibly proud of it. And I think it's amazing how much your body has changed for our baby."

Still a little shy, Heather peeked up at him with one squinting, brown eye. "Really?"

"Of course." To prove his point, Simon pushed her maternity gown out of the way, exposing Heather's pregnant belly to the cool air. He ran his hands over the curve, tracing his fingertips over each fresh, new pink stretchmark and some of the older, more silvery ones. His lips followed the trail afterwards. Heather sighed, wind taken out of her sails, and relaxed into his touch.

Heather had starting to gain a little weight now that she was finally able to keep food down. While she was embarrassed about it, Simon was relieved. While she was sick with walking pneumonia, she'd lost about twenty pounds really drastically. That wasn't good for either Heather or the baby at all. But now that she had gained back those twenty pounds naturally, she was putting on other weight as well, especially from the baby. Her weight had started to redistribute on her, not only on her stomach and breasts, but in her face, feet, hands, hips, and thighs. Simon loved it. More to squeeze and he was fascinated by the softness. If Simon weren't so damn big, and if Heather weren't pregnant, he'd want so sleep on top of her since she was much more comfortable than the mattress and she kept him so much warmer. He was hesitant to tell her that, though, since when he hinted at it before Heather had dissolved into tears, all of her emotions out of whack from the hormones.

Pushing that aside, Simon focused on making her feel good. Simon's other hand came up and cupped one of her breasts, cautious not to hurt her. If he thought her breasts got tender during her period before than it was definitely worse now. Heather didn't wince away, so he applied a little more pressure, just giving it a little love squeeze. She gasped, the sound one of pleasure rather than pain, and a dew drop emerged. Thoughtfully, Simon hummed, "You know…last month you craved nothing but cheese. Mozzarella sticks and lasagna."

Shoving her breasts further into his hand, Heather tilted her head back. Her eyes had fallen shut, not out of sleep but out of bliss. "Yes," she hissed, rubbing her thighs together like a cricket in the night. "What about it, Simon?"

He massaged her breasts a little harder, and she released a groan into the air. "I miss milk. Like in my cereal, or in my hot chocolate, or just because."

Heather's eyes snapped open and darted to him, suspicious but otherwise not horrified. In fact, she was intrigued. "Simon…"

Simon bent over her body and licked a trail up her breasts until he sucked her nipple in his mouth. She whispered his name again, but definitely not in warning as she clutched his head to her breasts in encouragement. He sucked a little harder and was rewarded with a burst of liquid for his effort. It was nothing like the processed dairy from before, but after not having milk for so long, Simon hardly cared. Besides, it wasn't so much as drinking from her since she wasn't producing that much, it was for just tasting her. It was just something that made Simon so hard that it almost hurt.

They shifted positions when neither of them could take just grinding against each other anymore. Simon stuffed a pillow under her back to alleviate some of the pressure and let him slide into her without feeling like he was crushing the baby. Heather yanked her maternity panties to the side and guiding him into place. Then they were climbing towards their pleasure, Simon's mouth seemingly permanently attached to Heather's chest as he licked her clean of her milk and sucked hickeys into the soft, pale skin.

When they came it was with Heather screaming Simon's name into the dark and with a heavy taste of Heather's milk creaming on Simon's tongue, clinging to his dark, black mustache. He quickly rolled off of her, and they both stared up at the ceiling, their sides the only part of them touching.

"Wow," Heather gasped into the dark, "that was…wow."

Simon nodded in agreement before he realized that she wouldn't see that. "Yeah, it was even better than last month when you were so damn insatiable."

"I don't think I can handle it if it gets any better."

"Maybe it's just a pregnancy thing."

"Maybe. Speaking of which," Heather carefully rolled over on her side to face Simon, feeling like a whale while she did it. She'd even developed a waddle in the last month. "Simon! That was…very kinky of you. I didn't know you liked stuff like that."

Now it was Simon's turn to blush. "Yeah." He ran his hand through his hair. "Negan actually put the idea in my head and I've been thinking about it for a while."

"How long is a while?"

"Since Negan told me."

"Which would be?"

"When I told him that you were pregnant. The day after we found out." Simon looked uncharacteristically bashful and then returned his gaze to the ceiling.

