Original A/N: Hi all! Thanks so much for keeping up with these! Your reviews really keep me motivated and I hope I replied to everyone who left a signed review. This one is obviously pretty far in the future (post-the second), and it doesn't really have a point, but it's conversations and it's cute. And for those interested in TTF, there should be an update very, very soon!

As always, I don't own the characters or the songs.

Love is the answer,

At least for most of the questions in my heart

Like why are we here? And where do we go?

And how come it's so hard?

It's not always easy and

sometimes life can be deceiving

I'll tell you one thing, it's always better when we're together

-Jack Johnson, "Better Together"

October

"Are you making a list of baby names?" Will asks incredulously, peering over her shoulder during the pretaped segment right before she's on.

"Yep," she says. "Now that we know it's a boy, we need to start thinking of names. You'd think he'd be gung-ho about Maynard or Milton, but nope." She adds Timothy to the list. "What do you think of Devon?"

Pregnancy involves a lot of decisions that Sloan alternately thinks are dumb — Bugaboo vs. UPPAbaby; drop waist vs. tunic tops — and important but downright trivial — which kind of stretch-mark cream to buy (the entire concept of stretch-mark cream is kind of appalling). This one, though, is kind of big, she has to admit.

Will snatches the list from her. "Aidan. Ethan. Jacob. Wyatt. Daniel. Zachary, Jordan, Joshua, Benjamin, Parker, Nolan, Gabriel. Elijiah — God, don't do Elijah. Or Nolan, or Gabriel. Christ, Sloan, some of these are terrible."

"What about Patrick?" she asks, pulling it back and adding it to the list. "No. Patrick Keefer has way too many k-sounds in it. And sounds Irish and neither of us is Irish. I'm Japanese, Dutch, and English; Don is German and — actually, he might be Irish. He's definitely Polish. Maybe Irish? But still. The k's." She crosses it out frantically.

"The outgrowth isn't getting your last name too?" Will's been on this kick lately where he comes up with semi-derogatory pet names for the baby. Last week it was the 'bodysnatcher.'

"No, actually that was a pretty easy decision," she sighs. She's not particularly tied to her last name, is only keeping it professionally (has even begun changing it legally, though she hasn't mentioned it to Will). "Sabbith-Keefer sounds like how someone with a cold would refer to rabbi." She writes down Peter, Andrew, Jack, Jonathan, and Ian.

"Sabbith-Keefer, Sabbath keeper, that's funny. You're funny," Will says, writing something that Mac tells him down. "What about Will? Good, strong name."

"Alright, switch. And absolutely not, Will," Don says, coming up to her and holding out a piece of paper. She exchanges their sheets and he walks away, easily flipping the paper onto his clipboard as he does producery things. She looks at his list as they come back from the pretape. She yaks for three minutes about the latest drama in the Senate Banking Committee, subtly crossing out Jasper, Michael, and Hudson as she talks. She likes Samuel, so she leaves that.

"What the hell are you two doing?" Will asks when they go to commercial. She's done for the night, so she starts unwinding her mic and standing up.

"We have to come up with a name, so we're each making lists, and then crossing names we hate off of each other's list. It's modeled after a Delphi study. Eventually, we'll be left something we both like. And it keeps us both honest. For instance, Matthew," she says, crossing it off. "He actually put his own nephew's name on the list. As if his mother wouldn't notice." She shakes her head. She's got enough trouble with his mother as-is. "Veto."

"You know, in the olden days, people didn't even know what gender they were having, let alone come up with a name ahead of time."

"Yeah, but even in the olden days, they were still fifty-fifty. There's not much room for surprise there. 'Oh, it's a boy. Why, that is just out of left field, I was expecting a kitten,'" she mocks in a deep voice. "No. Not how that happens," she stares at the list. "And veto," she says. "Parker Keefer also sounds like the name of a mobster."

"What mob movies have you been watching?"

"Or a law firm," she looks at the next suggestion. "Cooper. Cooper Keefer. He thinks that's a good idea?" She shakes her head.

"And you like Nolan Keefer?" he says. "It sounds like both of you are just … going through a baby name book and selecting increasingly ridiculous names."

She glares at him. "We're spitballing. It's creative."

"You honestly think either of you will actually name a child Nolan or Cooper or Blakely or Spork or whatever the hell else you put on that list? No. He'll be a Jonathan or Michael or Timothy and that's great. Those are good names. Just talk the damn thing out with each other."

She writes down Spork as she walks away. Because it's worth a veto.

"Switch?" Don asks when she finds him in the newsroom at one of his AP's workstation, swinging his piece of paper. "I really am not a fan of Nolan, gotta say."

