"OW!" I can't believe he just pulled out a piece of my hair! "Jean Luc this has to be the most superstitious and oldest trick in the book!"

He doesn't respond. He's deep in concentration. "Shh, Beverly. You're distracting me."

I muffle a laugh. "Jean Lu-" His lips affix themselves to mine, effectively cutting off all conversation.

He pulls away and smiles. "Shhhh."

He threads the long, golden strand through his gold wedding band, holding it perpendicular to the baby bump.

"See," he nods towards the circling makeshift pendulum. "This one's certainly a boy."

"I never knew the intrepid starship captain Jean Luc Picard to put stock in old wives tales." I poke at him, finding that ticklish spot just above his navel.

"Perhaps," he regroups. "But I'm not Jean Luc Picard, intrepid starship captain."

"No?" I smile.

"No." He shakes his head in mock seriousness, his face hovering seductively close to my own. "I'm Jean Luc Picard the husband of Beverly Picard and a very excited father."

/

"He said what?"

"He says it's a boy." I hand him the last plate to put in the recycler.

"It," I feel a kiss on my neck. "Is a boy."

"No. Jean Luc. Mom, it's another girl."

"Kitten," I look down at the eager toddler at my feet. "Ma." She stares up at me and I bend down. "Yes, Kitten, what do you say?"

"Kitteh" She smiles as he grabs onto Jean Luc's leg.

"See she thinks it's another kitten." Wes is trying to back up his assertions any way he can!

"No. I'm right on this one." Jean Luc bends down and picks Saoirse up, their collective laughter warming the walls of the house.

"Jean Luc. Last time you thought it was a boy. In fact, you were convinced." I remember that he was so certain that he was ready to start buying little boys' clothes. I think he had only boys names thought out in the run up to the delivery.

Wes leans back against the cool marble counter. "I say we bet on it."

"Mmm, I agree." Jean Luc muses, kissing messy auburn ringlets.

"You haven't even heard my prediction!" I throw up my hands in humourous exasperation.

"Oh, that's right. Sorry, Mom, what do you predict?"

"A girl."

"Beverly! I thought you were with me on this one."

"Unh uh," I shake my head over my glass. "You're alone on this one, Mr. Picard."

"Well, now," Wesley muses. "I suppose that makes this bet much simpler. I say, that if it's a boy, I'll dust Jean Luc's office trinkets."

"You were going to do that anyhow, Wes." Jean Luc laughs. "You keep saying that when you come to my office to do your work, the dust is making you sneeze."

"It is! I don't know why you don't just dust them…"

"I think it rather makes them look more rustic and distinguished, I'll have you know."

"If rustic and distinguished means allergy-inducing then you've got that right."

I can't help but muffle a smile at their playful bickering like an old married couple.

A stare down can only last so long before Jean Luc concedes, "Fair enough. But you'll also have to grade assignments during finals week."

"I'm only doing the freshman assignments."

"Done."

Since Wes started at UW, he and Jean Luc have grown even closer. Wesley spends most of his time in Jean Luc's office when he's not in class. He'll work on his assignments, write papers, and help Jean Luc with his grading. The bitterness that once tinged their relationship has disappeared and has been replaced with banter, laughter, and love.

"Alright so if Saoirse, Mom, and I win-"

"Kitten is gender neutral." Jean Luc tries to argue.

"For the sake of this bet, Kitten is female."

"Wes, you can't just arbitrarily make up the rules of the bet."

"It's my bet!"

I snort as Jean Luc roles his eyes. "Fair enough. Go on."

"Kitteh" Saoirse adds.

Wesley looks at the baby, "Saoirse, is kitten a boy or a girl?"

She smiles and points to herself. "Kitteh".

"Like I said," Wes gesticulates. "It's a girl."

"Alright! So, what do I have to do if you three win?"

Wes looks at me and we both implicitly agree: "take down the Christmas tree." We say in agreement.

"I was going to do that anyway."

"Without complaining," I add.

He mock deliberates in silence, leering at the oversized tree. "Done."

/

"Bev, it's the beginning of your 8th month, aren't you going to slow down?"

I look at Hope incredulously. "Are you kidding? Winter is our busiest time!"

Suddenly, a stabbing pain assaults my side.

"Beverly?"

I need to sit. Now. "Hope, I just need to sit down."

I feel a warm rush of water down my leg. Her eyes open in surprise.

"Bev," she slowly lowers me into the chair, but everything feels peripheral to the sharp, radiating pain.

"Your water just broke."