Fred lay on the couch, staring up at the ceiling, hands folded on his chest, thoughts loud, and anger simmering through his veins. She couldn't do this to him, he thought. She couldn't do this to him, and she was going to realize she couldn't do this to him. Then, she was going to come downstairs and apologize. And he was not moving until she did.

He was nearly certain of this. But then twenty minutes had passed. Then thirty minutes had passed.

Soon enough, it was nearing an hour, and she still hadn't made an appearance. He turned to face the back of the couch, pulling the throw blanket from over the back of it and tossing it over his legs haphazardly. His eyes shut, and he willed his mind blank long enough to catch at least a few hours of sleep.

Meanwhile, upstairs, Hermione turned restlessly for the umpteenth time. It was no use, she knew. She couldn't get comfortable. She wasn't going to get comfortable. Not without Fred there.

It took a near hour before she resigned herself to an enormous lack of sleep unless she did something. So she got out of bed and padded downstairs, quietly entering the living room and frowning at the sight of her husband's long frame bent to fit the couch. "Fred?" she whispered.

He stayed perfectly still.

She approached him carefully and leaned over to see his face. "Fred?" she asked again.

His eyes opened and he turned over to look at her. "Yes?"

"I can't sleep," she confessed. "Would you, please, come back to bed?" She tried to keep her voice even.

"Is that your version of an apology?" he asked.

She sighed. "No," she said firmly. "But I am sorry that I made you feel like you can't sleep in our bed. Please come back upstairs."

"I notice that you're not actually apologizing for the argument," Fred told her.

"I don't think that's finished yet," Hermione said honestly.

"Then I can't come back to bed right now," Fred replied.

Her shoulders fell tiredly. "Please."

He shook his head. "There's a rule about this: never go to bed angry," he said. "Hermione, I'm still angry."

Her gaze turned down, and her fingers disappeared into her hair. There hadn't been many times that Fred was angry with her. Even fewer when he'd actually admitted it. Usually, when he was angry, it was out of concern or worry for her. Not this time. "I think we'll both feel better in the morning," she suggested quietly. "And I'll be much nicer, and much more willing to talk about this, tomorrow. I promise."

"But we're still fighting?" Fred asked. "Because, Hermione, I'm not going to get over this. I want this resolved. I want to be in that room."

She was about to retort when she stopped herself. "Paused then," she said.

"Paused?" he echoed incredulously. "You can't pause life."

"Not life," she said. "Just…this."

"This fight, you mean."

"Fred."

He sat up and kicked a bit at the blanket. "Pause it until when Hermione?" he demanded. "Until the baby's born? Until it's too late to sort this out?"

"No!" she said quickly. "Not at all. Just until we have the time to sit down and talk about this rationally."

"I am being rational," he said tersely. "You're the one being irrational here."

She opened her mouth to argue, to contradict him once again, then decisively closed it. "Will you please come upstairs with me?" she requested.

A part of him wanted to say no, to lie back down, turn over, and stay as angry as he was, but then he looked at her, his wife, exhausted and imploring. His resolve softened. "Fine," he relented. At least he'd sleep comfortably, he told himself. He tossed the blanket back over the couch and followed Hermione upstairs. They got into bed.

She closed her eyes, tried to get comfortable on her side. Fred was facing away from her. It was almost like he wasn't there. He only ever slept two ways with her: on his back or wrapped around her.

Her hand reached tentatively, landed feather light on his shoulder. She kissed his shoulder blade through his T-shirt, silently asked that he'd turn.

Fred sighed, rolled to his back. She moved over, curled into his side. Her arm wrapped across his midsection, and she waited, hoping he'd hold her back somehow. After a beat, he hadn't, and she began to retract her arm, move back to her side of the bed.

She heard him expel a long breath, and he relaxed in her hold. "Pause," he conceded finally. "Come here."