"Do you think we're overdoing this?" she asks as they switch. "Did you really want to name a kid Cooper Keefer? Please tell me you weren't going to go down swinging for that one."

He looks at his list. "Yeah, I did put that down," he grimaces. "I'm not — that's not — no. I put my foot down," he shakes his head. "Not that name."

"I'm really going to fight you on that one, pal," she says, rolling her eyes at his bluster. "We don't like half these names. We can't name a kid something we don't like. I just wrote down Spork. As a joke, yes, because it's funny," she can't help get sidetracked. "But we can't name this kid Spork; he'll get mocked in middle school." For some reason, whether it's the hour or the fact that she's been going for hours or the damn hormones, this is upsetting. And she does not like to get upset.

"Probably in daycare too," he mutters, before getting a good look at her. "Hey," he says, touching her elbow. "We got time. We'll stop picking them this way. Let's just go through a book together."

She nods, suddenly tired. Actually, it's not so sudden: She started hosting the 7 p.m. hour right after they got back from the Thailand trip that led to this pregnancy; coupled with the four o'clock Wrap Up (which she kept), and regular appearances on News Night and The Lead-In, their 5-7 show, she's on a lot of TV. Don refuses to book her on Elliot anymore, which is fine because some nights she falls asleep in his office waiting for Elliot's show to end.

The pregnancy has been good for them overall, thankfully. He does come out of his office to yell at whatever producer is in charge when he sees her standing up on air, which she reminds him is completely unnecessary and sexist, but she also thinks it's (a little) sweet (though definitely aggravating). But mostly he's been uncomplaining, easygoing (with her. Never with his poor APs), and upbeat; the usual Don. He gives her foot massages and comes to every doctor's appointment and has a tiny square ultrasound photo propped up on his computer (she teared up when she saw him put it up, because, hormones).

She waits around most nights until Elliot's show is done so that he doesn't worry about her getting home alone, and still carries Saltines with her everywhere she goes, because for some reason it reassures him. They laugh a lot — pregnancy is kind of absurd — and she's in the perpetually-turned-on stage, which they're both liking a lot more than the morning-sickness stage. There's something weirdly fun and exciting about it all, two words she never thought she would use to describe gaining a bunch of weight and growing a tiny human. Don's always a good person to have on an adventure.

But they haven't spoken about what happens when the baby arrives. She does not want to give up her show, but she has honestly zero clue about how they might handle their jobs and a baby. Between that and the name list that includes Nolan and Cooper and a nursery that currently has four blank walls, she's pretty sure they're massively underprepared. And it's beginning to freak her out.

"I think I'm going to cab home now," she says, checking the clock. It's 8:37, and she started the day with a run and a pre-tape before a class from 8:30-10:00. She's allowed to be tired.

Don's brow furrows in concern. "You sure? You want to wait until Mac's done so she can take you home?"

"It's a cab, forty blocks, before 9 p.m. Pretty sure I'm going to be safe from the morlocks and the Night Court crazies," she quips.

"Ok, is this one of the times that I'm being awesome when I walk you out and kiss you goodbye, or when doing those things make me an asshole?"

"This is one of those times I'll get irritated and say you're coddling me."

"Oh right, option 3," he says with an eyeroll. "Then I'm not walking you out." He leans in to kiss her, and she grabs his forearm to prolong the peck, in case her decision upset him.

She tells the cabbie 88th and Riverside, still savoring the newness of the address. They're almost at their one-year in the apartment and she still feels like she's settling in, sometimes. Mostly when she takes a deep breath and realizes that, eighteen months ago, she had barely even started to think that maybe, this thing with Don was going to unfurl long-term. Thinking back gives her a warm, complete feeling.

The condo is newly renovated and shiny. They purchased it knowing that the three-bedroom prewar was going to be tight if they ever had more than one kid, but figuring that they had enough time. That, of course, was PP (how she refers to those first blissful, pre-pregnancy months of marriage. How naive they were), and now she's concerned about what might happen if they're good enough with this one that they decide for a second.

She thinks they might be decent at it. Don will be. He's short-tempered and can be sarcastic with adults, but he's always gentle and patient with her and their nieces and nephews. He's good in a crisis, and good at reading people. She's a little worried about herself — mostly, she's worried about how the hell the career-mother balance will work — but figures she'll figure it out as they go along. She's never held a baby without making it cry, but she figures her own child is smart enough to catch on that he'll need to be nice to her if he wants milk and clean diapers. She has that going for her.

