Bump

Simon never considers himself overly excited. He maintains a steady rhythm in life, balanced and controlled, even keeled. He's a captain, in every sense of the word.

But he would be lying if he said he didn't feel a little bit out of control right now, wading through the farmers market, eyes peeled for your tent.

It's been over a month since he's seen you.

And nowadays, a month is too long.

He spots you easily. Among the crowd, you're a diamond in coal, polished under pressure just for him. You stand away from the table towards the back of the tent, folding pastries into boxes and sealing them shut with a sticker, stepping over Duchess every minute or so to hand one to Maya. Your dog is a tripping hazard, too big to be in the way yet somehow always managing to do so, giving him a constant headache from his worry that you'll go down on top of her.

Now more than ever.

Your last email, the one that came in last night, mentioned something about Halloween costumes for October, how you and Maya are going to do different ones each week leading up to the holiday, how excited you were. It's your favorite, you've always told him, everything from the baked goods to the trick or treaters to the costumes, something about it burns bright in your eyes.

It seems today you chose some kind of doll costume, something he's vaguely familiar with, a red wig, blue and white dress hanging at your knees-

and covering your belly.

When he left it was barely visible but now, you look pregnant, full and ripe and heavy with his baby, and all his.

You catch him from the corner of your eye and drop the box you're working on, mouth agape for a second before your brain catches up and the biggest smile stretches across your face.

"D- Simon!" You squeak, practically running to him, hopping over Duchess again in a hurry. "Oh my god." His arms wrap around you immediately as your face dives into his neck, wet lashes blinking too fast against his skin.

"Hey sweetheart," his nose skims along your crown, mouth at your ear. You're not upset, not sad, just overwhelmed, and tears come naturally.

"Daddy." Your whisper is too soft for others, and he kisses your temple, rubs your back, your nape. Soothes out the raw emotion scratching its way to the surface of your skin.

"I'm here baby." You sniffle in his skin, holding onto the front of his uniform for balance as Duchess butts her head against his thigh.

"Sorry, I'm j-just happy." He knows you know you don't need to apologize, but when it's been a few weeks, when you've been away from him, it's easy for you to get tripped up in your head, get a little lost.

He doesn't mind sorting it out.

"I know. No apologizing. C'mere, let me see you." he holds you away from his body for an inspection, sweeping head to toe. You bite your lip, and he slides a palm over your belly. "Our boy being good?" You nod.

"Did you see my email?"

"I did." It had a scan in it, the latest one, a full profile of his son. He had to shove all of the emotion, the overwhelming fear and joy and everything else into a box to be unpacked later.

Something pushes against his hand.

Not something.

Someone.

Your mouth curves into a slow smile.

"Jesus." He doesn't have anything to say in this moment, can't even organize his thoughts.

"He knows his dad's voice." His dad. A knot of emotion ties itself up in his throat, and he tugs you back into his chest to hide his own overload, holding you tight to him, one hand still on your belly, the other cupping the back of your head.

"I love you." Rough. Choked off. You turn your face, press your ear over his heart and cover his hand with yours.

"We love you too."