In the morning, Fred said nothing. If Hermione wanted her pause, then it was up to her to call play. Until then, they went about their routine as per usual, the only difference being that Hermione left the house for work without kissing Fred goodbye. He only realized once he'd arrived at work himself, preoccupied with his own thoughts.

"Freddie, you alright?" George donned his work robes and unlocked the register.

When Fred shook his head, George froze. "What's going on?" he asked, looking up, waiting attentively.

"Hermione and I are—were—still are…" Fred ran a hand through his hair, "fighting," he finished. He headed for the back room to grab more boxes for the whizbang display. George hopped the counter and followed after him.

"Fighting?" he repeated. "You and Hermione?"

Fred confirmed this, rubbing the back of his neck tiredly and scanning the storage boxes.

"What happened?" George asked. Fred sucked in a lungful and George winced. "That bad?"

He started from the beginning, trying to recall every exchanged word. George tried to both keep up and keep the questions to a minimum. "And then!" Fred exclaimed. "And then she puts it on pause."

"Pause."

"Pause!" Fred reiterated. "She just wants to stop all the fighting and go to bed."

"And did you?" George asked.

"Yeah," he said with a sigh. "We basically broke the first rule of all married couples." He stood and leaned back against the shelf and George took over shelving the display for him.

"What's that again?" he prompted.

"Never go to bed angry," Fred said obviously.

George glanced up at his brother. "Right."

"What?" Fred asked.

"What do you mean what?"

"What's that look for?" Fred said. "You look like you want to say something. You look like you want to tell me I'm wrong."

"Do I?"

"Come on, Georgie," Fred said, reached down to swipe the back of his head. "It's the same look you give me every time I pitch you an idea and you're about to tell me why it's flawed. Out with it," he ordered.

"I think Hermione was right to pause the fight," George said. "I mean, Ange and I have fought for hours into the morning before," he said. "And the arguments just get sloppier and sloppier and we say more and more things we don't mean the longer we fight." He shrugged. "Maybe Hermione just needs some space. Sort things out for herself."

Fred laughed humourlessly. "She's made it very clear that she's already done that," he said. "And that she wants me to have nothing to do with our daughter's birth."

"Maybe she needs to hear the argument from someone else," George suggested, shelving the last of the boxes. He got to his feet. "Do you want me to talk to her?"

"Thanks," Fred said, "but no. Hermione can tell the difference between us, but she knows that you're still going to take my side." He grabbed his robes from behind the counter and shrugged them on. "No offence, but it really won't mean much coming from you."

"Hey," George said. "Give me some credit. I like Hermione. Except maybe a little bit right now. But, if I thought she was right, I'd tell you. I'm not just taking your side."

Fred shook his head and laughed. "Well, thanks Georgie. Good to know."

"Mr. Potter? Mr. Weasley? Ms. Granger Weasley is here to see you." The intern gestured her towards their office and she nodded, not bothering to say that she already knew exactly where she was going.

"Hermione!" Harry and Ron greeted.

"Nice seeing you here," Ron said. "What's going on?"

Hermione smiled slightly. "I was wondering if you two could spare an hour for a lunch break," she told them, stepping into their office.

"You okay?" Harry asked. He got up from behind his desk and walked over. "You look a little…distraught?"

"I could use someone to talk to," she told them.

"Sure," they said. They stood, grabbed their wands, and tucked them into their pockets.

Ron cursed under his breath. " have a meeting with Irvin," he said. "I forgot. Sorry."

"Right," Harry remembered. "I'll ask if we can—"

"No, that's okay," Hermione said quickly. "I don't want to take you from work."

Ron shared a look with Harry. "I'll take notes," he said. "Harry can go. Family emergency. Don't worry about it." Hermione smiled at that and Ron returned it with a shrug.

"You're sure?" Harry checked.

Ron nodded. "No problem. He just wanted to recap the Staton case anyway."

"Okay," Harry said. "Hermione, you ready to go?"

"Yes," she said. "Ron, you're—"

"Go on."

"Thank you."