She put her hand on his hot cheek, thumb stroking over his mustache to wipe away the last remains of her milk. Then she turned him to face her, and once their eyes connected in the dark, she smiled. "It's okay, Simon. More than okay, really. I really, really liked it, too." Heather bit her lip, and Simon quirked a smile before he dived down and gave her a kiss goodnight.

"You should tell Negan thank you from me tomorrow – and I know you tell him about our sex life, that's fine."

Simon released a breath, blowing Heather's curls out of her face. "You're the perfect woman for me, Heather."

"I love you, too, Simon. Now go to sleep."

...

Simon brushed his hand over Heather's belly, murmuring to it. "Hello, little Luke."

Above him, Heather snorted and flipped another page of her pregnancy book. "If we're naming him Lucas, we're going to call him Lucas, not Luke."

"So, we've agreed on Lucas?"

"I said 'if' – and I still like Christian."

"Well, I don't."

"Then come up with another name."

"How about Matthew?"

"Ugh, no. There was a Matthew I went to high school with and he was such a prick."

"Joseph?"

"Um…no. I met a Joseph after the end. He, uh, he died pretty quickly, but not until after he showed us who he really was."

Simon nodded understandingly. "Joshua?"

"My…cousin was named Josh. I don't want to use names from my family's side."

"All the names on my side are just terrible," Simon hummed in agreement, staring at Heather's belly as though he had x-ray vision. "Zacharias was my brother. Can you believe that? Thankfully, we called him Zack. Reuben was my father's name."

"Isn't that a kind of sandwich?"

"It's from the Bible. That's the names they picked."

"That's what you've been picking, too."

"Not on purpose. I just want my son to have a normal name."

"And I want it to start with a 'C'."

"That's just unreasonable, Heather."

Playfully, she smacked the top of his head with the book, and Simon was thankful it was a paperback. "Your mother is abusing me, my son. Come out already and save me."

"Don't you dare say that! I want the baby in me as long as possible, where it's safe." She straightened out her book again, rapidly flipping to her page to pick up where she left off. "We don't even know if it's a boy, Simon."

"What about Delilah for a girl?"

"After that song? No."

"Every girl name has a song, Heather."

"Oh, yeah? Sing a song with my name."

Simon couldn't think of one, so he made it up on the spot. "Heather, Heather, baby, you tickle me like a feather, feather, baby. You're so damn funny, Heather baby. Sweet as honey, Heather baby. Oh, just be my baby, Heather, Heather."

She dissolved into laughter, dropping the book to the side as it was forgotten, hands clutching her stomach as she laughed. "I love you, Simon."

With a rakish grin, Simon pushed himself up and caught her mid-laugh for a kiss. "I love you, too, Heather, baby." He kissed her again, and again, and again.

Slowly, Heather's braying laughter faded away, and when Simon released her lips to kiss her elsewhere, she moaned his name over and over again. "Simon, oh, Simon."

"Simon…"

"Simon, yes, oh please…"

"Simon!"

Simon was pulled from his dream, which was so lifelike. It was no wonder he was dreaming of their argument that they rehashed at least once a day. Flooded with adrenaline, Simon flipped over to Heather, running his hands wherever he could reach. "Heather, Heather, are you okay? Is it the baby? Is the baby coming?"

"No, no, it's too early." Heather caught his hands, and Simon noticed that she had blood on hers. "Something's wrong. Go get Carson."

Nodding frantically, Simon made a mad sprint for Dr. Carson – and this time he was without his boxers. He streaked through the Sanctuary and dragged Dr. Carson back to his room to examine Heather.

At first Dr. Carson was flustered and when he examined Heather he was still shaky and breathing hard. But as the doctor calmed down and Simon gave up breathing down his neck to hold Heather's hand and assure her that everything would be okay, Carson looked more thoughtful and less concerned.

"What were you doing when you started bleeding, Heather?"

Heather admittedly looked a little shameful. "I was, uh, masturbating. I didn't want to wake Simon up again because I know he has the Hilltop run tomorrow and he's just been so exhausted lately and –"

"Yes, thank you, that's fine," Dr. Carson cut her off. "Well, you," here he cleared his throat, "worked yourself up so much that you just started spotting. It's not unusual in high pressure situations when the expecting mother is particularly stressed out."

