A/N::: Happy Turkey Day peeps :D

Enjoy!

Cantankerous—

disagreeable to deal with;

Four months later

I stormed into the kitchen, stomping my feet as loud as I could, what with my big lump of a stomach of seven months in the way. "Zach!" I yelled, even though he was a few paces away, bent over as he searched for something in the fridge. "Where. Are. My. M. And. Ms!" I always had a bag of peanut M&Ms at my bedside table to pop in my mouth when I wake up.

Well, it's twelve p.m., my new rising time, and what did I find? An empty bag of M&Ms. I didn't even go to the bathroom to wash up. So believe me when I say I know what my appearance was like; bed head frizzy hair, dark circle under my eyes, my fat kankles sticking out of my boot cut pregnancy pjs, and breath that tasted like paper (which I remember falling asleep on).

But Zach was calm, smiling when he looked at me, like nothing was out of the ordinary.

"Hey there Sunshine. You're up pretty late, don't you think?" Of course I knew it was late. But I don't care. I stopped caring months ago.

"My M&Ms," I said through gritted teeth, "Where are they." It wasn't a question.

He sighed, which he seemed to be doing more often, putting the eggs and bacon on the counter. "I'm sorry, hon. I forgot to pick some up at the store last night." He leans back against the counter nonchalantly, crossing him arms like it's no big deal that he forgot my favorite candy, one of my few cravings. Zach's whatever attitude has always annoyed me, but half the time, it was a part of him I loved. Well, right now, it was the former.

"You forgot my candy?" I asked, confused. I still couldn't get how Zach, who was once ranked the number one assassin in the western hemisphere when he was still in the business, could forget his moody pregnant wife's candy at Wal-Mart.

"I'm sorry, Cammie. It just slipped my mind."

"So me being pregnant just slipped your mind?"

"What? No. How did you get to that conclusion?"

"The fact that you forgot my M&Ms!" I yelled, even though I knew it was unfair of me. I knew he has to work late at the CIA offices, now that he decided to not take on missions. He has the worst hours as well, going in around five p.m. every day and coming home at three a.m. I'm usually awake by then, but I guess they have him writing reports he's ignored because he's always tired and cranky. I fell asleep last night, keeping my memory fresh of codes that I needed to know incase I was ever in the situation where I could only send a message (hence the paper-breath), so I guess I didn't here Zach come in.

Still, he had promised to stop at the store before coming home, so I had finished off the rest of the bag. And now, I was M&M-less. But he was probably completely wiped out, to have forgotten about my M&Ms.

I sighed, all angry emotions flowing out of me, my mind suddenly clearer (I was never a morning person).

"I'm sorry, Zach. I know how hard you've been working and I just…" I suddenly felt so helpless, so useless that all I was good for was yelling at my husband and ranting about candy.

"Cammie, don't cry," Zach blurted, but it was too late; the water works were already flowing. I was making short, whimpering noises that sounded like someone was kicking a dog, but I couldn't help it. I just had a sudden urge to cry. Zach was by my side, breakfast forgotten. His arms were already around me, and I embraced him as much as I could.

"Don't hate me, Zach," I whispered/sobbed. My tears were soaking his shirt; my snot-filled nose was threatening to join the tears.

He chuckled, the deep sound making his rib cage vibrate. "Again with this crap. Cammie, what gave you the slightest idea that I could ever hate you? I love you so much, it hurts me watching you like this, angry one moment and crying the next and not knowing what to do." I pulled away slightly, enough so that I could see his face. I gave him a pleading look, one he's come to interpret. He smiles slightly before lulling me with his voice, our eyes still locked, as he brushes away stray tears. His soft (believe it or not) voice filled the seemingly empty kitchen, and I buried my head into his chest, listening to his pacing heartbeat match his voice.

The tears were gone by the time he stopped, as were the sniffles. "Thank you, Zach," I whispered.

"Anything for you, Cameron." He kissed my hair, and it seemed that, just for that instant, time froze as we were locked in an embrace, and I cherished the sensation of never having to let him go.

Ever since our moment a week ago, we've ceased to have any incidents where I would run rampage, followed by bursting into tears. I've been close to a random breakdown, but Zach would always be there, lulling me immediately with his voice. It was dreamy, almost. To have the man of my dreams be by my side at every sniffle, cough or whimper.

So when I almost broke down while watching Happy Feet, tears threatening to fall because Mumble was about to become bird food (despite the fact that I've watched this movie before), Zach shot out of the bathroom, a towel the only thing he wore around his waist from the shower he'd just taken.

