Sorry for the wait on this! I care for rescue animals, and I've been bottle feeding two kittens my dad rescued from being jammed in-between two fences.
The dressmaker gave an accusatory glance to Rigby as she struggled to button the top of the wedding dress. The cat grinned nervously and shrugged.
Rigby's mouth twitched, "…Too many wedding cake samples, I guess."
"I'm going to have to take it out a bit in the waist."
"You know… I think maybe you could take it out a few inches?"
"What? It'll be huge on you!"
"Y-Yeah… How silly of me…" Rigby adjusted the veil atop her head and attempted to recognize the person in the mirror looking back at her.
"I'll make the alteration, but you need to lay off the snacks," the dressmaker warned, leaving Rigby alone with the large, puffy wedding dress.
"What am I gonna do…?" Rigby asked herself.
She decided upon a small, quiet restaurant for dinner. Sherman had gone to a friend's house for a sleepover, allowing for the cat and the dog to wander into the upscale place that would have otherwise bored the boy alone.
"This is sudden, but certainly appreciated," Peabody admitted as he slid into his chair, after pushing in Rigby's for her. "How did you manage to get reservations so quickly?"
"…I donated a painting…" was the only response, followed by feigned interest in the menu. "How's your case going?"
"Oh, it's terrific! We're just about done—Victory's a sure thing, at this point. Urm… Rigby, are you quite all right?"
"Yeah! Yeah, why?"
"One, you haven't touched the breadbasket yet, and you adore free bread. Two, you've been staring at a blank page in the menu this entire time."
"I… There are just so many unique combinations on the menu, is all… I guess I'm just having a hard time deciding what I want," she replied, clearing her throat a bit. "Some times that happens, huh? Just… Really, really weird things you see not mixing do. And it's a good mix! I mean... Peanut chicken. Who would've thought, right?"
"Are you sure you're—"
"Sir?" the waiter leaned down to them. "May I interest you in something to drink?"
"Yes. A martini for me, for the lady—"
"Just tea," said Rigby quickly. "Just… Tea. Thanks."
"Now I know something's wrong. You never turn down a good martini, and these are some of the best in town."
"Just… Not really feeling like it."
"All right, then! No martinis, but a bottle of wine, please. Your best year!" Peabody said with a grin to the waiter. He turned to Rigby, who squirmed in her chair, "It's the least I can do for these reservations you made."
"Of course, sir," the waiter nodded to them both and headed off in search of the bottle, Rigby with her paw, claws and all, digging into the expensive tablecloth.
"Now! I picked out a few ideas for the honeymoon," the dog just as quickly shifted gears, while Rigby hung her head and shook it gently, muttering under her breath. "I was thinking perhaps Bora Bora? There's also Australia… The possibilities are endless, really. It'd be good if we narrowed it down, and…"
"We… We're not gonna be able to go."
"Oh? Work? A project of some sort?"
"No, I…" Rigby's eyes followed the bottle of wine as the waiter brought it back, and then upon Peabody's expectant look as he started to pour—First a glass for himself, and then he started on Rigby's glass.
"Well, I'm more than understanding to a venture. We can always re—"
"Hector. Stop. I'm pregnant."
And the wine remained flowing freely in the dog's paw, over and out of the glass, flowering out onto the white tablecloth, and finally onto the floor.
"I… I'll grab some napkins," the waiter's shoulders sunk, and he slunk away into the safety of the kitchen to avoid the pair's table.
Peabody finally set the bottle down on the tablecloth, slowly and shakily, "You… You're…"
Rigby shrugged and threw up her paws, "I didn't know it could happen, either. The vet's impressed. She ran ten tests. She wants to put this into a medical journal!"
"I… I knew you were gaining weight, but I also know that whenever I've mentioned this in passing it's usually followed with some sort of threat… How… How far are you…?"
"Fifteen days…."
"That'd leave about forty-five…" Peabody cringed and readied his overflowing wine glass for his next question, "How many….?"
"Just one."
A sigh of relief slipped from the dog, and he sank in his seat, covering his eyes. He then bolted up from his seat, disturbing the silverware and glasses and spilling even more of the wine, "Sherman! What are we going to tell him?"
"R-Relax! We'll think of something!" Rigby held her paws out, and then, with a sigh, slid out of her seat, walked over and took the dog's muzzle into her paws. "We'll figured out something. We're Peabodys, remember?"
Peabody seemed less than convinced by this, but gently gripped her wrists, and gave a gentle nod.
"I'm not gonna fit in that wedding dress," she laughed, bringing her forehead to his.