They ended up at a diner, tucked into a red vinyl booth near the back, each with a plate of fish and chips. "So, what's on your mind?" Harry asked.

"Did you want to be in the room when James' was born?" Hermione asked.

"Oh." He looked taken by surprise a second, and then thoughtful. "I didn't really have a chance," he said finally. "By the time I finished filling out the forms, James was halfway out. Gin never asked for me though, so I assume she didn't mind me not being there."

"So, did you want to be in the room?" she asked again.

"I don't know." He popped a chip in his mouth. "I think next time I want to be there," he decided. "It'd be nice to be one of the first people to see my child. Not second to both Gin and the healers."

Hermione smiled teasingly. "You're already planning for next time?"

He shrugged and sheepishly nodded. "Eventually," he said.

She laughed.

"So, what's this have to do with everything?" Harry asked. "Fred doesn't want to be in the room?"

Hermione chewed and swallowed a bite of her fish before speaking. "The opposite actually," she informed. "He wants to be there. I don't want him there."

"You don't?" Harry asked in surprise.

"Did Ginny want you there?"

He considered this. "Didn't seem to care either way really," he replied. "Fred wants to be there?"

She nodded.

"Well, that's a little harsh then, don't you think?" he asked. "I mean, if Fred wants to be in the room...he is the father. You don't think he has a right to that choice?"

"What right?" she asked. "He's not the one giving birth."

Harry's eyebrows drew together and he mussed his hair a bit. "Are you two seriously fighting over this?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. She ate a chip while his expression only grew more puzzled. "What?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said. "I just never thought you were that vain."

Her mouth opened indignantly. "This isn't about vanity!" she snapped. At his quirked eyebrow, she launched into every detail of her argument from the beginning. Harry nodded, attentive, and then picked up his cutlery once she'd finished, resumed eating.

"Well?" she prompted, waiting for an opinion.

"Honestly?" he asked.

"Yes."

"You won't bite my head off?"

"No."

"I think you're being a little unfair to Fred."

She was about to snap yet again when she consciously composed herself. "Go on," she prodded.

"Well, hasn't he been to every healer's appointment?" Harry asked. "And he seems really excited. You're basically shutting him out on a once in a lifetime experience."

She frowned.

"Think about this:" Harry said, "what if it was Fred who got to be there the moment the baby was born, and you were the one waiting outside the delivery room?"

She scowled slightly. "Well, who would the baby be coming out of then?" she challenged.

"Hermione." He gave her a look, much alike to the ones he and Ron were usually receiving from her.

She did see his point, and it was a rather unsettling feeling that sat in her stomach as she processed it. "So, I should just agree and give him what he wants, regardless of how I feel about the situation?" she questioned.

Harry held out his hands helplessly. "Isn't that what you're asking him to do?"

Her mouth opened, shut, then opened once more wordlessly. That was what she wanted Fred to do, she realized, and that was exactly what she had once said she didn't want him doing. She didn't want him to agree with her just to pacify her. She didn't want him to lie to her. And she didn't want him to let her make all of the decisions when he wanted to be involved. She had said his opinion mattered. It still did.

"Exactly," Harry said, tipping his glass in her direction before taking a sip. "So, there has to be some middle ground here. Some sort of compromise."

"Like what?" she asked with a laugh, though her expression had softened considerably now. "Have him put just one foot through the door?"

"Not what I was thinking," Harry told her.

She slumped in her seat, exhaled long and slow. "Merlin, I feel awful." All she could picture now was everything Fred had done for her. Foot massages after a long day. Making her tea before bed. Mashed potatoes in the middle of the night. Staying awake with her. Waking up with her. Going to every healer's appointment. The way it had felt when he held her hand that first time in the waiting room. She loved that feeling. How could it be anything but right to have that same hand in hers when they brought life into the world? "I'm the most insensitive wife in the world," she said.

"I wouldn't say in the whole world," Harry said with a chuckle. "But I would say that you need to talk to Fred. There has to be a solution. Marriage is all about compromise, isn't it?"

