Author's note: Thank you to NotMarge, ZabuzasGirl, NicoleR85, kmj1989, partygirl98, Luna von Rae, Guest, and musicjunkie1996 for the reviews! Nicole, this is AU so I won't really be going into any of the movie plots, except for the very end (in a way). Partygirl, it'll all be ok in the end, don't worry! But until then... anyone hear a fan blowing? Uh oh.

Oh, Baby

The next six weeks of Zoey's pregnancy were rough, thanks to the morning sickness that started within a few days of her doctor's appointment.

I tried to help as much as I could, doing things like holding her hair and rubbing her back while she was violently sick, holding cool cloths to her clammy skin, and making her peppermint tea to calm her stomach. For a while the only things she could keep down were saltine crackers and tea because the smell of basically anything else made her nauseous.

Zoey never once complained, and I think that was the worst part for me. I would sit there on the bathroom floor holding her while she trembled after yet another bout of vomiting, and she would thank me for helping her. Like it wasn't my fault for getting her pregnant in the first place.

It didn't matter that logically I knew both of us wanted this baby. I irrationally blamed myself for doing this to her anyway.

I'd never felt so in tune with my feral half before, seeing Zoey suffer like that. Both parts of me could hardly bear it. Every instinct I had was programmed to protect her, but of course I couldn't defend her from this. Instead I channeled all of the impulses I had into making her as comfortable as possible, practically waiting on her hand and foot.

"We'll never speak a word of this to anyone, right?" I asked one night as I painted her toenails an eye-watering shade of pink.

Really, darling, could you have picked a more emasculating color?

Zoey peeked out from behind the pillow she was burying her nose in to block out the nauseating smell of the nail polish.

"Never," she agreed, with a faint smile that made my heart swell with hope.

Despite all the changes in our lives, Thursday was still always new book day. The library in our apartment had gotten quite extensive over the years, to the point that we had to buy more bookcases and place them back-to-back in the center of the room to make space for more additions.

Tuesday visits to Marceline's had gotten sporadic, but Zoey had no intention of breaking the promise she'd made to her father about getting a new book every week. For that reason, every Thursday afternoon we went over to the coffee shop and visited with Billy and Marceline for a while. We always walked when the weather allowed because Zoey liked the fresh air.

We hadn't officially told her godparents about the baby yet, but I was positive Marceline knew anyway. She had been right by Brigitte Dubois' side during her pregnancies, and suffered three miscarriages herself. After that heartbreak the Rivers' never had any children.

I think that was part of the reason her godparents doted on Zoey so much. She couldn't replace what they'd lost, but they loved her like a daughter anyway.

The first time we stopped by after the morning sickness kicked in, Zoey had to make a run for the bathroom as soon as we entered the shop. Feeling terrible, I approached the counter where a concerned Marceline stood.

"Hello, Mrs. Rivers," I said, trying to hide my worry with false cheer.

"Hi, Hank," the older woman greeted me. She frowned. "Is Zoey alright?"

"She just ate something bad-"

More like looked at the poster of muffins on the shop window.

"-and she's not feeling well," I lied- poorly. I could see the flare of intuition in Marceline's expression. "Better skip the mocha and get her some tea today."

"Food poisoning, huh?" she asked suspiciously, eyes narrowed.

Come on, McCoy. Poker face.

I shrugged unhelpfully, looking anywhere but at her so my eyes wouldn't give me away.

Marceline chuckled, and I knew then that I hadn't fooled her one bit. "Alright," she agreed. "I'll go make some ginger tea."

I let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

And thankfully Marceline hadn't pressed us on it.

She did, however, make a point of being behind the counter every Thursday afternoon when we arrived, with ginger tea already made for Zoey. Marceline always gave us this hopeful look, as if asking, "is today the day you tell me I'm going to be a grandmother?"

After much consideration, Zoey kindly decided to put her godmother out of her misery as the seventh week of her pregnancy began. I still thought it was a little early, but I was also at the point where anything that made my wife happy was good enough for me. I just wanted her to not be miserable anymore.

"Marcy, could you get Billy?" Zoey asked as we entered the coffee shop late one Thursday, only twenty minutes until closing time.

