Emily could cook three things...

She could make a grilled cheese sandwich. She could follow the instructions on a box of macaroni and cheese. And she could make pancakes. (That's not to say that at least half the pancakes didn't end up at least a little burnt, but she tried...)

Which is why, no matter how hard she insisted she could do it herself, Derek was the one who cooked – no matter what or when she had a craving. (He liked to joke that it was because he was afraid she'd burn down the house – which wasn't entirely unlikely, to be honest – but she knew that in reality it was just him being a loving and supportive boyfriend, the thought of which made her hormone-induced tears surge...) And today, that craving was blueberry pancakes.

They hadn't had any blueberries in the house, so Derek had gone out in the late November cold and knocked on the neighbours' doors until someone had lent him some.

"You've done enough already," Emily insisted yet again from her perch on the kitchen counter where she watched him cook, "Please, just let me cook – I don't mind the burnt parts..."

"Woman, please," he said, holding up the spatula to stop her continued insistence, "I am cooking you some damn pancakes, so just hush up." He added a wink to show that he was only teasing her.

She rolled her eyes at his antics, though the effect was ruined by the smile playing about her lips. "If you insist." She tossed a handful of blueberries into her mouth. "I guess you do owe me..."

"Owe you?" he repeated skeptically as he swatted her hands away from the blueberries as she reached for more.

"Because I was right."

"About?" he prompted.

"It's a boy," she reminded, rubbing her belly with a little smile on her lips. They'd just come back from the ultrasound confirming the gender where Emily's maternal instincts had been proven correct (and she'd been entirely too smug about it the entire drive home while Derek just shook his head and smiled). "I told you it would be."

"You're already such a good mother," he said with a little laugh at her childish superiority. He dropped a stack of pancakes on her plate and leaned in for a kiss.

She ignored the gesture though, already busy slathering the pancakes with syrup. She crammed a too-big bite into her mouth with a pleased little hum.

"I guess now we need to name the little guy," he said with a fond smile as she licked syrup off her lip where it had started to dribble down her chin.

"We already did," she replied. When he gave her a quizzical look, she said, "His name is Xavier Simba Morgan."

"I thought you were just kidding about that..."

Her face fell. "You don't like it?" she asked, looking close to tears.

"No, no," he insisted, desperate not to make her cry (even if it was just an effect of hormones rather than any actual sadness), "I love it. It's the perfect name for our son."

"Really?" she pressed, eyes narrowing as she studied his face for a sign he was telling the truth. "You aren't just saying that?"

He leaned in again, this time getting the (syrupy) kiss he sought. "I love it. I promise. But I get to name the next one."

"Next one?" she asked, expression somewhere between incredulity and awe.

He shrugged, a little awkwardly. "Well, yeah... I figured we'd give Simba a few siblings. I've always wanted a big family."

"You really think we'll be together that long? You know the statistics... Most teenage couples that have a baby don't end up together in the end."

"Of course we'll be together," he vowed. "We're going to be the exception to the rule." He reached over to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear from where it had stuck to some syrup on her cheek. "You're it for me, Princess. The only girl I'll ever love. And one day, I'm going to make you my wife...if you'll have me."

Her smile was shy as she ducked her head to hide her blushing cheeks. "I guess I'll keep you around," she mumbled softly. "For now."

"I love you so much, Em. I know things aren't going to be easy, but I'm glad I knocked you up."

She snorted in amusement. "You're pretty proud of your penis, aren't you?" she deadpanned.

"Always." He winked.

"Oh, God... Our son has no chance," she teased.

"I've got something for the two of you," Fran announced as she swept into the kitchen where Emily and Derek were eating breakfast.

The Morgans, it turned out, were all morning people... Emily, on the other hand, was not. Which meant that most mornings in the Morgan household were filled with cheerful chatter and laughter while Emily shuffled around like a zombie.

"Oh, Mama," Derek said, wrapping an arm around his mother's shoulders and kissing her cheek. "You don't have to give us anything."

Emily yawned, brushed her messy hair away from her face, pushing her now soggy cereal away from her. "You've done more than enough already," she started to protest.

But Fran cut her off, "It's a gift, Dear." She passed her a wrapped box with an expectant grin.

Emily couldn't help but be uncomfortable with Fran giving them a gift when she was already helping support them until she graduated, but she was extremely grateful anyway as she unwrapped the gift. "Oh, Fran..." she gasped, eyes filling with tears as she pulled the lid off the box to expose the contents.

"Something wrong?" Fran asked, concerned.

Emily shook her head once, twice. "This is... Fran, this is too much..." She pulled a hand-knit baby blanket out of the box – in the corner of the blanket, Fran had hand-stitched the baby's name. It was clear she'd spent hours working on the blanket, but, more than the effort that had gone into it, Emily was moved to tears by the fact that the gesture showed just how much Fran loved and supported not only them, but their child as well.

"This is for my grandson, there's no such thing as too much."

She gave a watery smile. "I'm just really glad Simba is going to have a grandma like you. I've always been so worried about what kind of mother I'd be...but, with you, I know I'll be okay. And so will Simba."

Fran kissed her temple. "I love you too, Dear."