I've set myself a bit of a challenge in the face of some terrible writers' block, to try 1000 words of drabble per day. Feedback or prompts are gratefully appreciated.

—

Meat leaned back in her chair, stretching out and grinning as the pops of her back clicking into place echoed in the quiet room, backed only by the quiet hum and buzz of the many, many monitors stacked on shelves.

"Must you do that?"

"Can't help it." She curled her fingers and flexed them again, then started rolling her head and stretching out her neck. There was a scrape and a sigh, and then footsteps approached her, and she felt two calloused hands on her shoulders, kneading and rubbing until her head fell forward, and she groaned lightly.

"Mmm…"

"You know you've only got yourself to blame for this," Andrei's voice, clearly amused, floated down, and she mumbled something incoherent in response. "Hmm?"

"Nothing," she muttered, leaning further back and pushing her shoulders up against him. "Can you do my neck, too?"

He moved his hands obligingly, using his thumbs to press against the usual area that troubled her, and her head fell forward. "You're bloody good at this."

"It's all thanks to you. I've had a lot of practice over the last - er - "

"Twenty-seven weeks," Meat supplied, not missing a beat. She tentatively raised her head again and tilted her head left and right, sighing in relief. "You're a fucking hero."

"Hardly."

She grinned up at him, and held out a hand. He took it, and she pulled herself up. "Ta."

"No problem." He looked at her. "I like the dress."

Meat glanced down at herself, brushing her hands across her broad stomach. "It's the only thing that bloody fits."

He scoffed. "As if shopping has ever been such a chore for you." He walked over to the door and took down her jacket, holding it out for her to slide her arms into it.

"Ah, thanks," she huffed slightly as she bent down to grab the bag off the back of her chair. "Ready?"

He held out his arm, and she took it, leaning against him and sighing heavily.

"Are you alright?" His tone was immediately concerned, brows furrowed as he looked down at her. She swatted at his chest with her other hand.

"Don't be daft, you, I'm fine." She stood still for a few moments, catching her breath, still holding on to his arm tightly. After a while, she stood up straighter, tossing her hair off her shoulders, and rubbed at her bump. "Bloody thing."

"You're sure you're alright?"

"Yeah," her voice was still a little shaky, her breath slightly faster than usual. "Still get a bit unbalanced when I stand up." Her cheeks had gone a little pink, and Andrei was relieved to see that it looked as though it was from embarrassment, rather than something being wrong.

"You're doing brilliantly," he told her, seriously. She smiled. "Does that mean drinks are on you tonight?"

He chuckled. "Any opportunity."

"I wasn't joking!"

"I didn't think for a moment you were," he assured her, lips still quirked at the corners. "Yes, your abjectly lower-than-normal order can be on me tonight."

"I still think people should be more impressed that I've stuck to the not-drinking thing." Meat muttered.

"We are," he told her, as he held open the office door for her. "Although I think you need to remember that it's really helping that you know full well that Scaramouche will kill you with her bare hands if you do."

Meat tilted her head thoughtfully. "You could be right, there." She turned, and patted her pockets. "Fuck, have I got my phone?"

"Here," he pulled it out of his coat pocket and handed it to her. "You left it on my desk earlier."

"You're the best," she pulled herself up on his arm to kiss him on the cheek, and he felt a warm rush flood through him.

"It's no trouble."

—

There had been a time, a year or so in, when they all thought it would never happen. Scaramouche, who had for months been stoically pessimistic about the whole endeavour, had suddenly seemed to break.

"She's been crying for hours," an exhausted Galileo had told Meat and Paul, after Scaramouche had refused to come to rehearsal for the fourth day running. "I don't - I' don't know how to help her any more."

Meat, who had been staring blankly at the floor, remembered sitting in a cold cell, feeling hot blood against her legs, looked up at him. "You want me to try?"

Galileo looked at her, and she saw empty eyes and a broken heart. Galileo, whose energy kept them going despite everything. He nodded.

"Hen?" She tapped gently at the door, and it gave slightly as she did. She pushed slightly, and the door creaked as it swung slowly open.

The room was a tip. The bed was a mess, the dresser piled high with scraps of sheet music and empty (and mostly-empty) coffee cups. Meat counted seven odd boots (two of them hers) as she picked her way carefully through the detritus on the oak floor.

"Hey, doll," she said quietly, as she reached the other side of the bed, and slid to the floor. Scaramouche was hunched over, and as she looked up at Meat, her eyes were red rimmed and her cheeks mottled. "Come here," she said, holding out the cold flannel she'd picked up on the way. Lotte, bless her, hadn't asked too many questions. She dabbed softly at Scara's face, and the younger girl's gasping breath slowly calmed.

"It didn't work," she mumbled, woodenly. "Again".

Meat nodded. "Gazz told us." She rubbed Scara's shoulder and handed her a bottle of water. "Drink".

Scaramouche did as she was told. Meat watched as Scara's shoulders slackened, and she looked up, blinking. "He told you?"

"Not in detail." Meat leant her head back against the radiator, and closed her eyes. "What are you going to do?"

Scara seemed taken aback. "Try again. I guess."

Meat tilted her head to one side, and opened one eye. "Are you sure?"

Scara groaned, and buried her face in her knees. "Agghhh." Meat sat up, and pushed Scara's shoulder so that she had no choice but to meet Meat's gaze.

"I don't have any choice," Scara said, baldly. "He wants a baby."

"And you don't?" Scara opened her mouth, but no sound came out. "You," said Meat briskly, "want a mini person with your grumpy little face and Gazz's eyes."

Scaramouche blinked.

"I - " said Meat, and swallowed. "I could help."

—

The moment they were in the door, Meat staggered slightly, and Andrei, recognising the signs, quickly took her bag and jacket as Meat lurched towards the bathroom.

The sound of the kettle boiling happily covered the noises coming from the other side of the flat, and by the time Meat emerged, eye makeup smudged and wiping her mouth with a grimace, Andrei was holding a mug of tea out to her.

"Thanks," she sighed, collapsing onto 'her' side of the sofa and holding out her hand for the tea.

"You're welcome," he said, sitting down next to her and taking a sip from his own mug. He watched as she sipped cautiously, and felt the warmth again as a smile seemed to light her up from inside. "Better?"

"Much," she said, kicking her shoes off and dragging a blanket across her. "I thought all the sickness was just meant to be the first trimester."

"It can go through to the third," he said, beckoning for her to lift up her feet so that he could begin to rub her feet. She groaned. "Don't say that, I was really looking forward to being able to eat normally again!"

He chuckled, a particularly memorable trip to Paris coming to mind (Meat had spent an entire week of the band's most recent tour throwing up every hour like clockwork, only managing to keep down well-done steak, much to the total dismay of the hotel's chef). He pressed his thumb into her arch, and felt a surge of contentment as she closed her eyes in bliss, pushing her foot closer towards him.

"What did I do to deserve you," she murmured sleepily, before her eyes opened wide and she sat up, a grin spreading across her face. "Quick, here -" she grabbed his left hand, and pressed it against her stomach. He frowned.

"Is everything -"

"Shh, wait," she watched him expectantly, pressing her hand over his to hold it in place. He waited for a few seconds, and then felt a nudge against it. His eyes widened. "Is that -"

She shushed him again, and they sat silently for a few moments, while the baby rolled and kicked his hand again and again.