Sam pulled the top over her head and sighed. It was light weight and voluminous, with a bright floral print. Looking on the bright side, however, Sam was grateful for the fact that it did still fit her in some places, rather than act like a muumuu from the neck down. Another thing that was a bonus was the fact that she was wearing comfortable yoga pants as opposed to jeans or slacks. Stretchy was always better.
She arranged her faux tummy halfway under the waist band of the pants and stood up straight for the effect. The top lay nicely over the fake pregnancy belly, draping over and around it as it should.
"Are you doing all right, Miss Watts?" Finch called to her.
Sam rolled her eyes and held back a sharp retort. "I'm fine, Harold. I'm coming out."
She slipped on a pair of flats and walked out from behind the book shelves into the main room of HQ. Finch stood up from the desk and looked her over critically, his finger to his chin.
Sam turned to the side. "One good thing about this belly band is that it's a perfect place to put my gun," Sam pulled at the thick piece of stretchy fabric around her waist that held her fake belly in place. Her weapon was tucked snuggly into it at the back. "Do you think it should be lower?" She asked uncertainly, fiddling with the pants again.
"No, no," Finch said. "I think its just right. You're positively glowing."
"Shut up." Sam straightened up and sighed. "I feel like a bus."
"Trust me, you don't look like one," Finch said. "Mr. Reese is finishing his shift with Mr. Powell. I looked through Mr. Powell's calendar and found an opportunity for you to meet Mrs. Powell." He moved back to the desk and sat down.
"Doing what?" Sam followed him, hoping her new belly wouldn't move around on her too much.
"You can't walk like that, Sam," Finch said. His large, bird like eyes were studying her closely again.
"Like what?"
"Like you're not carrying an extra twenty to thirty pounds of weight."
"Right," Sam said. "I'll have to practice my waddle on my way to wherever I'm going."
"Of course, yes," Finch turned back to the computer. "Mrs. Powell will be attending a Lamaze class this evening. I've taken the liberty of signing you up for the class. I am safely assuming that her husband will be meeting her there after his shift… as will yours, so to speak."
"He'd better," Sam said irritably. "When Eva was pregnant, Leo forgot about one of the Lamaze classes, and I had to go with her in his place. People thought we were a lesbian couple with a donor baby. Nobody likes a deadbeat husband." Sam smiled despite her general grumpiness at the situation. What she neglected to mention was the fact that she and Eva, her best friend, played up the lesbian act in the class.
"At least you are familiar with class itself," Finch said.
"Yeah, it's just a bunch of breathing and stuff," Sam waved her hand at the idea. "I just have to make sure I don't pass out."
"It may also help if you recall how Eva behaved when she was pregnant. Physically, that is."
Sam nodded. She had helped pull Eva out of so many couches and easy chairs during that time. She also remembered how Eva leaned on Leo's arm a little when they walked together – well, Leo walked, Eva waddled. "Yeah, that would help make it convincing. So, where and when is this class?"
The first thing that Sam noticed was that she couldn't sit normally, otherwise the fake belly almost folded in on itself and caused weird creases in her clothing. She had to sit like a pregnant woman in the taxi on the way to the class, leaning back in the seat. She also had to slide out and stand up like a pregnant woman, using the door to pull herself up and out of the seat.
Strangely, however, she found herself absent mindedly resting her hands on her stomach. And, for fear of jostling the belly out of position, she found that the slower, waddling type of walk came almost naturally.
"Finch?"
"I'm here."
"Is it a boy or a girl?"
There was a long pause over the line. Sam smiled and put her finger to her earpiece, making sure it was still working.
"I don't suppose that matters very much in what we're trying to do."
"But I'll be asked. I look like I'm in my third trimester. We'd know what kind of baby it is by now."
"Perhaps you want to be surprised? I believe some parents don't like to find out until the baby is born."
"John doesn't like surprises. But he just might be in for one," Sam joked... mostly.
Another thing she was beginning to notice about being pregnant was that more people were nicer to you. Doors were held open all over the place, seats were given up. While Sam was crossing the street with a group of people, one man stayed back with her, walking at her pace until she got to the opposite side. It almost made her feel bad that she was psyching everyone out, in a way.