We were late because I insisted on her trying to eat something before we came over. She actually ate a full meal for once and it still hadn't come back up yet, for which I was grateful.

And now it was time to drop a baby bomb on her godparents.

"We have some news," Zoey explained.

Marceline's face lit up like a Christmas tree. "Bill, get out here! Maintenant!" she called into the back room.

Her husband came scurrying out like he was expecting trouble, but when Billy saw it was just Zoey and I he turned to Marceline with a heavy sigh.

"You're doing bad things to my heart, Marceline."

"Sorry, cher," she said absently, sounding completely unapologetic. She looked at us with a hopeful expression. "Now, what's the news?"

Zoey slipped her arms around my middle, giving me an encouraging squeeze. I held her close with an arm around her shoulders and took a deep breath.

"W-we're having a baby," I announced shakily.

Please don't kill me for- what's the phrase? 'Knocking her up?'

Marceline's reaction was as predictable as it was enthusiastic- I wasn't worried about how she would take the news.

She shrieked, clapped her hands, and stepped around the counter in a tizzy to give both of us hugs and kisses. Zoey's cheeks flushed up from the excessive attention. I probably wasn't much better.

"Oh, congratulations! How far along are you? Oh, if only your mother was here! Are you over the morning sickness? Any cravings yet? Is Hank taking care of you? Hank, are you taking care of her?" Marceline demanded, rapid-fire, without waiting for answers.

Breathe, Marceline. Take a breath.

Billy, meanwhile, looked like he was about to cry. Or have a fit of some kind.

I couldn't say I blamed him. The girl he viewed as a daughter was now having a child herself, with the very man he encouraged her into a relationship with. I could still remember Billy's ever-present amusement over my reluctance to speak to Zoey, his indulgent willingness to play along and help me out. How he kept my secret and passed Zoey's letters on to me, and then later made me promise to take care of her when I came to ask for his blessing on our marriage.

And now I'd gotten her pregnant.

I experienced the same fear I think every man feels when he tells his wife's father about their first baby. Fathers don't want to think about their daughters having sex with anyone. Not even their husbands.

Should I be getting ready to run, or...?

"Billy?" Zoey asked tentatively. "You're going to be a grandpa."

That innocent little statement sent him right over the edge.

The daughter of his deceased best friend telling him, a childless man, that she saw him as a grandfather to her child made tears well up in Billy's faded blue eyes. They ran down his cheeks as he came over and hugged us both.

Oh thank heavens, he's not going to kill me.

"Congratulations, both of you," he said, clapping me on the back perhaps a tad too hard.

"Thanks, sir," I replied.

He noticed my sigh of relief and wouldn't stop laughing about it for the rest of our visit.

"I think that went well, don't you?" Zoey asked as we walked home, arm-in-arm, later that evening.

"Billy didn't kill me, so yes, I think so," I agreed.

Zoey snorted.

"Hey. That wasn't a joke," I told her, with a valiant attempt to be serious. Then I completely ruined it by smiling.

She shivered as she outright laughed this time and cuddled closer against my arm.

It was dark out now, and chilly enough that our breath was visible in the air. I pulled my arm out of Zoey's grip and put it around her shoulders instead, rubbing her arm in an attempt to warm her up. Thankfully we were almost home, taking the short alley that would put us just one street over from our apartment.

"I think I want a sandwich when we get home," Zoey announced suddenly. "I'm craving a Nutella and M&M cookie sandwich. On white bread."

Now I'm going to vomit.

"Sounds... interesting," I replied diplomatically. "You're not feeling sick any-?"

I cut myself off, mid-sentence.

I'm not sure what first tipped me off- perhaps my sensitive hearing picked up the shuffling of feet before my conscious self registered the sound. Or maybe it was some primal instinct that warned me that danger was near and set the hair on the back of my neck on end.

I just know that one moment we were alone in the alley, a place we'd walked through dozens- no, hundreds, of times without trouble-

And then we weren't.

Three men slid out of the shadows from the street ahead of us, stepping into the alley and blocking our way. I could see the metallic glint off of the knives they held at the ready in their hands.

I stopped walking and instinctively pulled Zoey in closer against my side. A glance over my shoulder showed me two more men armed with wicked-looking blades behind us.

We were surrounded. Trapped.

As Alex would say- oh, shit.