A/N: Hello!

Back with a lil *spice* and some birthday thoughts.

Enjoy!

Elizabeth

Spring break had come up on Elizabeth quickly. The Friday before, she finally gave in and told the chair of her department, informing him that she wouldn't have to have time off. He simply wrote something down in his notebook and said, "Thank you for letting me know," and she left his office and met Henry where he was waiting for her outside to go home.

One of the cruelties about working at a university is getting a spring break that doesn't match with your kids' break. Theirs is next week, of course, so she and Henry still have early mornings and busy ones at that. Though they were technically off, they decided to go in to work Monday and Tuesday to finish the grading they needed to get done from midterms.

Elizabeth thought about just suggesting to Henry that they work from home, but she knew they would get nothing done at all.

So now she sits in her office, and everything feels tight. She's only gotten twenty-seven weeks of this out of the way, and she's dreading how much bigger she's going to get over the next few months. She looks over her calendar for the day, though, and the date strikes her. March 10th, she thinks, Exactly three more months, little one.

She lays her hand on her belly as she stares at the date a moment longer, her heartbeat quickening in her chest.

We don't have a crib.

We don't have anything.

I barely have even thought about anything we need.

We're running out of time.

She looks at the date again, and her eyes jump to the Wednesday following today.

And my birthday is coming up.

She takes a deep breath and closes her calendar, clearing her throat and looking at the stack of essays on her desk. Sliding them over in front of her, she grabs the one off the top and starts reading, marking through as she goes.

By the time she'd finished the fourth paper, her brain felt like it had been exhausted already. "Must be nice to have a real break," she mumbled aloud to herself, thinking of her students who are probably off somewhere tropical. She could be, too, if the kids had breaks at the same time she and Henry did.

She sighs and takes the fifth one in the stack, but her fingers linger there as she catches the picture of she and Henry on her desk. The one of all of them was hanging on her wall, but the one just of the two of them is one that makes her smile almost every time she sees it. It was the night they had gone out to celebrate Henry's graduation and book all in one.

She thinks back to that night and the activities that ensued. They've never been able to keep their hands off each other when the other is in any kind of formalwear, semi-formal or not.

Already, she can tell it was a mistake to start thinking about it at all, because now she's squirming in her desk chair. She tries to redirect her attention back to the stack of papers, pulling the fifth one off the top and sliding it in front of her. She reads the name, then reads the title, checks the formatting, and reads the first sentence a total of six times before she pushes her body into the back of her chair angrily.

She huffs, leaning over on one side and rubbing her brow, her toes curling in her shoes. Closing her eyes, she takes a deep breath and leans over sideways, avoiding squishing her stomach, to reach her purse on the floor. When she finally is able to grab the handle, she yanks it up and onto her lap, digging through it and finding her phone.

"Are you okay?" Henry answers, worry seeped through his voice.

"I'm okay," she breathes, "I need you."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Elizabeth…"

"You'll see when you get here." She says, then thinks and adds: "Come quick."

She bites her lip as she hangs up, trying to catch her breath as she puts her phone back in her purse.

Her fingers fumble a little with the buttons of her shirt, and she's got four buttons undone by the time he's crashing in through her office door. "What the hell is going—"

She can tell the exact moment that his eyes drop and he sees her chest. She bites her lip again, this time up at him, and unbuttons the fifth, then the sixth, and she opens her shirt up and shimmies it down her shoulders. "You came very quick." She says, her husky voice a notch lower.

As if he came to reality for a moment, he scrambles to shut the door behind him, checking first to make sure no one saw, most likely. But she's standing up out of her chair and leaning over her desk, moving her shoulders so that her breasts are pushed up more out of her bra.

"What's the matter?" She asks, turning the tables on him and smirking.

He laughs, stunned, and walks over to the front of her desk. His fingers slide underneath her chin and he tilts her head up to look at him. When he does that, Elizabeth keeps eye contact with him. "This is what I was worried about?" He asks.

She smirks again, twisting her lips to the side. "I mean…" she shrugs a little and stands up, her chin moving away from his fingers, "If you don't want it—"

"Not what I said," he breathes, leaning on her desk now in her direction after she'd moved away slightly from him.