Sam arrived at the address Finch provided. It was a gym. A nicely built guy exiting the gym held the door open for her, and she went inside.
Following the signs for the evening class, which was on the second floor, Sam decided to take the stairs, just to get more moving practice in. She took each step slowly and leaned on the railing as she'd seen Eva do. It wasn't difficult, but it was maddeningly slow work.
Once she reached the second floor, Sam entered a large room, littered with mats over a thin carpet. It was probably normally used as a room for Yoga classes or something similar. Sam stopped next to the doorway and took Mrs. Powell's photograph out of her purse.
She then looked into the room, scanning over the faces of those who had already arrived. There were several women by themselves, others had arrived with their slightly hovering significant other. Sam didn't see Mr. Powell, he would be hard to miss. But Mrs. Powell was there already, standing alone, looking down at her phone.
Sam took a breath, pushed her hair back and entered the room.
"All right ladies, let's get started! Everyone get comfy on a mat." An excited voice startled them all, and Sam looked up to see a woman who looked like she didn't like to bathe very often. Her hair was long and straight, going down her back. She wore a billowy top and a long skirt. Sam squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again just to make sure that what she was looking at was real.
"I'm going to murder, John," Sam muttered.
"What is it?" Finch asked.
Sam didn't answer. Everyone was settling onto their mats. Sam muscled her way next to Mrs. Powell.
"Is anyone in this spot?" Sam pointed to the mat next to her.
Mrs. Powell smiled and shook her blonde head. "Looks like you are."
"Thanks," Sam watched Mrs. Powell for a minute as she tried to get down onto the mat. Sam took her arm and let Mrs. Powell lean on her as she sat down.
"Thank you," Mrs. Powell said breathlessly. "But how will you make it down here?" She asked, looking up.
"Well, my husband should be here. I might just stand here and wait for him," Sam laughed.
Mrs. Powell shared her laugh. "Mine should be here too."
"Come on deary, down on your mat," the instructor from Granola Hell took a hold of Sam's arm and helped her down onto the floor.
"All right, ladies! My name is Candle and I'll be your instructor for this class," she announced as she moved back to the front. "Childbirth is a natural and beautiful thing - !"
"I'm sorry," Sam raised her hand. "You said your name is Kendal?"
"Candle," Candle said, clearly irritated that her spiel about mother nature's beauty had been interrupted.
"Like the thing that you light on birthday cakes?"
"Exactly, yes."
"Just making sure," Sam said innocently. She looked over at Mrs. Powell as Candle continued. She was hiding her laughter.
"Sorry," Sam said quietly.
"Don't be," Mrs. Powell chuckled. "We had a much better instructor last week. I'm already regretting coming here tonight because of her."
"I'm Sam," Sam held out her hand, introducing herself.
"Mel," Melanie Powell shook Sam's hand and smiled.
"I want all of the mommy's to be sitting up straight with your legs crossed in front of you, like so," Candle sat down on her mat in front of the class and demonstrated. "If you have a partner, he or she should have a supportive hand in the middle of mommy's back."
As the class assumed the position a large, dark skinned man entered the room. He spotted Mel and smiled as he stepped over and around everyone else to get to her.
Mr. Powell knelt down beside her and kissed her on the cheek. "Hey baby, sorry I'm late," his voice was deep and velvety. Sam could have listened to him read the entire works of William Shakespeare and not tire of his voice. "I've been training someone."
Mel pressed a finger to her lips and nodded at Candle, who was talking to the rest of the class.
"Sorry," Mr. Powell said in a quieter voice.
Sam scooted over a little on her mat, closer to the Powells, making it look as though she was adjusting her position to something more comfortable. She listened as she tried to perform the breathing exercises at the same time.
"You're training someone? Does that mean what I think it means?"
"He'll be ready to take over by the time the baby comes," Tace Powell smiled broadly. "Mrs. W finally gave me the OK a couple days ago."
"That's so great," Mel breathed a sigh of relief. "I was really worried that you'd have to work all hours."
Sam cleared her throat and groaned as Candle brought out a guitar.
"Oh, lordie," Mel said when she saw her.
"Yeah, now we're in for it," Sam muttered.
Mel laughed. "Tace, this is Sam," she gestured to her husband. "Sam, this is my husband, Tace Powell."
