Derek groaned, yawned, rolled over in bed as Emily rummaged noisily in the closet. "What the fuck are you doing, Em?" he whined. "It's summer break and I wanna sleep in..." He squeezed his eyes shut tighter in a desperate attempt to keep the quickly escaping sleepiness from departing.

Instead of answering, she tossed a dirty sweater from the floor of the closet at him.

With a long-suffering sigh, he sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "What could be so important at seven AM?" He knew he sounded like a petulant child, but he couldn't help it – he hadn't gotten a chance to sleep in in months and he wasn't likely to have many more opportunities.

"Getting this baby out," she informed him flatly. She stood, gesturing at him with one of his old T-shirts as she announced, "I'm going for a walk. You're welcome to keep sleeping, though." She then proceeded to pull the T-shirt on over her head (she had outgrown most of her own T-shirts and even this one barely fit over her belly).

The way she said it, though, lead him to believe that it was not, in fact, a valid choice... Groaning, he rolled out of bed. "Fine," he muttered, "I'll come with you."

She gave him a pointed look. "You don't have to," she insisted.

He just shook his head with a fond smile. "You almost say that convincingly."

Rolling her eyes, she chose to ignore him to instead say, "And put a shirt on, I don't need people ogling you while your fat girlfriend waddles along beside you."

"Em, you're not fat," he started to protest, but she wasn't hearing it. She simply waved away his words and walked out of the room.

"Where are we going?" Derek asked as he kept pace with Emily's speed-waddling. "Is the bakery even open this early?" He said the last part playfully, knowing she'd been eating a king's ransom in cinnamon buns the last few months, even going so far as to send him there ten minutes to closing in a desperate bid to satisfy a craving. The bakers had gotten to know him quite well by this point...

She shot him an unimpressed glare, failing to see the humour in his attempt at levity. "We're walking until I go into labour," she said flatly.

He snorted with laughter, thinking it a joke...until she glowered at him. "How do you know you'll go into labour today?" he asked, not wanting to piss her off further, but needing to ask all the same.

Still glowering, though no longer at him, she said, "Because I said so."

He barked out a laugh, then immediately regretted it. "Em, the doctor said you can't force it – we might as well wait for the induction."

"No."

He sighed. "Is this still about being afraid to do the wrong thing?" he asked. "Because I thought we..."

"It's because I'm scared!" she shouted, interrupting him. For a few moments, he blinked at her in stunned surprise. "I'm afraid, okay?" she repeated meekly.

"Afraid? What for?" he asked gently.

She mashed her lips together to stifle her threatening sobs. "What if I can't do it?" she whispered.

He frowned. "Can't do what?"

"Labour," she explained. "Give birth... What if I can't do it or something goes wrong? What if he gets hurt or dies? It'll be all my fault. I love him so much and I'm so scared that I can't do this..." She knew her tone was getting high-pitched and hysterical at this point, but she couldn't seem to reign herself in now that she'd gotten started on her little rant.

He stopped, moved to stand in front of her, resting his hands on her shoulders. "Listen to me, Em. You are the most capable, strongest, most incredible person I've ever met. I know you can do this – there's no one I trust more. Even if you were doing this all alone – which you aren't – I wouldn't worry for a single second because you can do this."

"Really?" she whispered. Her bottom lip jutted out in a pitiful pout, rather like a toddler who wasn't getting their way.

He nodded, smiled softly. "I know you're used to feeling in control of things and when you can't control something, it's scary because you've been taught that you should always be capable and competent and in control or you've failed. But this isn't something you can control. That's part of having a baby: the unknown. You can do this, though. For Simba."

She gave him a watery smile, leaned in for a kiss. "Are you sure you're ready for this?" she asked in a whisper. "You're not afraid?"

He shook his head. "I'm fucking terrified," he admitted, "But I am ready. I've been ready since the day the test came out positive." He shrugged with one shoulder like it were just a fact of life.

She gave him a dubious expression.

"Really," he insisted. "I already love him so much, it makes my heart clench when I think about him and I can't wait for him to be here. It's scary, but I'm ready. If there's one thing I've learned from not having my father around, it's that I should cherish every single moment I do get."

A beat.

"Well, can you give birth, then?" she asked. "Because I'm not ready."

He laughed. "I would love to, Princess, but I think that's your department. Sorry." He winked. "But if it makes you feel better, I'll buy you a cinnamon roll..."

"Sometimes, I think you like me looking like a whale," she said, "I just can't decide if it's because you find it attractive for some reason or because you don't want other guys looking at me."

"I won't deny that you look exceedingly sexy..." he said.

"But?" She raised a brow, curious.

He held up his hands in self-defence. "No buts," he insisted, "I just didn't want your ego to get too big."

She rolled her eyes. "You're an ass."

"Yes, but you love me anyway."

"Unfortunately," she muttered.