A/N: Wow, who's ready for some fluff? This is unbelievably corny. Once again, spoilers or speculation, basically, all over this fic. Kind of. So don't read if that's not your thing! Some of this was what a lot of us had guessed, but has since been proven wrong, so I decided to just finish it and post it anyway.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
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His heart shakes, mildly, every time he notices her hand float down to the front of her dress. She lets it rest there as she laughs, as she winks at him, as she coos over her cousin's baby, as she gives a gracious thank you to a guest from your side of the family.
She already has the glow you tease her about. And as she's carefully touching her cousin's infant, your heart does that funny thing again. You remember a time, during your first week of dating, when you sat on a bench in the mall waiting to get into a busy restaurant. You held the pager in your hands and shyly (but increasingly comfortably) spun conversations. A little boy, had to be about one, toddled up to her on shaky legs and just stared at her with interest.
You said hello immediately, but the little boy wouldn't tear his gaze away from Pam. His mother was running up and apologizing, but you waved her off and smiled. Pam just grinned with an awkward and wonderful flutter of her fingers, a shy wave to the child.
"Hi there," she said, grinning. She looked at you and shrugged, and once it was just the two of you and your pager was lighting up and buzzing, she'd confided that all kids thought she was weird. You laughed at her and said the boy had good taste, picking her.
She was delightfully uncomfortable then. And she still was, she'd confided her trepidation about kids and babies to you. But now, as much as she kept the same mannerisms, it was like she couldn't help herself. She touches the baby's cheek delicately, without a doubt noticing the pretty baby's sparkling eyes like you can from across the crowd. The little girl sticks three fingers in her mouth, smiling sloppily around them and coiling away from Pam. Instantly, in the way babies do, she changes her mind and reaches out to grab Pam's fingers, waving her arms up and down.
Pam's shoulders shake with laughter as the girl grows more and more excited, humming with vigor. Suddenly she stops and holds a smile, as if it's a joke and the perfect time to pause; Pam opens her eyes wide and stretches her smile. You can tell she looks unsure, like she just doesn't know how to deliver the punchline for the baby.
But the girl squeals and clearly thinks Pam is just perfect and they both grin, as the baby's mother bounces her on her hip. You see a subtle wave of satisfaction pass over her features, and watch as her glittering pair of rings descend to rest over the fabric of her dress as she laughs, begins talking with her cousin.
A new chord rings through the speakers, and as the song begins, you decide you need to dance with your wife. Apparently, you've been holding a conversation with someone and watching this little event over his shoulder. You must've played the part all right, because he seems to never notice your gaze lingering on her. You excuse yourself and he gives you a pat on the back with his congratulations.
You interrupt their conversation next, and she looks happy to see you again, lighting up like she doesn't wash your underwear every week and creep up on you in the shower daily.
"Hey, I need to dance with you," you tell her, broad smile all over. You look over at the pair she's been entertaining, first at her cousin, then the baby with the same brown eyes. "Hey Jess. Hey, pretty girl." You lightly scratch the little girl's back through her dress. She sticks her fist in her mouth and grins at you.
Pam watches this all with a smile. "Okay," she laughs. "I'll talk to you later. Thanks for coming."
The last word is light, and the baby isn't nearly as amused this time. Instead she looks at Pam like she's waiting for the joke, but you both just smile and hold hands as you move over to the dance floor.
Her arms are hooked around your neck, yours around her waist when you're swaying.
"She was cute," you say, nodding in their direction.
"Yeah," she says quietly, her fingertips flexing against your skin. "I've been waiting to go over and say hi."
You kiss her cheek. "I know, I figured." Your lips linger against her there before you straighten out and draw her closer. "Isn't it funny how babies seem to have their own sense of humor? Like, they find something funny and you usually have no idea what it is."
She hums a little laugh, and you feel her hand drag down and lightly touch the fabric over her stomach again. When it pulls, the subtle bump is more pronounced and you both notice. Your eyes flick to hers, and you just smile and she does, too and you press your lips to her cheek again and just hold, hold, hold onto it.
You haven't told her yet that you think getting her pregnant is the most romantic thing that has ever happened to you, the both of you. You think eventually it'll come out of your mouth, maybe tonight if you help yourself to the champagne, but otherwise it's too frighteningly sweet on your tongue. And you think maybe she already thinks this. You can't imagine a time where you won't look at the baby when she's a baby, a child, an adult, and immediately fall in love with your wife all over again.
Her body becomes as warm as the music is and you're just alone like that for a few minutes, before there are a few other congratulations to hear and Pam's hands are suddenly clasped in yours or curling her hair behind her ears. Even though it's perfectly pinned back and away from her face, and the gesture is so perfectly her.