"Thanks, Harry," she said. "For listening. And for telling me what I needed to hear."

He shrugged, finished off the rest of his meal. "It's about time I was the one to help you with something," he told her. "Who knew it would be relationship advice?" He grinned and she laughed.

"Don't be ridiculous. You've been here for me more times than I can count," she said. "Starting with that troll in first year."

"Right. So that makes us two to a million," Harry joked.

She shook her head. "I don't keep score, Harry." A smile lifted her lips. "Though if I did..." she teased, "I imagine it'd be closer to two million. And that's hardly accounting for Ron."

Hours later, Hermione was home making dinner and waiting for

Fred to come home. She had pasta and chicken on the stove and a chocolate cake in the oven for dessert. She also had a knot in her stomach as she waited to hear the floo erupt.

She set the table and put the food out before making a quick run to the loo—her bladder seemed tinier than ever lately—and when she emerged, she found Fred in the kitchen, pouring pumpkin juice and turning the stereo up.

"Hi," she said.

He looked up. "Hey," he replied. "This looks good."

"Thanks."

"Thanks for making dinner."

They sat down to eat, in silence, and Hermione quietly tried to plan her words.

Fred took in a deep breath. "So," he began, "how was your—"

"We need to press play," Hermione interrupted.

"Oh thank Merlin," he breathed. His elbows dropped to the table and he met her eyes, prepared to go into the speech he'd run through all day. "Hermione, I can't stand the thought of—"

"Me first," she cut in.

"No, hear me out," he said. "I don't think you understand—"

"I do understand," she told him. "Fred, please. I've been thinking about this all day."

"And you think I haven't?" he said.

"Please," she implored.

"Fine," he waved her on, "go ahead."

"I'm sorry," she started.

His eyebrows went up.

"I'm so sorry for how insensitive I've been, and you have every right to be mad at me, and if you want to be in that delivery room, then that's where you'll be," she rushed out. "Right next to me."

"Really?" he asked, surprised by her one-eighty.

She nodded.

"And you're completely okay with this?" he questioned.

"Well...there are a couple of conditions," she said carefully.

He tensed. "What kind of conditions?"

She pulled her bottom lip through her teeth. "You'll only be from my waist up at all times," she began, gesturing. "You can deal with this half of me."

Fair enough, he considered. "If that's what'll make you comfortable, sure."

"And...if Vivian says that you're stressing me out, then you have to wait outside," she told him.

"Vivian."

"She's a professional," she said. "She'll know what's best. I won't try to sway her, I promise."

"But you won't kick me out?"

"No," she said. "Only if Vivian thinks you should leave."

"Okay," he agreed, not wanting to push something that likely wouldn't be a problem.

"Okay," she echoed. "That's settled then." Sighing in relief, she reached for his hand and closed her fingers around it. "I'm really sorry," she said. "I can't believe how inconsiderate I was, and...you didn't deserve that."

"You're forgiven," he said, giving her hand a squeeze.

"I am?"

"Well, on two conditions," Fred said. "First, do I smell chocolate cake?"

"You do," she affirmed. "That's dessert."

"Which brings me to item two," he said. "As delicious as I'm sure that is, fact is, that's not dessert."

"Oh?" she asked.

"Of course not," he told her. He twined his fingers with hers and leaned in. "We still haven't gotten to the best part of fighting."

She looked amused, though undeniably curious. "Which is...?" she prompted.

He smirked. "Make-up sex."

Author's Note: so, first of all, thank you so much for reading and reviewing, we've just surpassed 700 reviews, which is amazing.

This chapter actually was longer than planned, but I think at this point we're only a handful from the end. Not too much to go now.

Unfortunately, I won't be able to update in the next couple of weeks as I'll be without internet and travelling across Europe. This is just a quick happenstance that I am able to update at all. But I will hopefully get some work done on the next chapter or two in that time.

Please review and share your thoughts! Thanks for reading!

Anyways,

Scarlett