George had a Friday routine. He'd wake up, have a quick breakfast with Angelina, who usually worked from home on Fridays, head to the shop to open, make sure his employees showed up, and were off to a good start for the day, then go into the lab to work on some new products, and if everything was running smoothing, he'd head home early. Well, things were fine at the shop, but as soon as he entered the house, he found Freddy sitting in the living room alone playing with his toy dragon. It was odd. Usually, Angelina was in the kitchen rumbling around or in the living room with their son, dividing her time between work and him. But the house was unnaturally quiet.

"Hi, Daddy," Freddy said. Before George could even ask about Angelina, he added, "Mummy sad."

The statement stopped George in his tracks. "What?"

"She crying," Freddy said.

A chill ran up George's spine. Angelina didn't cry often; a handful of times George could remember. Most of the times at funerals. His thoughts immediately turned to her father. Had something happened to him? Was he sick? If he was, surely Angelina would have come to him, would have told him, or owled him or something. Anything other him coming home to his two-year-old telling him that his wife was upset.

"Where?" George asked, pulling off his jacket and throwing it over the back of the couch.

"Bathroom." Freddy seemed unconcerned as he went back to his dragon.

Hopefully, that would keep him entertained while he talked to Angelina.

He was headed straight down the hall toward their bedroom, but stopped when he spotted Angelina in the hallway bathroom. He'd thought Freddy had meant the master bath.

But Angelina was there on the floor, her head between her hands, elbows resting on her knees. Her braids were still tied up in the bun from this morning, though she'd changed into a pair of shorts and one of his old 'G' sweaters. It was the perfect outfit for an unseasonably hot day in late October.

Quietly, George stepped into the bathroom and shut the door behind him. Angelina didn't even look up while George lowered himself down to the floor. He sat with his back against the cabinets, the edges of the door digging into the right side of his back. Tentatively, he let his hand find her ankle and wrap around it, his thumb sliding across the bone that jutted out there.

"Hey," Angelina muttered, finally lowering her hands and looking at him. There were no more tears, but her eyes were slightly puffy. More than anything, she looked tired, and that had nothing to do with her appearance. It was in her eyes. Over the years, George had learned to decipher the code written in the shades of mahogany. There was no pain or anger or sadness hidden there; just a look of exhaustion.

"Hey," he said. Then he let the silence linger for a few moments, his thumb running gently over her skin.

"Where's Freddy?" she finally asked.

"In the living room," George said. "He seems pretty taken with that dragon Charlie brought him on his last visit."

Angelina snorted, and George could practically see her line of thought. His son would be the one to follow in the footsteps of his older brother, and be the mostly to give his mother a heart attack.

"What're you doing in the bathroom?" he asked softly.

"It's been a long day."

George hummed.

"I'm pregnant."

It took him a moment to process that. Angelina held this gaze the whole time, brown eyes never wavering. Once he got past the shock, an immense amount of joy went swooping through his chest. He would have smiled if the serious look on Angelina's face hadn't remained.

Freddy was planned. They'd both decided that they were ready for a baby and the responsibility that came along with it. For months, they'd talked about it, about what it would mean to be parents and how they wanted to do it. This was different. Besides George joking about having a houseful of kids, they hadn't discussed what it would look like for them to have another kid, hadn't talked about the added responsibility that would come with it, how it would ultimately change their lives for better or worse.

There was also the fact that Angelina may not want another kid. Though George knew he'd take five more, Angelina had never said one way or the other if she wanted another baby. If he remembered correctly, she had only ever joked about him wanting twelve kids and a mansion to house them all. As difficult as it was, George swallowed his excitement and ran his hand up her leg to her knee, giving it a quick squeeze.

"What do you want to do then?" he asked.

Angelina's brow wrinkled. "What do you mean?"

"Well, we haven't really talked about having another kid," he said. "At least not seriously. If you don't think this is a good time-"

"I want to keep it, George," she interpreted him.

He tucked a stray braid behind her ear. "Freddy said you were crying though."

"I was," she said. "It's these damn hormones. And that's actually the reason I took a test to begin with. I was in the kitchen, and there was this stupid fucking bird outside that was pulling a worm out of the ground, and I just broke down balling."

George couldn't contain his smile anymore. He pushed himself up onto his knees and cupped Angelina's face between his hands. His lips met hers and he tried to sink all his joy into her body through that connection. Nothing made him happier than adding onto their family. He wanted to tell her he loved her, but that didn't seem sufficient enough. Once again, Angelina had rendered words obsolete.

"We're going to be parents, Ange," he muttered as he rested his forehead against hers.

She chuckled softly. "We're already parents, Georgie."

"We're going to be parents again."

"Stop with that smile," she said, pressing her thumb against his mouth. "You're going to make me cry again."

Instead of banishing the smile, George just dropped his face into her neck and thought about what'd it would be like when their new baby got here.