Clem is still at ACN with Don, so the apartment is quiet. She flips on the lights, then the TVs, then pads through to the kitchen to find something to eat. All they seem to have is oatmeal, so she takes it. Once it's heated up and she smothers it in raspberries, she takes it into the nursery and sits down. It used to be the office, but they've consigned that extra furniture to the guest bedroom, and now it's relatively empty, with just three catalogs and some paint swatches on the floor.

Don finds her there, two hours later, a solid rock of cold oatmeal next to her. "Hey," he says, leaning in the doorframe and studying her. "How's the view from there?"

"You look good," she sighs.

"But the room itself does not?" he guesses, moving to sit next to her, and she sighs, running a hand over the belly contemplatively. She's getting bigger. "Come on. We've got four months."

"We've got fourteen and a half weeks, no real name, no paint, no furniture, no baby clothes, no nanny, no idea what hours we want the nanny to work or if we want her to speak Japanese to him or not, no idea if I want to speak Japanese with him or not," she retorts. "We're … two of Neal's flings away from this kid. That is how much time we have left, pal."

"Aright, one sec," he says, getting up to move.

"Where are you going?"

"It's midnight, and I can feel that we're about to make some major decisions. We need ice cream, and there's some in the freezer."

She quickly grabs her bowl of concrete oatmeal and hands it to him. "Ooh, get me some too?"

He rolls his eyes. "Of course."

He's back a few seconds later, and she shifts onto her hip to face him as she eats. The bump isn't quite big enough to eat off of, though she has tried. "I have been thinking," she says, stealing a bite from his bowl first, and smiling when he makes a face, "about the name."

"Ok, and?"

"What do you think about my dad's name for a middle name?" she asks. "I don't want a hyphenate. I think our last names sound atrocious together in any way, shape, or form. But it's his first grandson, and none of his grandkids will ever have his last name probably, so I think it would be … nice."

He smiles. "So Something Thomas Keefer?"

"Yeah," she leans her head back. "But I don't know if we can just pick a name ahead of time. Like, what if we love the name Chester, and then we see him and he's so not a Chester?" She sighs and smooths a hand over her burgeoning belly contemplatively. It's not that large — she and Mac got a trainer, Sven, and he's helped her stay in pretty good shape — but she was petite to begin with, so the baby had nowhere to grow but out. It's comforting, almost. Like a worry stone.

"If we decide on the name Chester I think we have bigger problems," he sets down the ice cream. "I'm worried about us getting carried away and ending up with an Emmanuel Keefer."

"You're worried that I'm going to lose it once I've gone through labor," she says, half-jokingly. "It's ok. You can say it."

"I really don't want a kid named Maynard," he says, resting a hand over hers. "And I have a feeling that after this happens and you've done this … amazing and also completely scary thing, I'm not going to be able to say no. And then we're going to have a kid named Maynard."

She laughs, nuzzling his neck. "You sure? Tell me how you really feel," she inhales his scent. "I promise no Maynard. Andrew, Sam, Jonathan. Normal, normal names."

"Normal-first-name Thomas Keefer," he says. "What about the nursery? You know, I was googling it at work, and I think a safari-themed room would be cool."

"Safari-themed?" she asks, instantly charmed by the thought of a stressed-out Don googling nursery themes.

"Yeah. I was thinking kids' books for awhile, you know, like Dr. Seuss or something, but I kinda like this. It's like, green walls and giraffes and everything."

She laughs, and takes a deep breath. It sounds a little cliche, but also do-able and adorable. "Ok. Safari-themed. I like it." They start digging through the paint chips and surfing for baby furniture on Don's iPad, bookmarking pieces to order the next morning.

Don yawns first, as they're debating Bonavita versus Babyletto versus Ikea (she is obsessed with a Bonavita crib, and she will win), and she suddenly feels bad. "C'mon, bed." She knows he actually tired when he doesn't protest at all.

He's asleep before she finishes washing her face, though he instinctively moves to spoon her when she tiptoes into bed. But she can't sleep and after an hour of wakefulness, she mutes the TV and slides to a sitting position.

Don's a terrible sleeper, so he wakes up immediately. "Go back to sleep," she admonishes when he starts to stir.

"Garumpishbibble," he mumbles, kissing her thigh where her shirt's risen up. She's not sure if he's out, but he's quiet.

But she still can't sleep. When he stirs again she pokes him. She does feel bad, but she hisses his name anyways.

"I'm up," he says, jumping to a sitting position. "I'm up. Are you OK?"

She stares. "Did you think I was in labor?" If so, he is an idiot.