I sniffled, surprised at how he suddenly knew. "Did you hear me?"

He frowned, realizing that he had came in the nick of time. "Actually, I don't know. I just felt that you needed me, is all." Despite the fact that I've seen Zach fully naked (hence the baby lump) as well as at his worse, I couldn't get over how… perfect he was. His chest was bronze and muscular, scars splashed here and there from getting too cocky. And yet, he hadn't let any of it hold him back or burden him, seeing as he continued to put his life on the line for his country. He stood proud and tall, fearing nothing. And call me insane, but the sun was perfectly set behind him so that he stood in all his glory, his every physical asset shining. Except, as I studied his perfectly chiseled, angular face, I noticed something was off… Wait. Was… was Zach crying?

"Are you crying?" I blurted. No way could it be true. But his eyes were watery and red.

He looked taken back. "What? No. Why?"

"Your eyes. They're all red and watery. Did you get soap in your eyes? Or too much water?"

"Not that I can recall." He sat down next to me, blinking to clear his eyes. "Although, now that you mention it, my eyes do feel irritated."

I smirked, using his own weapon against him. "It's okay to cry, Zachy. I won't tell." I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing.

"Har har, Cammie. But I don't cry. Men don't cry."

I raised an eyebrow. "Or really? Remember that one time, we were in Spain and—" He stood abruptly, unwilling to hear the story when he almost shed a tear.

"Well, if you're fine enough to tell a story, then I'll go get dressed."

"Aw, but I like seeing you half naked," I teased.

He faked exasperation, sighing. "I know you do. That's why it's your everyday struggle to keep your hands off me. Please Cammie, I don't do autographs." He smirked; cockiness was always his strength. He left me laughing, immune to his arrogance. It was one of the reasons I loved him.

When it happened, I don't know exactly what was running through my mind. This past week's been unusual, since I called Zach out for tearing up. My extreme emotions seem to have run dry, my pregnancy symptoms disappearing almost all together, despite the fact that I was eight months pregnant.

It started when Zach through up. At 2 a.m. in the morning. Which, actually, used to be around the time I puked my guts out. But I was woken up by the sound of Zach retching. I was having a nightmare about losing Zach, so I burst into the bathroom, afraid to find him dying or dead.

"Zach!" I cried. He was keeled over the porcelain toilet bowl, pale and shaken. I took a step forward, but he held up a shaking palm, warding me off.

"Don't, Cam," he breathed. "I might've caught a bug, is all. It might affect you. Just go—" before he could finish, his face was already halfway in the bowl, vomiting. He wiped his mouth with a shaking arm, almost convulsing. "I'm f-fine."

"Don't you lie to me, Zach." But I knew he was right; half right, at least. If he'd caught a flu, it might affect the baby, if it gets to me. I walk out of the bathroom, determined to help in any way I could.

By the time, Zach made it to the kitchen, I had already made the tea and soaked a towel in lukewarm water. I led him to the couch, ordering him to lie down.

"My mother said chamomile was good for the throat. Here, drink. Wait, sit up, you'll burn yourself if you drink it lying down." When he managed a sitting position, I held the cup to his lips, his clammy hands unable to hold it. After I forced him to drain two cups, I made him lie back down, mopping his cold forehead with the rag.

"Oh Zach," I sighed, "how could you get sick so suddenly?"

His eyes were closed. I thought he was asleep, but then he responded. "I don't know, Cam. I just felt… I don't know, horrible. I feel so drained and irritable." He chuckled, the low deep voice giving me some relief. At least he was still Zach. "It's as if I took on your pregnancy symptoms." I froze, the phrase striking something in my mind. "Cammie?" I was struggling to remember something. "Cammie, are you okay?" It flickered, teasing my mind, a tickling memory….

"House!" I blurted. The awkward silence that followed was accompanied by the strange look Zach managed to shoot at me. I quickly tried to explain. "I was watching a House marathon, and there was this one episode where a man was feeling his pregnant wife's symptoms. He was puking, and his stomach was acting up, and he was cranky all the time."

"Impossible," Zach said immediately. "There's no way I can be feeling your pregnancy symptoms. I am a man, and men do not experience things that are not natural. It just isn't logical."

"That's what I said, too," I replied. "So I Googled it."

"You Googled it? That's mistake number one, Cam. You can't rely on Google—"

"Well I did," I cut in. "And some lady on Yahoo was asking if it was normal for her husband to be feeling what she should be feeling and someone else replied that it was."

