I do not own American Horror Story: FreakShow.

And sorry about part of this one, boys. But you know, life.

And Baby Makes Four

Darling Desserts And Darling Girls

"These Chocolate Cupcakes are just heavenly, Bette! They're so moist and fluffy! Oh, and they're filled with cream in the middle!"

The PTA bake sale was in full swing. And even though they weren't technically members, Bette and Dot Walker had been drafted . . .

"Please, Ma-Da? Please, Ma-Ba? That class with the most sales wins a prize!"

"Well, what's the prize?"

"I don't know. It's a prize, who cares?"

Well, we'd better get to baking, Dot.

Such a pushover, Bette.

And you're not when it comes to our daughter?

Oh hush.

. . . to provide a helping hand.

And a sugary collection of confectionery palate-pleasing delights.

They had even tamped down their own anxiety regarding the common, ordinary, rubbernecking citizen to be present and accounted for at the event itself.

"Why, thank you, Dolores. It was actually Dot's idea to sprinkle them with coconut."

As needed.

"And this . . . what do you call this?"

"Oh, that is a Strawberry Cream Roll."

"And this is . . ."

"Chocolate Lush Cake."

But we'd prefer to call it 'Next Best Thing to Redford' Cake.

You would.

Ahem . . .

Okay, I would too.

Damn right you would.

Bette and Dot's culinary prowess, particularly in regard to baking, had improved vastly since their Ham and Bananas Hollandaise and Tuna and Jello Pie days.

So much, in fact, that they seemed . . .

"May I try a one of these . . ."

"Butterscotch Peanut Butter Cornflake Clusters. Go right ahead."

"Wow, that's a mouthful."

Just you wait.

"Oh my goodness, Dot! These are delightful!"

Told you.

Modestly proud smiles.

"Why thank you, Jillian."

. . . to have found their calling.

"You know, you could really give Betty Crocker a run for her money if you ever wanted to sell these."

"We are selling these, Jillian. For the school bake sale."

Another Glazed Lemon Brownie seemed to magically disappear from the tasting tray.

"No, I mean for yourselves."

Oh. I never thought of that, Dot.

Neither did I, Bette.

"Oh, what darling desserts, ladies . . ."

Darling Desserts, Dot.

I heard it, Bette.

"Why thank you, Mrs. Monroe. Care for a Congo Bar?"

"Oh well, I couldn't . . . well, maybe just one . . ."

"You know, ladies, my sister's daughter is having a wedding soon."

"Congratulations, Mrs. Parker!"

"Thank you. Now, I was wondering if you two would consider making the groom's cake?"

"Oh. Well . . ."

"How was the bake sale?"

A tired Dot still managed to smile devilishly from her and her conjoined sister's slightly reclined position on The World's Most Comfortable Couch.

"We made a killing, darling. Metaphorically. For the school, of course."

Jimmy leaning forward his chair, grinned encouragingly.

"Well, that's great!"

Then he tilted his blond, sparsely graying head.

"How was it being out with people?"

Annabel, on the edge of the uninteresting conversation and concentrating on something much more important, laid the warmed cloth gently across her mother's neck.

"Manageable," Dot replied. "People will always stare I think but . . ."

"Is that better, Ma-Ba?" Annabel quietly questioned Bette, perched at her side.

Bette turned from the conversation, patting the side of her daughter's face lovingly.

"Yes, Annabel, thank you so much."

Annabel smiled winningly and leaned over, smooching a sweet kiss onto her Ma-Ba's cheek.

"Good. Love you."

"I love you, Annabel."

And then she was gone off to her room.

As Dot and Jimmy continued to chat about a chocolate ganache groom's cake, Bette closed her eyes, exhaling slowly.

She had been on a tilt her entire life, neck working to hold up her head at an awkward angle.

Dot surreshed into her ministrations softly.

Is the pain very bad, Sister?

Now hardly a day went by where Bette didn't feel a growing ache, a dull tension on dug into her neck where she and her sister were joined.

