A/N: Glad you guys liked the smut. It was my first attempt at writing pregnancy sex, so I'm happy it was effective, lol. Unfortunately, there isn't really much smut left in this story, beyond some passing references, sorry. As much as I enjoy giving them lots of hot dirty sex, I also enjoy a little plot now and again. ;P This chapter is another one I split in two, so look for the conclusion of it in the next update. Oh, and I really wanted to finish this fic and have it up for Christmas because of this chapter... I guess Inauguration Day in the US is pretty close, no? Happy reading.
CHAPTER 9: Baa Baa Black Sheep
. . .
Okay, it had been funny the first four times, but now it was starting to get spooky. Beautiful, Olivia thought, nudging the pendant back and forth on her palm so that each name appeared in turn, like the rotating survey answers on Family Feud. But spooky.
If she didn't know any better, she'd almost believe that she and Amanda had formed some sort of psychic connection as a result of the pregnancy. They had experienced many of the same symptoms in the past seven months, including the first-trimester nausea (Olivia was relieved that had come and gone fairly quickly), the sore breasts (that too), frequent trips to the bathroom to pee in the middle of the night (ongoing), and night sweats (ditto).
Their appetites and libidos were more in sync than ever before. And there had even been a moment at work when Olivia felt a stab of fear while sitting at her desk and instinctually knew Amanda needed her—even though the detective was at the courthouse, and the ER doctor later assured them that lightheadedness during pregnancy was not uncommon. (Olivia scheduled an appointment for a second opinion before they were even out of the hospital parking lot).
Still, despite all the other strange occurrences, opening Christmas gifts and discovering that they had bought each other nearly identical presents was a bit too Twilight Zone. There was a handful of unique items: the Snoogle, for instance—a giant C-shaped body pillow for expectant mothers. Amanda had hooted with delight when she unbundled the plush monstrosity. It was ridiculous to be jealous of a pillow, especially one that would benefit both of them, since Amanda's tossing and turning to find a comfortable position had been keeping Olivia awake nights as well. But she disliked not being able to provide that comfort herself, and a very small part of her hated the thought of not having Amanda to hold onto for her own comfort.
At this rate, neither of them would get to reap the benefits of the Snoogle anyway; Jesse and Matilda had promptly claimed it as their own, and were currently trying to ride it like a large, inverted seahorse. Hi ho, Silver, away!
The maternity support belt Amanda had slipped on over her red and green elf pajamas—"I feel like a pumpkin wearing a rubber band," she'd declared, but left the belt in place—had no equivalent among Olivia's gifts, either, thank God. The closest match was a pretty cashmere sweater in mulberry, with a sash at the waistline.
But then came the pregnancy journals, of different design but similar concept—recording all the important and sentimental details of their daughter's prenatal life, which Olivia had already been doing in her regular journal. They had laughed, knowing Olivia would be the one who filled both of these journals out, too. Less amusing, but still cute, were the pajama sets they exchanged: Amanda's, gray striped and made for easy access while nursing, with a matching gown for baby; Olivia's, black silk with white piping, in classic two-piece style.
It started getting really weird when they exchanged boxes of the same size, and opened them in unison to reveal lookalike suede, shearling-lined moccasins. To ease Amanda's aching feet, and to replace the pair Olivia had long ago lost to the cold mountain waters of the Catskills, they reasoned. But Amanda had held hers up by her ears, like excessively large earrings, and announced, "Oh my Lord, get out of my head, you creeper." And, after slipping hers on, Olivia fired right back, "I ordered those while you were still in your second trimester. Who's the preggo creeper now?"
After that: the t-shirts (for Amanda, a vintage-looking top that read "Mama" under a rainbow in retro colors; for Olivia, a knotted tee with rolled sleeves and the legend "Tough as a Mother" across the front). And now, the necklaces. Amanda's was silver—she preferred it to gold—and the first initial of each family member dangled, charmlike, from the length of delicate chain. "A, O, N, J, M, S," she had spelled aloud, and grinned that devilish grin. "Who's Æon James? Why'm I gettin' her necklace?"