She drags the tip of her tongue across the center of her top lip, bringing it over to the corner before taking her bottom lip between her teeth. "You know how I get," she says, dropping her voice down to a whisper, and she can feel her own heat radiating off her lips.

He's walking around to the back of the desk now and he trips over her purse, falling into her slightly. They both snort and she holds his elbows where she'd caught him. She looks down at the purse underneath his feet, its contents only somewhat strewn about, and she catches the glimpse of her stomach in her way.

Her cheeks immediately get hot and she feels a bit of a lump in her throat, and she lets go of his arms and turns away, taking a deep breath. Her hands come up to swoosh her hair from her face and she readjusts her bra, "You'd think by now after four I'd remember how it looks," she admits, shaking her head and trying to not kill the mood. "But I swear every time I catch myself…it's like I barely recognize who I am."

She feels fingers across her lower back and they slide to her hip, and he's turning her around and wrapping her in his other arm. "Come on, babe," he whispers, "You're glowing."

It's enough to get a half-smile to come to her face, and she studies his eyes for a moment before dropping down to his lips. She presses her lips there, closing her eyes and wrapping her arms around his neck. When she pulls away, she looks at him in the eyes again and sucks in on her lips for a moment.

"You think?" She asks, raising her brow.

He huffs a laugh and flicks his brow up, matching her as he closes the gap between their bodies. "Why'd you call me in here?" He asks coyly.

She looks at his lips again, pressing a quick kiss to them but then dragging his bottom lip between her teeth as she pulls away. "Because I want you to fuck me, McCord." She whispers hotly, her eyes focusing on his lips before slowly dragging them up to meet his.

She only uses that word when she wants something extra dirty, and today is no exception. Her breaths are getting faster as she watches him cut through all the red tape he has to do in his mind to bend her over her office desk in the school they both work in—the school that he's a religion professor in. His hands are getting hungry, though, and they're sliding up her sides until they reach her bra.

"Ah, ah," she teases, waggling her finger against his upper back where her arms are still linked, "Only if you're going to fuck me."

She doesn't get his answer verbally, but instead she feels her bra unhook. She imagines it's how a dam feels when it breaks, the way her chest is freed out of their confinement. From the simple motion, she moans and arches her back a little while he pulls the garment down her arms. She has to unlink her hands from behind his neck before he can throw it to the side, where it thwacks the door before falling to the ground.

Only for a moment is she able to lock eyes with him before he leans in, cupping both of her breasts, and then wraps his mouth around one.

"Oh, Henry…" she moans, trying to keep a little quiet even though they're the only two in the building.

On the breast that's lacking his mouth, his hand is ensuring that it's getting attention, too, and he's kneading it gently before pinching her nipple between his fingers. She leans her head back and pushes her chest up into him a little, her legs feeling wobbly. Just as she's turning their bodies so that she can lean back on the desk, his mouth comes off quickly and he's staring at her.

The way he's looking at her concerns her, and she raises her brow, "What?" She asks.

He laughs a little and wipes at the corner of his mouth, "Well, that happened," he breathes.

"What?" She persists, getting flustered from the lack of his touch.

"I feel like I need a bib," he says, taking the breast in his hand and squeezing her nipple.

She all but gasps, her eyes wide, "Oh." She whispers, thinking back to the other pregnancies and realizing that this, indeed, is around the time that she started leaking more. Her cheeks get red again and she stands up straighter, taking a deep breath as she reaches around the desk for her bra, not finding it.

"Hey," he says, gently touching her wrist with his fingertips.

"I feel like a cow," she whispers, her voice smaller now and much less sure of itself. She finally eyes her bra and she goes to walk around her desk, but he wraps his fingers around her wrist this time and stops her.

"Babe," he whispers, "If you're a cow, then I'm first in line at the dairy barn."

The smile that comes across her face makes her unable to be mad at him for saying it, and she can't help but laugh. She smacks him playfully on the chest and realizes, too, that his shirt is still on. "I'm serious, Henry," she whines.

"Milk me, baby…" he teases, his voice dropping into one of jest as he wraps his arms around her back.

She snorts and looks at him, "Don't ever say that again." She says.