"No you're not…" of all things, Peabody gave out his own laugh, and wiped his eyes under his glasses. She drew him in closer, not caring the casual looks of the diners seated around them. For once, she didn't pay attention to the looks.
"What am I going to tell him?" Sherman moaned, focused on the screen and the expensive gem in front of him. He was quick to close this screen as his father walked in—Wreaking of wine, and with his tie slightly tilted and wrinkled.
"I was just getting to bed! I swear!" he exclaimed, rushing to his bed and hopping underneath the covers.
"That's fine…" his father's voice was low as he pulled the sheets over Sherman gently.
"Are…. You okay, Mr. Peabody?"
"Yes…" said the dog after a pause, "Are you okay, Sherman?"
"…Yeah…" said the boy after a pause.
"I'll be out most of the day tomorrow to deal with that nonsense that's come up. And then we're going to go out for a bit and have a talk."
"W-What about?" the boy's voice cracked, and Sherman could feel himself begin to sweat already.
"Nothing bad. I promise. Now get your rest," Peabody hugged him and switched the lights off of the bedroom before taking in the moment to take in his sleeping son before putting the door ajar.
"What're you looking at?" Rigby had taken to her condition with fervor, helping herself to some fried chicken that had been left in the refrigerator. She nibbled on the bone of a nearly-barren leg as Peabody flipped through the book on his lap and remained seating next to her in the large bed, a slight smile coming across his face.
"Growing sentimental, I suppose," he answered, flipping through another page of Sherman's baby photos and smiling. "Here's Mount Rushmore—In the midst of its being built, of course… Oh, here's when he climbed into President Lincoln's hat! And… Here's him tugging on Lincoln's beard. Terrible twos. And here—Hrm?"
He heard the low purring, and realized Rigby had fallen asleep, leaning asking him and chicken bone in hand. With a bit of a struggle he pulled the bone out of her hand, pulled off her glasses, and set the glasses atop the baby book, all while holding the chicken bone in his mouth. This bone he threw, expertly throwing it in a trash can.
He went to set his tie on the nightstand, only to find Rigby had clutched onto his arm, making him a bit of a prisoner to her sleeping position. A few more false starts, and he resigned himself to setting it atop Rigby's head and then shutting his own eyes.
"Neh?" Rigby reached up, patting herself atop the head, and with great confusion pulled a red bowtie out of the fur atop her head. She slowly raised up her head as she watched Peabody hastily rush about the room, grabbing armfuls of paper with abandon and shoving them into a suitcase.
"I've already overslept a bit and have to get to the courthouse early this morning—Do not let Sherman supersede two bowls of cereal, and do NOT let him add sugar to it. It's sweet enough, he doesn't need to be bouncing off the walls," Peabody explained as he shoved the documents into his briefcase and slammed it shut. "I'm off, wish me luck!"
"Wait!" Rigby bolted up after him, and met him at the door. In a huff she held out the bow tie to him, and he took this with a gasp, clipping it to his neck.
"Mr. Peabody!" Sherman called out, rushing out still in his pajamas and with a piece of paper in hand. He practically tackled his father on the way out the door, and Peabody's briefcase went flying everywhere. "Oh, no!"
"I-It's all right, Sherman, really!" Peabody rushed to pick up the papers and just barely shoved them into his suitcase. "I'll be back with a victory by this afternoon!"
"Do you think he'll get it?" Sherman asked in a whisper as Peabody rushed away from both of them.
"Ah, come on, of course he will!" Rigby nudged him and smiled. She raised an eyebrow as she heard a gasp from Sherman, and she tilted her head. "What's up?"
"I think he might've taken the thing I made for him on accident!"
"It'll be a good surprise for him with all of this mess… Now c'mon, let's get you breakfast."
"Cereal?!"
"You got it!"
"Can I put sugar on it?"
"Of course! Just remember, don't tell your dad and help me rearrange my paints later, okay?"
"Deal!" the boy exclaimed, already gripping onto a large spoon in anticipation.
Kensey's smile gave Peabody a chill—It was the calmness of it… Coupled with the fact it didn't crack at all through the proceedings.
"Mr. Peabody, you'll be defending yourself?" the judge inquired from high up on his bench, and Peabody snapped his head to attention and opened his briefcase.
"Certainly, your honor! I—" Peabody looked down in the briefcase, and found a still-drying painting, a picture Sherman had made of the three of them, sticking to all of his documents and coating them with paint. Peabody shot his head up, and gulped, "Your honor… I might need a moment."
Kensey's smile, from the other table in the courtroom, only grew.