"You can't rely on only that."

"I didn't. I called up Liz, and she said it was theoretically possible."

"Theoretically," he shot.

"Possible," I argued.

"Do you hear yourself, Cam? You're claiming that I, Zach Goode, your loving and loyal husband, is having your pregnancy symptoms."

"I know it sounds crazy, but it's a possibility," I say and add "not what's happening" before he can object. He opens his mouth, but then closes it. He lets out a loud breath, closing his eyes.

"Alright. Say I am having your pregnancy symptoms. Are there any remedies?"

It was my turn to be exasperated. "What makes you think so? You can't just drink some holy juice and not feel pregnant. If so, women wouldn't be so reluctant to be pregnant. Can you imagine what the world would be like? Women blissful and as high as clouds. Husbands wouldn't have to fear their wives. It would be paradise, but then again, where's the fun in that? Zach? Are you list—" I stopped short, noting his labored breaths, the steady rise and fall of his chest. I smiled, getting up to find a blanket. When I returned, he was still sleeping. I covered him as best as I could, made sure he was comfortable and planted a small kiss on his forehead, whispering "Night Zach" before heading to our room where I crashed for the night.

We were sitting side by side, Zach wrapped in a blanket, me sitting precariously, and making sure I wasn't somehow damaging the baby, when the second occurrence occurred.

We were watching Inglourious Basterds, and we were at the part where Shosanna, the owner of the movie theatres hosting all the Nazis, shot and thought she killed Private Zoller. The tragic music was playing, and when she heard him groan and checked on him, he shot her in the chest multiple times. I was torn; she was my favorite female protagonist, and yet she got killed. But when I looked over at Zach, I had to do a double take.

"Zach, are you crying?" I said, the second time this month. He had such a heartbroken look on his face, his eyes despairingly sad.

"No," he grumbled, turning away. "I just think it's… it's pathetic how she didn't make sure he was did, is all. My eyes aren't tearing up from the fact that he wanted her and she just shot him."

"He didn't love her, Zach," I said softly.

"But he wanted to give her whatever she needed."

"He was just going to use her."

"No, he wasn't."

"But Zach, didn't you hear him? He said he wasn't a man you say no to." I shook my head, disgusted by the character's words. "He probably just wanted to have sex with her and then leave her."

"Not all guys want just sex!" Zach yelled. I was so shocked at his sudden outburst of anger, I flushed, my mouth open.

"I-I'm sorry, Zach. I didn't mean to say that."

He sighed, anger still evident on his face. "Forget it. You'll never understand." And then he just walked out of the room without a glance or apology. He just left.

I stared after him for a second. Huh, I thought, is that how I was when I was moody? I thought back to that morning I accused him for forgetting my M&Ms. And then after that, all my sudden tearful moments. I shrugged, my attention back on the movie. I'll give him some time.

One Week Later

I woke up around 8, only to find the other side of the bed messy and unmade. Zach had decided to sleep in our bed, after all. I climbed out of bed slowly, every move slow and calculated. I wobbled my way to the kitchen, yawning, and was surprised when I smelled bacon and eggs, the familiar sound of bacon sizzling invading my ears. I had left Zach to his own devices for about a week, and he had spent the nights sleeping on the couch.

When I asked him to stop avoiding, he admitted that he didn't want to get mad at me for no apparent reason, so he rather get over it quickly than let me suffer the consequences. He didn't give me much of a choice, so I agreed.

But he hadn't made breakfast, thought, since forever ago, or at least that's what it feels like. When I got the kitchen entrance, I saw Zach standing at the stove, making breakfast.

"Hey Sweetheart," he mused without looking up. He sniffled, his nose still stuffy. "So, I visited the doctor today, to see what was up with my health." He turned the stove off, serving the bacon onto two plates that already had eggs. "Sit." He placed the plates at the already set table, so I did what I was told. He looked straight at me when he spoke. "Apparently, I was experiencing some husband pregnancy anxiety. And the cold was just coincidental with the timing. But I'm fine now, since he gave me some anxiety relief medication and the number of a trusted spa." I knew what he meant by trusted; CIA approved.

"So that's it?" I asked.

"That's it." He replied. And it was that simple. We started eating, comfortable silence filling the space.

"But if you ever tell anyone what happened, I'll be forced to make your life miserable." I laughed.

"It's good to have you back, Zach."

A/N::: took me a while to get the idea straight =/ But then when I did, I thought it came out pretty good.

So review!