"What?" He asks innocently, biting his lip and pressing a kiss just below her jaw and under her ear. "I like organic."

She widens her eyes and gives him a look, "Henry James McCord," she chides.

He smirks and bites his lip, looking at her impishly, "I think you're way too hot to be a cow," he murmurs finally, breaking the cow jokes off. "A cow couldn't do this," he whispers, and she feels his hand reaching for hers. She lets him take it and he drags it across his hips, and she feels the bulge there.

"Well I'd sure hope not," she murmurs, her lips getting dangerously close to his again.

It's his turn to snort this time again, and he pecks her lips. "Lay back, Mrs. McCord, and let me do the honor of fucking you." He whispers, using that word she'd used earlier.

He's right. There's something about that word that turns every alarm on in the body, and she feels her breaths quicken once more as he peppers kisses down her sternum and back up, stopping only once he kisses up her neck and nibbles on her ear.

She feels goosebumps go down her arms and all the way through her legs, and she can't help but shudder. "Henry…" she whispers, closing her eyes and leaning back on the desk like he said.

He helps her up on the top, and in no time, his hands are reaching underneath her skirt, sliding across the tops of her thighs and pushing the material back along with them. She feels the coolness of the air on her skin as he leans in to kiss her, but then he suddenly pulls away when his fingers get to her hip bones.

She smirks, looking at him, "That was the first thing I did after calling you," she whispers, glancing down toward the other side of the room at the panties laying on the floor.

Henry's head tilts a little as though he's bewildered, and his lips freeze in one "oh" shape as he eyes her and finally smiles. "You're one hot mother." He whispers, leaning into her neck and kissing all around her jaw again.

She leans her head a little to give him better access, holding onto his arms. "Henry…" she whispers, "I'm there. I'm ready."

"I know," he whispers.

She grunts and picks her head up, batting her eyes at him. "Then fuck me already."

"I'm taking my sweet time," he smirks, "We have all day in this office, you know. Kids are at school, no one's here…"

"At the rate my libido is going," she answers, "You'll be able to do this three times before lunch."

With that, she spreads her legs a little and reaches for his belt, unbuckling it before undoing his button and zipper, and with one shove, she pushes his pants to the floor. He looks down and smirks, and she bites her lip.

"I'm banking on at least twice," she coaxes him.

He leans in and slides his hands through her hair, kissing her hotly as he stands between her knees now. "Why did we ever stop at three kids?" He whispers before kissing her again.

She smiles against his lips, "Something to do with our taxes probably," she teases, letting her hands wander down his backside and push his body into her more.

He takes her by the backside of her thighs and slides her body forward, and she pushes his boxers down and lets him stand almost fully naked in front of her—with the exception of his shirt. His hands are wandering along the disappearing curve of her sides, and she feels another little moment of insecurity as her eyes dart up to meet his.

But the way he's looking at her, moving his eyes between her chest and her stomach and her legs, it makes her unable to keep a moan in just from being under the scrutiny of his eyes. "Henry…" she whines again, her leg bending around the back of his leg and pushing him into her more.

He reaches down and positions himself, his tip resting just at her entrance, and she holds her breath. "You're so beautiful, Elizabeth," he whispers.

She smirks a little, "I don't want to hear that right now, Henry," she admits, her voice playful and light again, "I want to hear how dirty it is that I asked you to fuck me in my office."

A little voice in her head screams after using that word for the third time in this conversation, but she can't help herself. Something inside her is telling her to, something is telling her that if he doesn't do it soon that she's going to scream herself.

So when he pushes into her, she can't help but let out a primal, guttural groan from somewhere deep inside of her, and the sound must urge him to move because she can see him stopping himself. "Babe…" he whimpers, waiting for her to adjust.

She nods, giving him the okay, and he starts out slowly for two thrusts before she breathes, "Faster, Henry…" and closes her eyes while she wraps her arms around his neck.