She blushed a darker red and Simon immediately knew why. Heather had a problem getting off on her own, but he suspected that she may have tried by herself since she was so sensitive now being as pregnant as she was.

"You only bled a little bit, but I can imagine how just this much might frighten you. I would say take it easy and… what month are you?"

"Fifth."

"Yes, well, you should probably… be easy when it comes to intercourse. Normally, couples can continue it right up until the ninth month, but it varies from case to case."

After that, Dr. Carson packed up and left casually, neglecting to shake either Simon's or Heather's hand because of the blood. After the door clicked shut behind him, Simon and Heather turned to face each other. There was a beat of silence, and then Heather spoke first. "You ran and got Dr. Carson completely naked?"

Simon huffed out a laugh and fell backwards on the pillows. "It's nothing the doctor hasn't seen before."

"Still, you probably scared the be-jesus out of him with that thing."

"Hey, be careful how you talk about my dick, Heather, unless you don't want it anymore." Now Simon glared at her accusingly. "I can't believe you thought you fingered your cunt in the bed right next to me."

"I didn't want to wake you!"

"You had no problem waking me before!"

"That is something you'll have to worry about anymore apparently," Heather pouted, crossing her arms underneath her breasts, inadvertently pushing them up.

"Hey, Carson only said no rough sex. Other than that, we can still make love."

"After that little fiasco, I'm not in the mood anymore."

"I don't blame you." Simon yawned, exhausted and a little shaky now without his adrenaline rush. "I'm exhausted."

"Which is exactly why I didn't want to wake you," Heather said in her I-told-you-so voice.

"Mhm," Simon mumbled sleepily, finally giving up. He could never win in an argument with Heather anyway. "Come here, Heather, let's go back to sleep." He opened his arms to her, eyes already closed, and Heather snuggled back down with him, dropping a kiss goodnight on the hollow of his throat that made Simon rumble appreciatively at the gesture.

"When you got to the Hilltop tomorrow can you get some new sheets?"

"Yeah, we're going to need more."

"Thank you, Simon. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Heather. Sweet dreams."

"Love you."

"Love you."

...

Simon wakes up to an empty bed again. Heather is once again hovering near their bassinet, her back to him. His breath catches at the sight of her. She looks…different. Not like the Heather he knows and loves. Her maternity gown is ripped, the bottom edge of it frayed and splashed with a rust colored stain. Heather's hair hangs around her head, lifeless, and she's lost that glow to her skin, instead looking greyish in the moonlight.

Heather's head is bent forward at an unnatural angle as she stares into the grey bassinet. The same stain on her maternity gown looks fresher on the bedding there. Her hands that were limp by her side lift and reach for the bassinet – for their baby, Simon realizes.

Suddenly, she looks over at him with bared teeth, merciless and hungry, the spark of life gone and instead there is something that is both cold and feral. Dead with meat hanging out of her mouth, flesh hanging limp, a bite on her breasts.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Simon softly pads closer, bare feet sticking to the floor from the blood. He's terrified, but he's compelled to know – to check. He didn't even know the sex. They didn't even name the baby yet. This is exactly why he wanted her to stay at the Sanctuary where it was safe. He moves closer to monster that was once his beautiful Heather and throws her against the wall so he can just make sure that the baby is okay – and he only sees a gurgling mess of blood with flesh in a toothless mouth and SIMON IS SCREAMING. SOMEONE IS SCREAMING. WHO IS SCREAMING? IS IT HEATHER?

"SIMON! Wake up!"

Gasping for air as though he were surfacing from water, Simon jerked awake, climbing out of the bed and reaching for his gun before he remembered that it wasn't real. Only a dream. "Nightmare," Simon croaked.

Heather is sitting on the bed, clutching the blanket to her stomach protectively, her eyes staring at him with tears. She had put on her coke bottle glasses. She could see his every emotion perfectly.

The gun was put back on the bedside table with a noisy clatter, and Simon stumbled back into bed. He took Heather's face into his large hands, nearly engulfing her entire head with both of them as he bent over and placed a kiss of relief on her lips. Then he dropped down and repeated the same process to her belly, whispering apologies to their unborn baby.