Olivia had started to respond that, perhaps all of Amanda's gifts were for Æon and should be returned to her ASAP, but she'd gasped instead, lifting a gorgeous rose-gold necklace from inside the gift bag in her lap. "Oh, sweetheart," she said, draping the chain over her hand to examine the tiny pillar-shaped pendant at the bottom.
For once, she had remembered her glasses and could actually make out the inscriptions on each side of the pillar with minimal squinting. Oldest to youngest, it was each of their children's names in a swirly black script. "Noah, Jesse, Matilda, Samantha," she read out loud, just because she loved the sound of it.
Upon hearing their names, each of the children glanced up (Samantha, or the Little Coconut, as she was presently sized and nicknamed, went on snoozing in her mama's belly), then returned to their new toys and games—and Amanda's pillow—when they saw it was only Mommy getting emotional again. It had alarmed them the first several times she and Amanda randomly burst into tears during the early stages of the pregnancy, but now it was just par for the course.
Olivia wasn't exactly crying this time, although her eyes and voice were a bit misty when she held out the necklace to Amanda, requesting, "Put it on me?" She could have done it herself, but it had become a tradition that whenever one of them gifted the other with jewelry, the giver placed said jewelry on the receiver. She loved that tradition.
"You like it?" Amanda asked softly, though the answer was obvious. Her fingers tickled the back of Olivia's neck as she fitted the clasps together under the bonnet of dark hair Olivia piled atop her head. She kissed the little heart that punctuated the end of Olivia's NYC skyline tattoo; that had become a tradition too. Even so, it still raised goose flesh on Olivia's arms and made her shoulders scrunch up to her ears.
"It's beautiful." Olivia let her hair tumble into place and turned back around to face her wife, claiming a warm kiss on the lips. She ducked down to claim one from the belly too. "I love it. And you, little pretty. Even if you are a big copycat present-idea-stealer-person."
"That's not even a real thing," Amanda countered, rolling her eyes but grinning nevertheless. "But if it was, you better believe I'd be the best dam— dang one at it, darlin'."
The kids were too busy with their Christmas haul to notice the slip or the canoodling that took place on the couch for several moments after. Eventually, Olivia lifted her head from Amanda's shoulder, where she had snuggled in to stroke the bump while Amanda played with her hair. She was content enough to fall asleep, but there were still more gifts to open. Maybe she could arrange a family nap after dinner. (This year was just a pre-made meal to pop in the oven and serve, and it was already ten times better than last year's home-cooked disaster, with a side of Beth Anne Rollins.)
"Here, let me put yours on you," Olivia said, reaching for the necklace Amanda had carefully draped over the arm of the couch, in favor of the impromptu cuddles.
"Hold on. Got one more thing I want you to open first." Amanda rummaged alongside the couch, grunting with the effort it took to stretch that far, tongue poking from the corner of her mouth. Just as Olivia was about to ask Noah to help his Ma out, Amanda gave a triumphant cry and produced a lightweight package, about the size of the Folgers K-cup boxes that were a staple in the Rollins-Benson kitchen.
Well, they had been running low, with both women off for the holiday . . .
"Amanda Jo," Olivia said lightly, more affectionate than admonishing. They had agreed on a set amount of presents for each other this year—within a reasonable price range—since they both tended to go overboard in that respect. This one put Amanda over the limit. That was okay, though; Olivia had a little something extra hidden away in the bedroom for later that evening, too.
"Sorry. Couldn't help m'self. I found it online and just . . . go on, open it." Amanda tapped eagerly on the wrapping paper.
Olivia played up her disapproval a moment longer, then tore into the paper, as giddy as their children had been during the Christmas morning hullabaloo which took place not ten minutes earlier and destroyed the living room in that many seconds. When she held the unwrapped box in her hands, she cocked her head and studied the package, a bit perplexed. It wasn't Folgers K-cups, that's for sure.