How would you like me to answer that question, Dot?

Though usually she tried to minimize it for the sake of her loved ones.

I'm sorry, Bette.

It's not your fault, Dot. You didn't jam two heads on one body and slap me on sideways.

Dot's hand caressed her sister's hand gently.

I know but I wish I could help.

Bette forced herself to try and relax.

It'll be better in a while, I think. Once I get some rest.

". . . okay, Bette?"

Jimmy's dark eyes were worried when Bette opened hers.

"Yes, Jimmy, darling, thank you for asking."

His concern remained focused.

"What is it?"

Bette clasped hands with Dot.

"Just a little neck pain. It will go away."

Jimmy frowned.

"Are you sure? What can I do?"

Bette smiled lovingly at her hooked handed husband.

"Nothing to do, darling. Except stop worrying."

Jimmy huffed sarcastically.

"Yeah, sure that's easy enough."

And they loved him.

". . . -teen twenty-four."

"Thank you, Jimmy."

"You're welcome, Mrs. Cordon."

"I asked you to call me 'Jean', Jimmy."

Polite silence.

Before the primarily one-sided conversation continued.

"So, how long have you been married, Jimmy?"

Subtle clearing of the throat.

"Oh, uh, fifteen . . . yeah, fifteen years."

Wow. Fifteen. Wow.

"My goodness," she replied, errant hand patting down her stylishly feathered brown hair. "Your wife must be a very lucky woman."

"Ha. Well, I don't know about that."

Ahem.

"What is her name?"

What do I sa-

"Dot. Bette."

A pause.

"Oh. Well, that's a . . . lovely name. She goes by both?"

Jimmy's turn to pause.

And then, with some casual aplomb . . .

"Nope."

His dawdling customer, who just seemed to be hanging on the counter, seemed to be attempting to process this information.

"Oh. She . . . you . . ."

Then she side-eyed him a little.

"Ohhh, so, you're . . ."

Here it comes . . .

Then she closed her mouth entirely.

A first.

And smiled secretively.

"Well, fancy that. I heard that you were an interesting customer. Mr. Walker."

And then, to his shock, she winked.

Oh god.

"Uh-huh. Billy!"

"Ma-Da? Ma-Ba?"

"It's just me, Annabel."

Jimmy's response to his daughter's voice emanating from the direction of the bathroom was rewarded with a sharp door slam.

Frowning, he rose from his spot on the couch . . .

Sorry, Samantha. Gonna have to watch you wiggle your nose some other time, mamacita.

He paused a few inches from the bathroom door.

"Your moms are over at Kathy's fitting Patty for a new dress. I'll tell ya, your mas are turning into a regular Sears and Roebu-"

Annabel's too cheery voice cut him off mid-ramble.

"Okay, Dad!"

Jimmy blinked.

You okay, Annabel?"

Her voice was muffled.

"Yeah."

Jimmy paused.

"You need anything?"

She sounded impatient with him.

"No!"

Hey, what'd I do?

"Okay. Call me if you need anything."

Then because she didn't respond and he didn't know what else to, he wandered back to the couch.

"You know, I don't what's going on here, Sam . . ."

Yeah. Me neither, Darren.

After a few minutes, Jimmy's almost twelve year old daughter still had not come out of the bathroom.

He got up again and listened.

No running water or bath.

She bathed at night anyway.

He pressed his ear to the door.

Not even the sound of a faucet.

"Annabel?"

This time, she did shout at him.

"Dad! Get away from the door!"

'Dad'. Wow.

But he was a father who cared about his daughter.

So he tried again.

"You okay?"

"Yes."

"Out of toilet paper?"

She sound offended.

"No!"

He thought.

"Do you need anyth-"

"No, Dad!"

He squinched up his nose, concentrating.

Then gave up.

"Okay. Call me if you need anything."

And backed away from the now silent door.

Five minutes later . . .

". . . Bombay, thank you for coming over so quickly."

"Yes, well, Cleopatra will be a bit put out about my abrupt departure but I think Mark Antony should keep her decent company. At least until . . ."

