A/N: How does two chapters sound to you guys? Sound like fun?

Ned knelt down and kissed his daughters one by one as they filed in for dinner. It was an evening tradition that was starting to become too much for him; with forty little girls and one even smaller boy, his back would be sore and his lips tired by the time the last one had toddled through the door. "Hello, Lily and Tilly," he said, "hi, Kara and Carol, Jenny and Julia and Jamie!" Sally had not been happy when he'd suggested the name to her, and had in fact offered several alternatives, but since the conversation had occurred just a few hours after delivery, she was too tired to come up with any female names they hadn't already used; all her name ideas came from objects in the hospital room. "Okay, Sal," he'd told her soothingly, kissing the top of her head. "How about we stop thinking about this for now, and you can decide in the morning whether you like any of those names better than 'Jamie.'" (Once some of the exhaustion and painkillers had worn off, she'd reluctantly agreed that naming a child "Bedpan" or "Dead Bug on the Windowsill" counted as child abuse, and had allowed her youngest daughter to be given a little small green bib with "Jamie" written on it.)

Just when he'd thought they were all seated at the table, he felt a tap on his elbow. "Dad?"

Ned's eyebrows drew together as he looked down. "Jojo!" He could've sworn he'd already kissed that small mop of dark hair . . . but then again, it was hard to keep track of them all after a certain point. How his wife managed to keep everything straight was beyond him. "Didn't you already go by?"

"Yes, Dad. But I had a question, so I'm here." Jojo was eight years old, and with every day grew more inquisitive. Ned sighed inwardly and hoped that this time he would know the answer; last time he'd spent about half an hour trying to explain that the ocean was salty because it just was, and finally gave up and told him to ask his teacher.

"Ask away."

Jojo shuffled his feet, looking somewhat embarrassed. Ned wondered with horror whether this was about to become the "How babies are made" talk. "Well, all of my siblings were born in groups. Except for me." He reached up and tugged at a necklace he had made the week before and refused to remove, a strange blend of twisted paper clips and scraps of metal — including an old nail that was red with rust. (When Ned had mentioned this to Sally, she'd sighed and said, "Believe me, I tried, and it wasn't pretty. At least he's up-to-date on his shots.") "Why am I all by myself?"

Thank goodness, Ned thought. He glanced back into the dining room, where the girls were all grabbing their food and Sally was standing at her chair, looking at him curiously. Once again her stomach was beginning to swell under her dress. "One sec, Sal," he called, sitting down on the couch and pulling Jojo down next to him, trying to figure out where to start, and how much of it his son would understand. "Some Who families have kids almost all like you — each born one at a time, you know?" Jojo nodded. "And some others are like our family, where there are a lot more big groups, called litters. Those'd be your sisters. And no one really knows why," he added, anticipating Jojo's next question, "but it tends to run in families. That's why you have so many aunts and uncles."

The oldest Who scrunched up his face, thinking that over. "Okay," he said slowly, "but then what about me?"

Ned gathered Jojo up in his arms for a hug, letting go quickly (Jojo wouldn't tolerate much physical contact). "You were special, born early. And we thought for a while that you weren't going to make it. Your mom was so scared . . ."

Sally's shriek was loud enough to shake the entire building; all across the hospital, startled nurses dropped their clipboards and stopped what they were doing to listen.

Down in the lobby, a chubby green teenager sprinted up to the front desk. "Is he here yet?" he asked.

The receptionist, who had witnessed this routine several times in the last few hours, shook her head, her glossy sheet of red hair hardly moving. The boy cursed and turned on his heel, racing back the way he came. The receptionist sighed and covered her ears, knowing what was coming.

Patrick burst into Sally's hospital room. "Not yet," he panted, leaning against the wall.

"WHERE IS HE?!" she screamed, causing a vase to slip off her bedside table and shatter. Her face was bright red with exertion and fury, and her hair was sticking to her head in sweaty clumps. Her sheet-covered legs were held in stirrups, limiting her movement, but still she looked like she was going to leap off the bed and start throwing things.

That was, until another contraction swept over her. Her head snapped back and her eyes squeezed shut, a weak groan slipping between her clenched teeth. Patrick leapt into position, taking her hand — carefully avoiding her fingers, which had crushed his several times — and stroking her hair until it passed. "You're doing great," he said, not entirely sure whether that was true. "Just a few more minutes. Sarah went to get him, and they'll be here any minute." (When the nurse had asked who they should call, Patrick gave her Sarah's number without thinking, even though Ned's office extension was written on the inside cover of every one of his notebooks. When he'd told Sally about his mistake, she'd been too afraid to do anything more than mutter, "Of course you would.")