"Simon," she started with a quiet, tremoring voice. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No!" He said too sharply and then immediately corrected his tone, face twisting up in apology and regret. "No, it was terrible, Heather. I don't want you to think about it."

She pressed her lips together, looking like she wants to argue further. But then she concedes with a sigh. "Okay, Simon. Do you want to try sleeping again? I know you have to go check out that new potential base tomorrow. The satellite place."

Emphatically, he shook his head. "No, no, I don't want to sleep."

"Take the day off tomorrow, then."

"I can't do that to Negan. I need as much points as possible for you and the baby, too."

"Negan is your friend, he will understand."

Simon didn't say anything, staring out into the dark and focusing on the bassinet in the corner. Right now, the basinet was stuffed to the brim with diapers and burp clothes and baby clothes every color of the rainbow. There would be no baby in there for at least another trimester.

Finally relenting to be held by Heather, his head pillowed on her breasts, Simon was too afraid to close his eyes. He knew exactly why he had that nightmare. He'd been on a run looking for baby supplies when they found a metaphorical jackpot. The only problem was… Simon didn't have to wonder about what happened to the baby. He saw the bodies. He could piece the puzzle together. He'd spent the rest of the run in his truck, throwing up out the window until his stomach was empty. Arat cleaned the truck for him once they got back, and he made his crew swear not to tell Heather. So far no one had, and Simon had gone a week without thinking about it before all his fears clawed up out of his brain in a nightmare.

It used to be that Simon didn't give a particular damn about anyone. And now he was consumed, first love for Heather and now for his baby. It would break him to part from either of them.

He did not go back to sleep that night.

...

Simon had not been sleeping well after that incident. Of course, even before his nightmare, Simon's sleep had been a little restless before, that incident with Heather spotting being the catalyst for it. He was so eaten up with anxiety that Dr. Carson prescribed him an antacid so he wouldn't get crippling stomach ulcers. For the most part though, he kept his fears hidden from Heather, not wanting to put undue stress on her so late in her pregnancy. That meant hiding from Heather, though, so Simon became that much more of a workaholic than he was before. But it was worth it. He found so much for their baby – their nameless baby. They still hadn't settled on a name yet.

One night, Simon had been sleeping relatively peacefully until he was dragged out of his dreamless sleep by a rude and deliberate kick from Heather.

"Your radio is going off," she spat, sounding cranky. She'd become very waspish in her eighth month, and Simon couldn't blame her. He preferred her anger to her tears anyway, and he could handle the rough treatment. "Answer it."

Simon rolled out of bed, not realizing how close he was to the edge until he had already fallen on the floor with a thump. "I'm fine! Don't worry about it!" He quickly sat up again and grabbed his crackling radio. "Yeah, what is it?"

"Simon!" Negan's voice barked over the radio, causing Heather to sit up in the bed with a groan, pressing one hand to her lower back and the other to her very pregnant stomach. "There's been a little fucking incident at one of our fucking communities! I need you to get your happy ass down here and help me fucking fix it."

Heather grabbed her coke bottle glasses off the bedside table and looked over at Simon. Neither of them wanted him to leave, and Heather rubbed a tight circle on her belly, soothing the restless kicks of their baby. She was ready to pop any day it seemed. Anything could happen with Simon gone.

"Simon!" Negan roared when he didn't get an immediate answer.

"You should go," Heather told him, "I'll be fine. I have Gladys and Veronica and Dr. Carson. And I promise I won't have the baby without you. I'll cross my legs and everything – even shove a cork stopper up there."

Despite himself, Simon broke out into a laugh and leaned across the bed, whispering to her stomach. "You listen here, baby. You better stay put until I get back okay? No surprises while I'm gone."

Heather grunted and then grabbed his hand, pressing it to the right side of her bump. "I think they heard you." She looked up at him with her little all-knowing smirk. "They always listen to their daddy."

"You always listen to Daddy, too, Heather." Simon smirked back and then kissed her goodbye. Before Negan could curse him out any further, Simon quickly answered, "Yeah, yeah, hold your horses before my very pregnant wife marches over and kicks your ass."

