Poking his head through their bedroom door warily, Lincoln cleared his throat to draw the attention of Octavia, who was sitting up in bed, glaring at the opposite wall.
Her eyes flashed dangerously as she turned to look at him, teeth bared as she hissed at him, "What now?"
"I just wanted to ask if you needed anything?" He asked gently, entering the room but staying out of range just in case.
Octavia's expression twisted angrily as she gestured down to her stomach, "I need your son to stop kicking me, I can't do anything because I'm huge, and now I can't even sleep!"
After a long moment of silence, Octavia's anger faded into confusion at the awed look that Lincoln was suddenly wearing, "What's happening to your face right now?"
"You said my son." He whispered, abandoning his caution, and coming to sit beside her on the bed.
Softening, Octavia smiled, placing her hand over Lincoln's own, which had come to rest on her stomach, "Well I couldn't really keep saying it, and I don't know, right now it just feels like a boy."
"Maybe," Lincoln nodded thoughtfully, "But I really think we might be having a daughter."
"You think so, or you hope so?" Octavia laughed.
Laughing along with her, he swung his legs up on the bed, so he could lie down with his head in her lap.
"It doesn't matter whether you're my son or my daughter. You're never going to feel alone or unloved. You already have a huge family, and me and your mum are so excited to meet you." Lincoln spoke tenderly, before beginning to ramble on about Polis and their home.
He became so wrapped up in talking to the child, that he failed to notice the tears that Octavia failed to hold back as she rubbed gentle circles on his back.
"You're going to be an amazing dad." She whispered to him.