Sally's eyes were glazed with pain, exhaustion, and fear. "What if it's not okay?" she asked. "What if it's too soon, and Bump dies, and Ned won't be here —" She started crying, but was interrupted by another contraction.

"They're coming faster," he told the nurse, who was unhurriedly checking Sally's vitals and writing in her clipboard.

"They do that," she replied, and continued with her task. "You've got time."

Suddenly another nurse ran up to theirs, frantically whispering in her ear. They stared at each other's clipboards, eyes huge, then switched. Once the other girl had disappeared with the correct clipboard, their nurse flipped through the pages quickly. "Sally? You're premature?" she asked.

Patrick didn't like the concern in her voice. Evidently, neither did Sally. "Of course I am!" she cried. "Didn't you wonder why he kept calling me 'Sal' if your clipboard had AN ENTIRELY DIFFERENT NAME WRITTEN ON IT?!"

"I'll go get a doctor." With that, the nurse was gone, moving quickly.

"Oh my gosh," Sally moaned, sinking back into the pillow. "This is a disaster. And Ned's not even here!"

"Don't worry," he reassured her. "I'm sure he's just a few minutes away."

"But it's been hours!" Sarah shouted at the Town Hall secretary. "And it's his baby! I think you could interrupt the meeting for this!"

The secretary gave her a look that was sympathetic, but unyielding. She was quite familiar with it, as she'd been on the receiving end of that look since one o'clock that afternoon. It was now four-thirty, and somehow the meeting was still going on. "I'm sorry, Miss, but the Chairman said that were could be no interruptions, as they had so little time with the Mayor."

"But it's the Chairman's grandson!" Legally, anyway; Ned would be furious if he'd heard Sarah say that, but she was willing to do just about anything to get into that meeting. "Don't you think it'd be important to him?"

The secretary's expression was now tinged with irritation. "Don't you think that if he'd wanted to interrupt the meeting for this, he would have specified that?"

"But no one knew it was going to happen this early . . . Ugh!" There was no point in arguing. "What could possibly take this long, anyway?"

"There are many important matters to be discussed. They are deciding the fate of Whoville, after all." She raised her eyebrows as if to say, "And that's the end of that."

"Fine. But I'll remember your name" — She peered at the name tag — "Miss Yelp the Intern." Sarah moved her gaze from the tag to the woman's face. "You're not much older than me, are you?"

Miss Yelp blushed, then turned to a large stack of paperwork, marking it and setting it into piles.

Finally the heavy wood doors opened, and the chairmen filed out in twos, laughing about something or other. Ned was the last to leave, and the only one alone. His head was down and his shoulders slumped, which wasn't too much of a surprise. The closest board member in age to him was almost ten years older, and from what Sarah had heard about the meetings, they treated Ned like a kid most of the time. Before he could even look up, Sarah had lunged forward and snatched his arm. "Sal's in labor," she said abruptly, dragging him toward the door.

Ned, nearly pulled off his feet, just stared at her like she was crazy. "What?" he asked, his face pale. "What are you talking about?" It took all of her willpower to stop and explain the situation, even though every fiber of her being was desperate to get to the hospital without delay. When she was finished, Ned's face had drained of all color, and he looked unsteady on his feet. "We have to go," he said weakly.

"We can't walk there! It'll take forever!"

"My step —" A flash of disgust crossed his face, looking so alien compared to his normal gentleness. "The Chairman will take us."

"'Fraid not." They turned to Miss Yelp, who looked apologetic. "I tried to stop him, but he said he had to get home and that you were used to walking." She shrugged. "They all left."

Sarah threw her arms in the air. "Great! So now what're we supposed to do? Can you drive us?" she asked the intern, who shook her head.

"I can't afford a car." She began shuffling through the papers on her desk. "There might be a bus schedule around here somewhere, but that'd be almost as long as walking . . ."

Sarah turned to Ned, about to ask him what he thought they should do, but was startled into silence by his expression. His eyes were bright with a fevered determination, and a small smile was on his face. Before she could ask what was wrong, he turned toward the desk. "Miss Yelp, I'll need key number 6074," he said.

While the other girl fetched the key, Sarah asked, "What are we going to do?"

Miss Yelp tossed Ned the key and he caught it, his hands only shaking slightly as he started walking down a hallway Sarah had never been down before. "We're taking the giant meatball."