A/N: Thanks for all the reviews. Especially the guest/anon ones because I don't know some of you and don't have a way to do it personally. Thanks for feeding my muse 3 And thanks to my special "Iknowwho" for being my 300th review! Love you to pieces! 3

Saturday, May 17th

The warm light of what's definitely a sunny Saturday afternoon fills my kitchen with a pleasant shade of amber. Will and I just had lunch. After yesterday's mess with Grace, I called him to reconfirm our plans to spend the weekend together, or better to get the confirmation myself that nothing had changed and he still wanted to be here. I don't want the problems with my daughter to become a real issue between us.

As he gives a quick clean to the room, I stare out the window at that greenish stain that's the park at the end of the street and I suppress an unhopeful sigh. I need to go out, to take a short walk. I'm becoming claustrophobic and it's been only three weeks since I've been put on bed rest. People keep coming and going; Grace, mom, Will, Peter, while I'm stuck here for an amount of time that could range from two more weeks if I'm lucky to six months, depending on the result of the next exam. And optimism doesn't live here lately. If cramps are a sign, nothing positive came from this rest and I start to freak out that if this is the case, Grace and Will might nail me to the bed to make sure I don't move anymore until the baby is out, safe and sound. I can feel Will's eyes on me but he doesn't say anything. Maybe he knows what I want and he's careful not to ask so he doesn't have to say no. Or maybe he has quite another thing in mind. Some topics are just dangerous waters to navigate.

Still, as we move back to the living room, I give it a try and offer to go for a walk. The nice weather is too inviting and I know that a few steps can't do any harm.

"I think it's a bad idea. Actually a very bad one," Will objects, resolute, as with a pointed finger he shows me the way back to the couch like a preaching dad. Or more like a prison guard.

But I don't move a single inch. Arms crossed in front of me, I develop the fightback. "Only a short walk," I plead him with that inflection between imploring and petulant, voice quivering just to the right point, that never fails to hit the mark. "I'm losing touch with the outside world, actually I don't even know if there is still an outside world at all."

And as planned, I just stand there and watch his decisiveness crumble under my well played show. His shoulders relax and fall, his gaze switches with growing ambivalence between me and the couch, and a growling exhale marks his psychological defeat.

"To the park and back, and if you get more cramps, you tell me immediately," he makes the rules.

And it's far from me to complain or object. "Yes, sir," I screech. I try to contain my joy to a level of decency, offering him a grateful smile in place of an inhumane ultrasonic scream, then I quickly get ready to leave before he can change his mind.

After three weeks of confinement, even the elevator ride looks like a merry-go-round, and as we step outside the building, I have to cover my eyes at the sudden brightness. It takes a moment for my sight to adjust to the intense light. The warmth of the sun, the Saturday's bustle of people, either shopping or simply enjoying springtime. It's a pleasant feeling to be part of society again, even if only for a short, undemanding walk.

We cover the distance to the park in an enjoyable silence, side by side, relishing the break from our current reality and tasting what's hopefully our future one. Our bodies brush slightly against each other as we stroll unhurriedly, and when our gazes meet, I clasp his arm, making him smile softly in turn. I stare down and frown, disappointed that the coat hides our growing baby to the outside world. But I know that it's only a matter of time.

"Are you okay?" Will asks, pulling me out of my baby-dreaming.

His gaze is moving swiftly between me and the baby, probably concerned, and I hasten to reassure him before he takes me back home at the speed of light. "I'm fine, just thinking."

I inhale deeply. The park never smelled so good; primroses and daisies mingle, creating a fresh bouquet. I love springtime.

"We should talk about yesterday," Will throws out, tentatively, as we sit on the bench in front of the fountain.

Yesterday. I still can't say if I'm more mad at Grace or at myself for my levity. "It's okay, Will. I just pushed things. I thought it was a good idea and I made things worse," I say softly, with a veil of sorrow.

"Grace phoned me," Will says calmly.

I'm not sure I got it right or if the gurgling water played some trick with my hearing. "She what?"

"She phoned me. Last night. To apologize," Will explains quickly, before I have the chance to ask anything.

"Oh." I gape, confused, disoriented. Most definitely surprised. "She didn't tell me."

Will nods. "I kinda figured that out when you didn't mention anything about it."

She didn't tell me. She phoned Will and didn't tell me. I repeat it to myself, trying to decide how I feel about it and what her gesture means in the first place. I nod to myself, unconsciously, but I'm still lost. "So?" I invite him to give me some hint about the outcome of their conversation.

"I don't think she feels the pressure of having to like me," he gives away, with some hesitation in his voice, "but to have to like me in front of you."

In front of me?

In front of me.