"It's an SNS," Amanda said, tracing her fingertip under the words supplemental nursing system that were printed on the box. In the upper corner, a dark-haired infant rested on its mother's breast.
"I see that." Olivia smiled indulgently. Poor thing must have gotten a little muddled and ordered something for herself by mistake. The detective's pregnancy brain had definitely been in full swing lately. Yesterday she'd eaten two bowls of cereal for breakfast, forgetting about the first one the moment she poured out the leftover milk. "I think maybe this is for you to use, though, love."
Amanda shook her head and guided the proffered box back to Olivia. "Huh-uh. It's for you, baby."
"But . . . " Olivia glanced down at her chest, back up with a helpless shrug. "I can't."
There were few things she would admit out loud that she couldn't do, and to her great disappointment, breastfeeding was one of them. She had read up on inducing lactation through manual stimulation and herbal supplements, and there had been a brief moment of euphoria when she thought, perhaps . . .
Then reality had set in. Who was Olivia kidding, she was too old to breastfeed a baby. If she'd tried at first with Noah, that might have worked. But a woman in her fifties had no business lactating—it would be like trying to wear a skirt meant for a twenty-year-old. And what if it interfered with Amanda's feedings or her ability to connect with their daughter? Olivia wouldn't do that to her wife or her child. She already felt selfish enough experiencing the pregnancy symptoms when she wasn't even pregnant. Talk about a copycat-stealer-person.
No, there were just some things Olivia wasn't meant to have—her mother's love, a father, a child she bonded with and sustained of her own flesh—and she had made peace with that a long time ago.
Amanda was looking at her with big, searching blue eyes, blonde head tilted in sympathy. As if she knew precisely what Olivia was thinking. She always seemed able to do that, psychic connection or not. "Sure you can. I'll help ya," she said, and looped a lock of hair behind Olivia's ear, though it hadn't been in the way. "Look here. This upside down bottle thing? All's we gotta do is put the milk I pump in that, then you wear it . . . kinda like a breast milk lanyard. And the skinny tube thingies? We just attach 'em to your, uh— to the tips of Laverne and Shirley there, with some medical tape. Milk goes through that like an IV when she suckles. Then you can nurse her too, see?
"Trust me, she ain't gonna complain, as long as she gets fed. And you'll be doing me a big favor, 'cause my, uh— Pointer Sisters almost didn't survive that'un over there." Amanda hitched her thumb at Jesse Eileen, who was gondoliering the Snoogle through waters of discarded wrapping paper, Matilda her ever-faithful passenger.
Somewhere in the middle of her wife's colorful description—censorship of the word nipples had been particularly creative—of how the SNS worked, Olivia had very quietly and very earnestly begun to cry. It was stupid, weeping over a plastic bottle and some squiggly tubing that was essentially the same concept as a beer bong. But it represented much more than that. Amanda had already given her so many things she hadn't dared hope for, and now, here was another.
I once was lost but now I'm found, she thought, unable to recall where she'd heard it.
"Baby," Amanda chuckled lightly, drawing Olivia in for a kiss on the forehead. She scrunched the back of Olivia's hair with her fingers, gently scritching scalp. "Didn't mean to make you cry. But I think they're happy tears, yeah?"
Olivia nodded, allowing her wife to dry her cheeks without attempting to hide her emotions or glance away. No need to hide her heart anymore. It was safe in Amanda's hands. "Very."
"And you'll help me feed our baby girl? Even if it's two in the mornin', I'm snoring like an old grizzly bear, and she's squalling at the top of her lungs? Dogs barking, other kids fit to be tied?" Amanda chucked Olivia under the chin with the side of her knuckle. "Even then, city girl?"
"Well, you paint a vivid picture." Olivia laughed, swiping her own knuckle under both eyes to gather the remaining moisture. "But yes. Even then. Nothing would make me happier. Except . . . "
Amanda's grin faltered slightly. "What?"
"Except maybe this." Olivia leaned in and pecked the blonde square on the tip of the nose. "There. Perfect."
"Dork. I love you."
"I love you back."
. . .