Later you have to do all of the bride and groom things, and you both blush at all of the cliches, the brightest when you have to tug the garter down her leg and slide it off of her foot. When she sits on the chair, you can still see the swell of her stomach under the layers of her gown and that makes you fling it over your shoulder faster, just so you can pull her up and hold her close as you point at your already-married brother with the garter in his hand and make a joke. They all laugh and your fingers squeeze into the soft fabric at her side.
When your family continues to joke and you feel like you are forgetting about the rest of the world and only the people and smiles and nighttime that want to celebrate you and Pam, your fingers are crawling and pulling at her side, and now you can feel the smooth place where her skin has begun to stretch.
You sigh, and it's way too loud in the room to hear it.
You remember the day you woke up next to her, as she was lying on her side looking over your shoulder at the window silently. When your eyes had opened and she met yours, it was like she was waiting. She suddenly opened her eyes wide and grasped your hand.
"Oh my god, you're awake," she said quietly. "Look! Jim, when did this happen?"
You had crinkled your nose and squinted as she moved the covers out of the way. You grunted a protest as the cool hit your legs.
She pulled her long t-shirt up and bared her stomach. "Look," she said, biting her lip and looking totally shocked when she gestured down.
You were exhausted, you never wake up with energy. Your smile was instantly simple and pleased as you guided your hand over her bare belly, running your hand over it, and suddenly it was the second glimpse of your baby. Just the smallest bump for you to hold onto.
"I went to the bathroom and I .. I pulled my t-shirt tight and it was just there," she whispered again, pressing lightly on it, testing it. "I swear that wasn't here last night."
"No," you murmur, the words feeling rusty, the way the first words in the morning always do. You duck your head against her shoulder and look at all the hands on her belly. You had seen the first glimpse of the baby (the baby, that's crazy) when you went for an ultrasound, that time you both cried. And the heartbeat made it real, as well as the picture that now sits on your desk. But this is something else. This is something that's growing and becoming and happening. You kiss her collarbone and she rests her cheek on your forehead.
Her hand squeezed yours, the way it does when she's too enthralled to say she loves you.
That's all you can think about when you feel that little pull on the fabric, and you have to move your hands so you don't give your secret away today.
Because even though you feel like telling everyone, and mostly you already have, Pam has some reserves about her grandmother knowing. You've pointed out that an eight-pound baby doesn't show up after five months, and she'll figure it out eventually, but Pam wants to break her in gently, so it's important to you, too. Pam also winces at eight pounds, and again when you warn her that you were nine pounds when you were born.
Her grandmother is proud of her, and she adores you. She's watching the two of you watch your whole family; she's watching you touch Pam like she's made of everything delicate. Somewhere deep down, you feel like if you told her grandmother, if you told everyone in the room by grabbing the microphone up on that stage, that everyone would be happy about the news. It's a wedding after all, a celebration of love and all the schmaltzy things that entails, so wouldn't a baby be the icing on the cake?
You realize that's probably just your biased opinion, already prepared to cast anyone out of your mind that wouldn't want to immediately hear about your little boy or girl.
She already says she knows it's a girl.
Later, you have her near tears against the brick wall, light carried on the wall by the many flickering candles, as you smooth a hand down her back, behind her veil. It's just the two of you, muted sounds of the songs you chose played behind thick walls. When your hand finally falls into hers, she looks up at you, as if you hit a switch.
"You're so excited," she all but whimpers, smiling sheepishly, her eyes wet and shining.
You have to bite your cheek from smiling so hard. "You're not mad?"
"No," she sighs, shaking her head and looking straight into your eyes. "No, I'm not... I can't be mad, Jim. Look at you! You're just so..."
Your lips stretch into a taut grin and you press your lips against hers, and you chuckle at the taste on her lips.
"I love that you have to drink apple juice at your wedding reception," you whisper against her mouth.
She tugs on your forearms, drawing you closer, letting her lips fall open under yours again. You're moving agonizingly slow, and you know what it means. She kisses you like this when she thinks you're perfect for her. She only kisses you like this when she realizes that the two of you work better than anything else she's ever known.
"What did she say?" you manage, once your mouths separate, and she's blushing as she licks her lips.
"Nothing really," she says, her fingertips on your jacket. "Just grandma stuff. But she gave me a huge hug, and it was funny. She tried to lecture me, but she's just really happy today. And you know she's just crazy about you. I guess maybe I had nothing to worry about."
You shrug. the pads of your thumbs roaming her skin.
"She said she can tell you're excited," she whispers, drawing you even closer, and you're even more aware of the shadows you're casting with the flames from the candle. The two of you look like art, silhouettes moving slowly on the bricks.
"She said that all you did today was put your hands on my stomach," she says, her face beginning to press into your neck, above your shoulder. "I told her that you're a huge sap sometimes--"
You wrap your arms around her and pull her again, settling her against the brick now, while you tower over her, lips savoring hers.
"I am a huge sap, aren't I?"
She just smiles as her hand floats down, and you chase it all the way there, fingers on light chiffon like a cloud, smiles like forever.
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