I cloud and remain silent for a moment, my gaze lost in the effervescence of the water. Grace feels my pressure. I always thought I was doing a good job in not forcing her but apparently I was all wrong. His words weigh down on me, leaving an undertone of guilt. Though I'm sure this wasn't his intention. But at the same time I'm sure there is much more I still don't know and I'm not sure that what's still to come will make me feel better or even worse. I gaze back at him, inquisitively. I need to know what they said to each other.

"I offered to pick her up again from school, when she wants, so we have some time to talk," he answers my unvoiced curiosity. "She agreed but with the only condition that I stay in the car this time."

I furrow my brows in puzzlement. I should find it a mean and reproachful request from her side, actually I'm sure it is exactly that. But Will's amusement, etched all over his face, makes me burst into loud laughter. "So, it's a step forward," I observe with a soft smile and a faint nod.

Will shrugs. "Seems like it."

I feel for Will. He's only starting to get an inkling of what it means to deal with a teenager's mood swings and he ends up being more condescending that he should. But if this can fix the tension, it's fine for now. "She's giving you a hard time," I kid with an exhale, I rest my head on his shoulder. And in my loud sigh, there's a hinted apology. I smile contented and close my eyes as Will welcomes my intimate gesture and puts an arm around my shoulders, nestling against me and circling me in a warm embrace.

"Harder than expected," he agrees with a mild laugh, then falls into a pensive silence.

I resist the impelling urge to ask him what he's thinking. I know he'll open up eventually.

"Do teenagers get ice-creams? Or might she end up blaming me for treating her like a baby?" he suddenly inquires me with an amused wince. But behind that put up lightness I know he's scared to death by having to deal with Grace, alone.

"Maybe go with a frozen yogurt instead," I tip off, confidentially.

"Frozen yogurt," he nods, as if taking mental note of the hint.

"And if anything goes wrong, I'll make sure to remind this baby, every single day of its life, that its dad was wonderful and a very brave man," I joke.

"That's very reassuring," he reproaches me with a soft tap on my arm.

"Just preparing you for the worst," I play along with an expressive smirk.

There is something warming, loosening and pleasantly enlivening in this unplanned break from my daily routine. And Will's hand that caresses my arm delicately, up and down, makes it all the more blissful. Until the moment I hear Will sigh; imperceptibly, yet his chest moving in a hastened up and down is the sign he's catching breath to speak.

"I can't decide whether things are moving too fast or too slow," he confesses. His words are blown, barely audible, like I know he does when he's worried about something. "I want to meet this baby, to hold it, to lull it to sleep, to teach it the fundaments of baseball and how to ride a bicycle. But at the same time it scares me and I feel so unprepared. I look at my father and I… I don't want to repeat his mistakes."

I imbibe his words in silence, unsure about what to say at first. I never met his father. All I have is a timeworn bunch of Will's memories from old days and his stubborn muteness whenever asked about it. But I know Will blames him for more faults that I'm allowed to know. And if there is something life taught me is that we always blame our parents for any of our dreams that fail to get fulfilled.

But I know it's different for him. His dream of building a family is slowly, tenaciously struggling to come true. And I don't want any of his past shadows to darken it. I want him to live this experience for what it is; the one thing he always craved. And we already have plenty of shadows to deal with, we don't need to exhume old ones anyway. "I think you're going to be a great dad," I hearten him with a tender smile, "because it's in you, because I see the shimmering in your eyes whenever you talk about the baby, because I know you bought our baby the baby-sized uniform already and hid it in a closet, meaning you have dreams for your baby. Because you love this baby more than yourself, and trust me, this is really everything that a child needs."

And I swear by every single word I said.

I sit up straight and turn to face him to grasp the weight of my words on him. I see him gape a few times, he seems confused, which is not the reaction I was expecting.

"You have been confined for three weeks, how on earth can you know about my baby shopping?" he asks me, blatantly incredulous.

I fail to suffocate a laugh. "You're an idiot and left the receipt in your jacket," I present him with his slip-up. "It fell on the floor when I put the jacket on the hanger last week," I hasten to explain, before he thinks I nose around his stuff.

"Oh. Did I?" he asks, embarrassed.

I nod and don't even try to hide my amusement. "Yes, and it's the cutest thing ever. Our baby still doesn't have a home, a crib, rompers and diapers. But it has a nice sport's uniform," I poke fun at him.

"There are priorities in life," he shrugs. "And now we should get back home. I don't want you to get used to freedom." He stands up and offers a hand to help me up.

I glare at him, disappointed for being brought back to reality just when I was having fun, but I made the promise not to whine so I simply accept his hand, grateful for the lovely escapism.