Chapter 2: Twice Shy

Present:

As John walked into the library, hands deep in the pockets of his suit pants, Finch's voice called out to him. Following the sounds of giggling little four year olds, he found what he was looking for.

"Daddy," immediately, two little bundles assaulted his legs and had him trapped.

"Girls, why don't you get your things together and we can head home."

"Finch?"

Finch's eyes shone with merriment as he started to pick up the little tea set the girls were playing with. "Your little heathens have been very curious today. They want to know why their mother doesn't have a wedding picture like their Auntie Joss."

Motioning towards the wedding portrait of Detectives Carter and Beecher, Finch leveled a gaze towards the ex-CIA op. "When are you going to ask her?"

John rolled his eyes. "Whenever I think she won't throw a vase at my head," he responded.

Finch's eyes jested. "Oh, I think you're more than capable of dodging anything thrown your way."

John chuffed. "Actually, I was thinking of asking the girls for suggestions. They are exactly like their mother; so who would know better? I'm hoping she might actually be willing to consider it then."

"I think she will," Finch confided.

"I hope so," John groused. "It's been nearly five years since I brought it up. If that's not long enough, I don't know what is." He had hoped that tonight would be the perfect night, being the anniversary of when they found out they were going to be parents, as well as five years exactly since he had asked her and been refused the second time that year. She had insisted then that they wait, for several reasons. First, to be sure that any threats against John, themselves and the children, if any, were manageable; second, to be sure that they still felt strongly enough about each other to make it work; and third, that there weren't any other reasons for them to feel obligated to marry each other. John believed that all of those questions had now been answered and he had been hoping that she would finally agree.

John sighed as he collected his girls and headed towards their home just outside New York City. Their lot extended about four acres which had been purchased only two years ago, when they had decided to settle there permanently giving their girls room to be free and set up an impenetrable fortress around them.

Five Years Ago:

She had not been feeling well for several weeks, but refused to admit it, continuing to work. She had finally succumbed to the tiredness and gone to her doctor.

It couldn't be. Zoe thought her doctor was pulling an April fool's prank on her. Except that it wasn't April and she certainly didn't think this was funny. The doctor had told her with certainty the one thing she never would have expected at her age. Zoe Morgan had a bun in the oven.

Stunned didn't even cover the depth of her emotions. Zoe sat unmoving on her couch, staring off into space as she contemplated her situation. She was on the phone with the pharmacist, listening to him tell her that for the better part of three months her method of birth control was non-existent. Quality control not being what it used to be; the pharmaceutical company that produced her birth control pills announced certain manufacturer defects, which could result, and did for her, in pregnancy.

Panic overwhelmed her. She was too old, she told herself. The life she and John led was not conducive to having children. Could she get rid of the baby? Unequivocally, the answer was no. She was a mature, self-sufficient, independent woman. There was no reason she couldn't raise this baby.

She was staring in disbelief at the third stick to confirm in the last hour what the doctor had informed her when John had come in, his expression concerned.

"Zoe, what's going on?"

He had to repeat himself before she appeared to hear him, gently she handed him the sticks, all three of them.

Drawing up her legs, she curled herself into a ball on the couch. She wrapped her arms tightly around her, and began to laugh. She laughed, until her stomach ached and she breathing was difficult. She laughed until tears soaked her cheeks, until she her body began to shudder with deep, quivering sobs.

"Zoe Morgan, will you be my wife," John asked earnestly.

Apparently, that still wasn't what she was expecting to hear from him. "You're asking me to marry you because you knocked me up? We're not children, John. I will not trap you into marriage because I'm pregnant." That's when the new vase she had purchased just months ago came careening toward him. He was glad yet again for his quick reflexes. Her hormones being what they were for a pregnant woman caused her to rattle off a succession of curses that slandered both his lineage and himself again.

Growling in frustration and a bit of desperation, she stomped to her room, and slammed the door behind her.

Again, he sat perched on couch like a moron. Again he couldn't bring himself to leave. They were going to be parents. And as much as it appeared to distress Zoe, he couldn't be happier. So, he made himself comfortable, lying on her couch, all night if he needed to again. He knew that she would come out eventually. He let her stew, it suited him just fine. If her couch was as close as he was getting to her and the baby that night, then he'd rather be there than anywhere else on earth.

He was woken up by her quiet movements as she stood in the doorway in her pajamas, her arms crossed at her chest, her brow furrowed in frustration. He sighed with a quiet calmness, knowing they could do anything they put their mind to.

"You're not leaving, are you?" she asked exasperatedly.

"Nope," he replied with a shrug.

"Then I guess you'd better come into the bedroom. Your timing sucks John; you better have a better reason for asking me to marry you the next time."