He does as she asks, as she requests, demands…and she hears her pen holder fall off the back of the desk as he plows into her. Her legs are wrapping around his hips as she tries to keep from screaming, tries to keep her voice down at all, and she feels her stomach tightening as the tingles start happening throughout her body. "Henry…" she breathes, "Henry, I'm gonna…"

He picks up his pace a little, holding onto her sides, and in just seconds she's screaming his name. Her eyes catch his face as he lets go, and she feels as though she's going to fall over backwards from the way her head is spinning. She loosens her grip around his hips and tries to catch her breath, leaning back with one hand on the desk to stretch her lungs out and enable herself to actually get a proper breath.

She looks up at him as he pulls out of her, and she can't help but laugh a little, "God," she murmurs, "So much for being quiet."

By the time Wednesday had rolled around, she and Henry had christened his office, hers once more, and then they decided to just come home early Tuesday afternoon before picking the kids up. She hadn't felt like this in a very long time, long before her other pregnancies even. She didn't want to admit it to herself, but she thinks she hadn't been this horny since her college days even.

But Henry was delivering for her every need, using his mouth and his fingers and every tool available to him to keep her pleased.

Her eyes flutter open this morning and the light shines brightly into the window, "Hey," Henry murmurs, smiling at her. He's got a tray of pancakes in his hands and she blinks a few times to try to focus on them, then him.

"Henry," she murmurs, recognizing that the sun is way too high in the sky all of a sudden, "The kids…school…"

"I took them already," he breathes, a smile coming across his face as he pulls the lighter from the tray, lighting the candle that she now sees is in the top of the pancake stack. She works to sit herself up, "Happy birthday to you," he sings, "Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday dear Elibet, happy birthday to you."

She smiles at him before she blows the candle out. Thirty-six, she thinks to herself, holding her breath now as she watches him take the candle out. "Thank you," she coos, letting him lay the tray on her lap.

When he crawls back in the bed and makes it dip a little, she readjusts a little and looks over at him. "You didn't have to do all this." She reminds, "It's just another birthday."

"It's not just another birthday," he says, his voice almost sounding as though he were offended, "It's your birthday, you've lived another year and I, for one, am extra happy about it after the year you've had."

She smiles crookedly and gets a little sick feeling as her mind darts to Adnan. She looks at the pancakes again and swallows thick, raising her brows, "Yeah," she whispers, almost sarcastically.

He brings his hand up to her belly as she starts cutting the pancakes with her fork, "How's little miss?" He asks.

"Quiet this morning," she admits, trying to not think of the anxiety that causes her. Since the day she'd had so many contractions back to back, she's only had a few here and there, but last night she'd woken up with some more. She knows they're Braxton hicks—she can feel the tightness in her belly and not in her back or anywhere else. But it still unnerves her. "I think we need to decide on a name." She reminds.

He looks up at her, "We haven't talked about names." He says.

"I know." She answers, looking over at him and swallowing her pancake after chewing, "She'll be here before we know it though."

He nods a little and rests his head into Elizabeth's pillow, his face getting closer to her stomach as she eats. "Stephanie, Alison, Jason…" he murmurs as though he's naming off a list, and she supposes that's exactly what he's doing. Naming the names they've chosen. "I never thought we'd be here."

She snorts, "Me either," she says, her mouth full.

When she looks down at him, she feels her heart swell in her chest as he's just gazing at her stomach. She thinks back briefly to his question the other day in her office. Why had they stopped at just three? She knows why—they thought that was right. But the way he's looking at her right now, at this baby that he can't actually see, it makes her want to have five more for him. And when that settles in, she momentarily hates herself for that.

"What do you think she is?" Elizabeth asks, breaking the silence and sticking another forkful in.

He shrugs a little, "I don't know," he admits, "June?"

"Too ironic," Elizabeth says, thinking about her quickly approaching due date in a few months.

He nods in agreement, "You're right," he murmurs, "Any thoughts?"

She shakes her head, "I haven't really thought much about the name." She admits, shrugging a little bit before inhaling her last bite of pancakes.

A silence settles in between them and over them, and then he rolls over and takes her tray off her lap, setting it down beside his side of the bed before rolling back over on his stomach, his chest resting on her knee and thigh as his hand wanders over to her other leg. "What do you want for your birthday?" He asks, his voice low.

She bites her lip, "Anything?" She asks.

"Anything," he replies.

She thinks for a moment—the kids are gone, they have the house to themselves all day. "Something to make me feel young again," she answers.

