This takes place at some point between Embrace and Questioning. Edited by Space Dweeb.

Word Count: 854


They lay in bed together. The room was dark and still, but the quiet was of contemplation, not sleep. On their sides with Lucy's back against Tom's chest, his arms around her and their legs intertwined, they were lost in each other's presence and parallel thoughts.

Lucy broke the stillness, bringing her hands up where he could see and placing them together, knuckles touching, and rolled them until her palms were up and cupped together before separating them and waving her right hand, middle finger bent at the knuckle, along her chest. How feeling?

Tom nestled his head at the base of her neck and breathed in the scent of her as his hands gently caressed her belly. Her belly, and the new life they now knew was within but couldn't yet feel.

She's taking all the risks and asking how I feel.

With his left arm pinned beneath her, he brought his right up, flat and palm towards them, and circled it forward, down, and back. Happy.

They'd wanted a family beyond just the two of them for so long and now it was within reach, but. . .

He stopped moving his hand and spread his fingers wide. Afraid.

All their lives were war and destruction, one family after another torn away from them. What if they lost the child? What if he lost her? What if they weren't fit to be parents at all and left the kid as broken as they were?

He put his hand up near Lucy's forehead and slowly brought it down the length of her face and pressed his head to hers. Sad.

He made his hand into a "c" shape, fingers towards her, and moved it down the middle of her chest before going to her shoulder and then away in a thumbs up. He folded the thumb in, turned the first on its side, and lowered it down to her stomach before bringing his hand back up and placing his index finger beneath her right eye. Wish commander could see.

They owed Kurt everything, their lives included. Tom hoped the man would be proud of them; happy for them. He should have gotten to meet their child.

He pointed at her. You?

Lucy extended her right thumb and pinkie while curling the other three fingers in and waving the hand back and forth in an arc. Same.

She brought her hand up and somewhat awkwardly placed the index finger against his chin, then pulled it back in a fist with the thumb outside. She brought her left hand in and crossed her index fingers before taking her right hand, tucking the thumb between the pinkie and ring fingers, and curling the fingers into her palm. Miss A plus M.

Miss Adam and Min. He did too. The loss of their other half was an older, duller ache, often encompassed by mourning for the whole of Beta Company. On bad days he blamed himself for their deaths; on good days he wondered what could have been. They too should have gotten to meet the baby. All of Beta should have had the chances they did.

She shifted her hand to a normal fist, turned it, and lowered it before flattening her hand out, palm down, and finally turning it palm up. Could die.

The galaxy had been on fire since before they were born; they'd never be truly safe, but Tom knew that wasn't what she meant. The augmentations weren't designed with reproductive health in mind and for Lucy, already a small woman, it could be dangerous for her and the baby. Deadly even, if they weren't careful. But The War was long over and society wasn't in danger of coming apart at the seams anymore.

Intellectually, they knew it shouldn't be an issue; that their now unexpectedly tabled talks of adoption were rooted in an overabundance of caution as much as a desire to do for someone else what Kurt tried to do for them. It didn't change that Tom knew exactly what was going to be added to the roster of his nightmares.

Lucy stacked her hands together, right over left, and raised her right hand while shaking her head. Too much. She paused then, and Tom felt the tension running through her more keenly than ever, the weight of their pasts pressing down on her, on them. He felt her awkwardly place her pointer finger against his shoulder, and then her own. Us.

Their shared fear, so alien to other expecting parents, that their child would take after them.

"No," he murmured, "they'll be better than us. Never lost, never broken like we were. They'll never have to be afraid of what they turned themselves into for empty promises, or to bury the memory of everyone they've ever loved."

Tom didn't know if his words reassured her; he didn't know what else to say, or if he even believed it beyond a desperate hope. He hugged her and leaned in to press his lips to her cheek. Her hands found his and they wove their fingers together.

And the room was, once more, still.