"No," he says, "but it's 2:30 in the morning, so I was … alarmed." His voice is fuzzy with sleep, and he yawns. His hair is going in about sixty-two directions. She feels bad.

"No, it's … what are we going to do about my show?"

He settles back down, apparently less worried now that she's physically ok. "What happened to your rundown?"

"Not tomorrow's. When the baby comes."

He's struggling valiantly to stay awake, which she appreciates. "You signed a three-year contract, so you're going to take maternity leave and then go back. If you quit your job I'll divorce you," he jokes.

"Don't be stupid, I'm not doing that," she says. "Just … Where's the baby going to be?"

"We'll get a nanny, like we said we would," he yawns. "We'll look it up online tomorrow, ok? Or you can put an ad up at Columbia. There's plenty of child-psych majors there."

"You think a nanny will want to work until 8? Really?" she says skeptically.

"Or I'll hold him, we'll get one of those stupid koala-pouch things" he says. "Look, I don't have to go in until one, let's be honest. I get there early because you're there. So I'll stay home, then we'll have the nanny come, then you'll take him home. Or something. We still have fourteen and a half weeks, plus three months of parental leave to work this out and I promise, Sloan, we will. We will look at the kid, and we will find a name and it will be perfect; we will decorate the nursery and I will paint walls and get Mac to plan a baby shower so we will have clothes and toys and all the random crap that babies require, like hats and … rattles and bottles and … is somebody giving you crap about being a working mother? Or being ready? Or is this just nesting? Because if it's the former, I will kick their ass for you."

She shrugs. "Will didn't really like the name Cooper Keefer."

"I would hit us if we named him Cooper Keefer," he smiles, bleary-eyed. He yawns again. "Ok. It would probably be wiser if we had this discussion, say, tomorrow, after a few hours' sleep, but what's up? Come on. Something's bugging you."

"I don't know," she sighs, and it sucks, because she can't articulate it. "Just … there's so much to do. What if we're not ready?" Don's eyes closed in his oh god look. "I'm serious!" she whines, suddenly nervous. "Have you changed a diaper? I haven't changed a diaper."

"Well, no," he says. "But everyone has a first diaper at some point."

"Yeah! On a niece or a nephew or some neighbor's kid. Not on their kid."

"Sloan, you're great at everything, we'll figure it out," he tucks her hair behind her ear. He then gets distracted combing her hair with his fingers — she imagines it's pretty messy. "But … yeah. I'm not trying to freak you out, but is anyone ready? I mean, your parents were borderline-destitute grad students. Mine … you know what, my parents aren't a helpful example. But he'll get here and it'll probably be … a lot. But we'll figure it out. We always do."

"That's what you got?" she says skeptically.

"I mean, it's 3 a.m. so my pep talks probably aren't too peppy," he says. "But seriously. It'll be overwhelming … There will be some late nights … We won't have a clue what we're doing … It'll be stressful to figure it out with work and everything else. But that's what we do, alright? We'll divide and conquer. Same way we do with a show, alright?"

"You whispering dirty things into my ear?"

"No — splitting the duties. Talking through the problem. Give and take. Being … honest with each other. Laughing," he yawns again. "That's how we'll do this." He lilts into the pillow a little, and she knows he's going to fall asleep soon. "Look. We'll order the furniture in the morning, alright? And we'll get Mac and Will to come over and paint the bedroom and I'll assemble the furniture and we'll be set, alright?"

She nods, finally beginning to feel sleepy too. "Alright. But you're not assembling the furniture."

"I'm handy," he protests sleepily.

"Chair tires," she reminds him, closing her own eyes and sliding closer to him.

He falls asleep halfway through kissing her forehead.

So this one is super-simple, but one of my favorites just because of the intimate nature of it: It's mostly just Don and Sloan, talking — no Mac, no Will, no external drama. If I leaned into my better instincts, a lot more of the piece would have been this style (instead of the broader, thematic oneshots). It's bare, but so illuminating to who they are.

This was one of the first I wrote, and writing this and getting on paper where they were four months before becoming parents really dictated the parameters of the rest of the piece. I hadn't thought through a couple of the things I mentioned — like Sloan's new show — until I wrote all this out. I wrote it basically concurrently to the second chapter posted, and the two of them really laid out the rest of the piece for me.

But where the second chapter gave me a lot of perspective on what I needed to accomplish, plot-wise, between them getting together and getting pregnant, this one helped informed where they were emotionally. Sitting in bed, worrying about how to change a diaper, with Don threatening to divorce Sloan if she became a stay-at-home mom? It's a big jump. So it helped me try and pin down where they were, and map backwards from there.