"Being pregnant isn't making you feel young enough?" He asks, and it's not actually a joke, but she laughs.

"Most definitely not," she admits, "It's actually making me feel very old every time I stand up and feel my knees hurting." She clarifies, sighing and biting her lip again, "We have the whole house to ourselves, and I want to christen the kitchen like we used to before the kids were too old to catch us."

He laughs and presses a kiss through the sheets to her thigh, "I can do that," he whispers.

He helps her off the counter and she stands there for a moment, regaining the strength in her legs to stand on her own without gripping the cabinet behind her. He waits until she's steady to take her hand. "How's that for young?" He asks.

"Like two newlyweds." She coos, feeling her cheeks flush again.

She thinks back to her first birthday after they were married, and how he spoiled her that day, too. Birthdays for her were something very unspecial after her parents died. She barely even wanted to remember her own birthday, and Will would remember usually after the day was over or later that night. She couldn't blame him for it—he was just a kid.

But every year, she would hope that someone would come along and celebrate her life the way her parents used to. It was tradition for them each year to buy her a cupcake and put one candle in the middle, and they'd always give it to her at 8:16 pm, the time she was born, supposedly. She'd never told Henry about that, but he always made sure that she had birthday pancakes and they always had one candle in them, every single year. The only time he couldn't give her the tradition was when he was deployed, and he made up for it by cooking them the next week.

He walks her into the living room and she lays down on the couch, pulling him down with her. He chuckles as they land awkwardly, and she has to shift and move her belly out of the way for him to be able to fit. She licks her lips and swallows thick, noting how dry they were, and she looks at him carefully. "It's been twenty birthdays without my parents," she whispers, blinking a few times and looking away shyly from him. She feels his leg shift, moving so that it's wrapping around her legs as she holds onto his back, keeping him from falling off the couch completely. "Did Will tell you about the cupcake thing?" She asks, the one question she's never asked in her years with him.

Henry furrows his brow, "What cupcake thing?"

She can't tell if he's being coy or not, so she elaborates, "That my parents would get me a cupcake every year with one candle," she says, "They'd give it to me at 8:16, that's what time I was born."

He raises his brow, "I didn't know that," he says while shaking his head. "Why do you ask?"

She shrugs, "I just wondered if it was because of Will that you did the pancakes with the one candle," she says, "Or if it was just fate."

He leans into her and she nuzzles her face into his collarbone as he wraps his arm around her head gently, "I like to think there's things in our life that are bigger than fate. Fate couldn't make our life turn out the way it did."

She laughs a little, "Fate would have to have quite the sense of humor to make me pregnant after a vasectomy." She pokes.

She hears him laugh, but she just stares over his head into space, thinking again about her parents. What would they think? What would they be like? They'd make great grandparents, I'm sure. She's thought about what they'd be like with the kids so much throughout her life as a mother, and this time is no different: it makes her heart ache a little. I wish you could've been here, Mom and Dad.

Birthdays aren't easy for her. She watches Henry and the kids enjoy their birthdays and wishes that she, too, could enjoy her own the way they do. Something in her heart won't let her, and she even has to fight off a little sadness every year about them, especially as she ages closer to forty. But this year, something about having another baby between she and Henry as they lay here on this couch, she does feel a little younger. She feels a renewed sense of gratuity for her life as she thinks back to after Thanksgiving when she thought she might lose it, and she says a silent thank you to fate, to God, her parents…whatever it is out there that brought her to this moment.

"What about Lucy?" She proposes.

"Hm?" Henry asks.

"Lucy," she repeats, moving so that she can see his face. She locks eyes with him and laughs as she feels the baby kicking the front of her stomach, "I think she likes the name."

"Lucy," he whispers, then says it in his normal voice, too, as though he's testing how it feels in his mouth. "Lucy," he says one more time, more sure this time. "I love that," he whispers. "How…"

She smiles a little, "Susanne Lucille," she says, the image of her mom in her mind. "Mom's name."

He smiles bigger, "I love that name." He whispers. "Lucy…" he says once more, and she feels two little kicks against her stomach, enough that he can feel them, too.

They both share a little snicker, and she nods, "Lucy." She confirms.