Pressing her delicate hand to her mouth, slender fingers curving around her big nose, Heather muffled her laughter. She watched Simon get dressed, rubbing her belly in slow strokes. Once he had the gun tucked in his holster, she sat up on her knees and kissed him goodbye one more time. "Come back to me, Simon."

He gave her a curt nod. "I love you, Heather."

"I love you, too. Now go."

And with her blessing, Simon left.

...

Heather did not go into labor while Simon was gone, but by now she was desperate for the baby to be born. Simon was, too. They were both dying to know the sex – and they both still had not decided on a name. Additionally, Simon wanted his sweet Heather back because for the most part she was a huge grump. He missed the sweet kisses, the cuddles and snuggles, the braying laughed. The baby must have sucked all the sweetness out of her, Simon surmised. He hoped this meant this would be the most well-behaved baby in the new world – and that maybe it was a girl.

Simon was sleeping on his side of the bed a little fitfully when a wet sensation woke him up. His eyes popped open and he sighed. Then he sat up – right when Heather did. They both looked over at each other, and Simon was just about to start warding off Heather's crying session over wetting the bed again when instead she just screamed.

It scared him so bad he fell out of the bed again, cracking his head like an egg on the bedside table. "Heather, what the hell! What is it?"

"My water broke!" Heather screamed again, "Fuck! This really hurts! It's not Braxton hicks, Simon, it's not those at all!"

"What, you mean you're going into labor? Contractions? Already? Your water just fucking broke!"

"No fucking shit, Simon, you don't think I don't know that?" Heather screamed at him again, and then screamed sharper than before.

Rubbing his head, Simon stared at her, wide eyed and opened mouthed. "Fuck, those contractions are too close. Fuck, fuck, fuck, this baby is coming now."

"Go get Carson!" Heather threw his pillow at him and it smacked Simon in the face. He had just tossed it aside when she threw her pillow at him and screamed again. "I want Gladys! Go get them and Veronica, Simon. Hurry!"

He scrambled to do as she said, barely even noticing that his head was bleeding. His one fleeting thought was that at least he was wearing boxers for this.

...

Hands. Warm. Small and stubby fingers with the pinkies naturally curved in. Chubby wrists easily encircled by Simon's thumb and forefinger twice over. Fat rolls up and down the arms and legs. So fragile that Simon was afraid to hold the baby but at the same time, he never wanted to let the baby go. He rocks the baby around the room, crooning nonsense, and glances up at Heather who is sitting on the bed, watching them with a smile.

Heather's brown curls are piled on top of her head because babies love spitting up in hair, they quickly learned. She doesn't smell much like cherry blossoms anymore because Simon hasn't been able to find that shampoo, being so busy with the baby. Instead she smells like baby powder.

Simon carefully buries his nose in their baby's thick brown hair – definitely something inherited from Heather. The baby gurgles and whines high-pitched right in his ear, burrowing deeper in his strong arms and seeking out a breast for sweet sustenance. Simon laughs, gently hitching the baby higher so that it doesn't latch on to his nipple by mistake. He looks up at Heather. "I think it's –"

"Your turn," Heather gently called over the sharp beginning cry of the baby.

Without complaint, Simon swung his legs over the side of the bed. He softly padded closer to the bassinet, bare feet barely making any noise so as to not further disturb the baby. Two years being quiet to avoid dead ones was the perfect preparation for this moment. Peeking over the edge of the bassinet, Simon smiled at the sight of his and Heather's baby because as soon as she saw him, she gurgled happily and squealed.

"Hey there, Kirsten. What are you doing up? Are you hungry?" He scooped her up from her bed, checking her diaper to see if she needs to be change. It's dry. To Heather, he said, "Yeah, I think she's just hungry. So, it's your turn actually."

Heather groaned, but sat up and pulled her top down anyway. After Kirsten starts to feed, she instantly quiets. Simon and Heather have eyes only for their baby, and neither of them will ever be used to seeing this.

"Simon?"

"Hm?"

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

"Simon?"

"Hm?"

"I'm glad I had a baby with you."

"Me, too, Heather. Kirsten is perfect. Just like her mother."

After Kirsten falls back to sleep again, Simon gently slipped her back into her basinet. Then he climbed back into bed where Heather was already asleep. And from then on, Simon slept peacefully until morning, until it was time to start the process anew the next night.