. . . Jimmy got up again.

"Annabel?"

This time she sounded positively strident.

"What, Daddy?!"

Laughing up there, Ma?

"Are you sure you're okay?"

Her tone brooked no further discussion.

"Yes, Daddy, I'm fine! Please go away!"

"Hi, Kathy? Can I speak to Dot and Bette, please? Thanks."

It had been thirty-five minutes.

Annabel, from his first realization, had been barricaded in the bathroom thirty-five minutes.

And that was just what he had noticed.

So she could have been in there longer.

Jimmy had been too ensconced . . .

". . . no need to fear! Underdog is here!"

. . . to really have a good timetable on the matter.

It was a relief when Dot's voice . . .

"What's the matter, Jimmy-"

. . . followed by Bette's . . .

"Is everything okay?"

. . . came over the phoneline.

"Hey, yeah, listen, uh, Annabel won't come out of the bathroom."

And he realized how stupid . . .

"I mean, she's been in there a really long time . . ."

. . . he sounded.

There was a pause as he looked helplessly around the house for rescue.

". . . and when I talked to her, she seemed upset but she wouldn't talk to me."

Another pause ensued and Jimmy . . .

Feel like a dumbass.

. . . felt stupider and more helplessly annoyed by the second.

Then Dot gave him his directive.

"Stretch the phone to the bathroom and give it to Annabel."

Jimmy did as he was told, already slightly fearing the dragon on the other side of the door.

"Annabel? Your moms are on the phone. They want to talk to you."

He heard some shuffling and then the door opened just wide enough for a twelve year old hand to emerge, fingers splayed.

Jimmy placed the handset into it.

The hand immediately pulled back and the door closed as much as possible, crimping the cord.

Jimmy waited, unsure what to do.

He heard Annabel murmuring.

She was talking fast and sounded upset.

Oh my god, is she pregnant?

She's only twelve.

Eliza Marks was only twelve when she-

Then right before his brain began smoking out of his ears, the door opened again. The hand thrust the phone back out at him.

And the door slammed shut once more.

Jimmy grappled with the phone.

"Uh, hello?"

Bette's voice was calm now.

"It's okay, Jimmy. We'll be home in ten minutes. Just let her stay in there."

As was . . .

"And don't talk to her anymore."

. . . Dot's.

"Uh, okay?"

And then the Tattler-Darling-Walker sisters hung up.

Oh my god, she is pregnant.

And left Jimmy alone with his thoughts.

Upon arrival, the sisters made a beeline to the door, barely glancing the bewildered Jimmy a passing smile.

"Annabel? Let us in, darling."

The door opened and closed again, quieter this time.

And Jimmy gave up . . .

What do normal folks do? Will she have to marry him? What if he's an idiot? When did she have time to do this? She never goes anywhere.

. . . and went to go pee in the backyard.

"It's okay, Jimmy. She's alright."

The bathroom door had opened.

Annabel had fled to her room.

And Dot and Bette had joined Jimmy in the living room.

He punched off the TV with a hook . . .

". . . latest contestant onnnnnn . . . Round Aroun-"

. . . and turned worriedly to his wives.

How can they be so calm?!

"How far along is she?"

The sisters were suitably baffled . . .

What on earth is he talking about, Bette?

I'm sure he's lost his mind, Dot.

. . . and then broke out in . . .

"You tell you we love her and we're going to take care of her-"

. . . tears of laughter and love . . .

"What are you laughing at? She needs to know this-"

. . . at their lost and floundering husband.

"Relax, Jimmy. It's nothing like that. Just calm down."

The mental block was unmoving and solidly built.

"Then what? What is it?"

His wives kissed them fondly on his cheeks.

"Nothing five to seven days won't fix."

And hugged him tight then.

Huh?

Oh.

And that was that.

Whelp, Jimmy survived that one, didn't he? Ha!

Thanks to brigid1318, autumnrose2010, and midnightrebellion86 for your reviews!