Sam smiled and shook his enormous hand. "Pleasure to meet you, and I'm sorry you have to suffer with the rest of us."
"Mr. Reese hasn't arrived yet?" Finch asked in her ear piece.
Candle began strumming her guitar to what she thought was the rhythm of the breathing exercise. All it did was add noise in the already awkward room. Sam used the distraction to answer Finch quietly. "Not yet."
Sam continued breathing slowly, her hands on her fake belly, keeping her back straight. She stopped when she became dizzy and felt herself tipping backwards. As she caught herself, a supportive hand pressed onto her back and helped keep her upright.
"Hi honey," John's voice was in her ear. "Sorry, I got a little lost getting here." He knelt down next to her, loosening his necktie as he did so. He looked at Candle with her guitar. Her eyes were closed and she was swaying, chanting something about the Miracle of Life.
Most of the class looked like they were doing their own thing, practicing techniques that were actually useful, thus leaving Candle in her own little miraculous world.
Sam nearly burst out laughing when John looked back at her. "What the hell is this?" he asked quietly.
"We are becoming one with the miracle of nature," Sam whispered back as she waved her hands dramatically at him and snorted.
"John!" Tace said in a booming voice. "Fancy meeting you here!"
John and Sam looked up as Tace explained how he knew John to his wife. John smiled and returned the greeting, shaking Mel's hand.
The guitar made an ugly clanging noise as Candle seemed to remember where she was. She leaped to her feet. "All right!" she shouted. "Partners, get close behind mommy – "
"If she calls us 'mommy' one more time,.. " Sam grumbled and Mel snickered. "We're not her mommy!"
"Let her lean up against you, so you can breathe together, as one – bringing this wonderful life into the world!"
"That's it," Sam moved to get up, but John kept her on the mat and sat behind her.
Sam reluctantly leaned back, resting her arms on his knees, and felt him breathing next to her.
"Same rhythm, keep it steady, and together, synchronized. Because you will be working together on raising this miracle! You, mommy and partner, will be as one. Partners, it is your job to support mommy, let her lean on you, take some of the weight."
Candle began walking around, talking to the individual couples.
Sam looked over at Mel, who was nearly swallowed up, being supported by Tace's bulk.
"You're not breathing, Sam," John said to her. "And you're not leaning on me."
"You can not be comfortable doing this? There is no purpose for this at all."
"When you're under cover, you're comfortable with everything."
Sam scooted back further and rested against John, who squirmed a little.
"Is that your gun?" he whispered.
"I hope so."
John reached around her and took her hands in his as they breathed. Sam didn't know what to think about the entire situation. Yes, they were undercover in one of the strangest situations she'd ever been in. Yes, she was wearing a faux pregnancy belly around her waist. The position, and the environment was not terribly comfortable. The only reaction she had was laughter.
"Was this in your job description?" she asked John.
"Not that I saw, no." His breathing changed as he laughed.
Sam settled herself against him and laughed some more. It was all she could think to do, especially since, in spite of how ridiculous the situation, she had the strange yet familiar feeling that she fit quite nicely there.
"Sorry to break it up, but we may have to rush the rest of the technique."
"What have you got?" John asked, lowering his head close to Sam's so she would be the only one to hear.
"I've done a little digging on Mrs. Willman, the woman Mr. Powell works for. She's terribly wealthy, and her extended family knows it all too well. The woman is seventy five, and it appears that she is well aware of the fact that her family is just waiting for her to die."
"So they can inherit," Sam mumbled.
"That's what they believe, yes."
"What's the catch, Finch?" John asked quietly. The stubble on his cheek rubbed against Sam's face. It was all so… familiar.
"Mrs. Willman seems to be taking the general feeling of her family's very personally. I have gotten a hold of a digital copy of the will. It's always good to keep a passworded digital copy in case the hard copy is lost."
Sam laughed a little. "'Gotten a hold of…' You hacked into the network of whatever law firm she uses."
"I've never appreciated that word, Sam," Finch replied.
"Anyway…?" John said impatiently.
"Yes, anyway, it seems that Mrs. Willman has left all of her assets to her body guard and his wife, just to spite her relatives."
John and Sam stopped breathing and sat up straight.
"I think we can refer to that as proper motive," Finch finished their thoughts for them.