"So, looks like your baby will be born around April 30th," Dr. Summerville said with a smile. "I put you at about eight or nine weeks, based on the information you've been able to provide, and everything looks lovely and normal."

George had driven Scout in to the village of Point Rosen, where Alfred and Sunil lived. He'd offered to go to London to find a more modern Ob-Gyn, or even to move there for the duration of Scout's pregnancy, but Scout had scoffed at this idea.

"The whole idea is that we want to build this really wonderful life together here, right?" she asked, looking at George. "At Farraway Mist? Out in the country? With the yard, and the ocean and everything?"

George had averted his eyes as he nodded, wondering if Scout had just forgotten about all the strange things that had happened since she'd arrived, especially how she'd nearly stepped off a cliff in the middle of the night while "sleepwalking"?

"Besides," Scout continued reasonably, "Alfred says Dr. Summerville is wonderful, and she delivered him and all of his brothers and sisters."

"Oh, well, if that's what Alfred says," George said drily, stroking Scout's hair.

"Are you making fun of me?" Scout asked, eyes narrowed.

"Never," George replied, eyes wide.

So they'd made an appointment and driven to the picturesque seaside town, knowing that their days of remaining an anonymous couple were probably numbered.

"Now, obviously as your physician, I'll keep everything confidential on my end, and tourist season is ending here in the village, but you're still a very popular fellow, Mr. Wilder, you must know that," Dr. Summerville continued, taking a seat as she spoke to them.

George nodded, saying, "Please, call me George."

Dr. Summerville nodded. "Very well, George. I'm just saying that, try as we might, chances are, news of your pregnancy is going to get out, and you need to prepare for that, okay?" She looked back and forth between George and Scout. "I certainly don't mind to come to Farraway Mist for your monthly check-ups if it comes to that, I want you to know, though if I see a need for a more thorough follow up, I will have to ask you to come here to my office."

"Thank you, Doctor, that's so kind of you," Scout said. "I'm sure that won't be necessary, though, will it, George?" She looked at George.

He shrugged uneasily. He hadn't been in the public eye in a few years, but he remembered how crazy it could get. "Let's just see how things go, okay?" He smiled at Scout as reassuringly as he could.

"Okay, then," the doctor said briskly, rising. "I'll call in some prescriptions and have them delivered this afternoon, or send them out with the Patel boy. Sunil works for you, right? His brother works at the chemist's, so that might be more convenient, I think. One of the perks of life in a small village." She smiled at the couple and saw them out.

Scout stood and waited while he filled out some papers and paid for something.

The two women, a redhead and a brunette, had given her one, brief look, and dismissed her, obviously believing her to be of no import. Scout noticed that the pretty receptionists in the front office were dying to talk to George, though, and were making all kinds of very friendly eye contact with him. They were practically taking their clothes off as they smiled at him. This was infuriating. Who did they think she was, anyway? This was an Ob-Gyn's office, for crying out loud, and George had brought her.

There had been some issues with her health insurance, and everything was closed in the States or something, so George had to step in and pay for everything, which already bothered her, but watching the two women preen and flirt with George was just icky. At the same time, both of them, hair sprayed perfectly into place, lips and eyes painted on, looked Scout over, from head to toe, taking in her long, straight hair, unmade-up face, boyish figure and plain clothes, and obviously dismissed her as completely unworthy of their time. They even looked at each other, brows raised in unspoken communication that was clear as day: What was George Wilder doing with such a creature?

Scout was used to being glanced at and passed over by pretty women as unimportant, but she saw George watch them do it, saw the look of surprised distaste on his face, and felt embarrassed that he had to witness this petty humiliation that was so commonplace in her life. She felt a weird, twisty feeling in her stomach, and realized that she was jealous.

How strange.

George smiled at her as he put a hand on the small of her back, a smile that was nearly a smirk, and and she got the feeling he knew how she felt. She also got the feeling that he not only knew, but that he liked it, he was enjoying it, and this irritated her.

George looked at Scout, blinking, and looked back at the women, reading their name tags and saying, "Thank you very much, um, Gloria and Gwyneth."

He then turned to Scout, took her in his arms, and laid a nice, slow, romantic kiss on her, putting his hand on the back of her head, murmuring after, "I'm so glad you're feeling well, darling, and that the baby's doing fine." He kissed the tip of her nose, then said, "Now, let's get you those flowers you wanted before we go home, hm?" And they turned and left the office arm in arm. Had she asked for flowers?

Scout was surprised at the vindictive joy she felt at the shock she'd seen on Gloria and Gwyneth's pouty faces as they'd left the office. When had she gotten so petty?

George turned to her, grinning. "Did you see the gobs on those two cunts?" he asked.

Scout stopped walking.

"George Wilder, I've never, ever heard you refer to women by that pejorative before," she said, shocked.

"You're right," he said, brows drawn together, ashamed. "I'm sorry I said that in front of you, darling." He took Scout's hands in his own. "Please forgive me, it was a very ungentlemanly thing to do." He kissed her hands.

"George," Scout said with a smile. "You're sorry you said it in front of me, but you're not sorry you said that about those women? Really?"

He stared at her. "Why on earth would I be sorry about that?" he asked. "I was only being honest. I thought I'd offended you with my words, but I stand by what I said." He looked at Scout indignantly. "They were being horrid."

"Yeah, they were," she agreed. "I've kind of gotten used to it," she admitted.

"And," she continued, changing the subject, "you obviously don't know me very well if you think that saying the word 'cunt' in front of me going to offend me." She smiled at him. "I lost months of allowance to the swear jar for saying that word when I was little. Drove my mom bananas."

George hugged her, lifting her off her feet. "A girl after my own heart," he declared happily.

"So," he continued, stopping at a greengrocer's, "shall we buy you this ginormous bunch of roses, so I'm not a complete liar?"

Scout nodded, and George paid for them, presenting them to her with a flourish and a bow on the street corner. He opened the car door for her, and she buckled herself in. Minutes later they were speeding down the country road that led back to Farraway Mist, but as they took a turn, Scout started to feel decidedly strange. She didn't recognize the feeling at first, because she normally had a cast iron stomach, but she realized after a few minutes, and a few more turns on the narrow lane, that George needed to pull over, immediately.

"George? George!" she said urgently.

"What?" he asked, looking over. He could tell from her voice that she wasn't just opening a new conversation.

"Um, pull over, please? I'm going to barf, really soon," Scout announced.

George yanked the wheel and drove into the tall grass on the side of the road, jumping out while Scout was still unbuckling her seat belt. He reached in to help her out, putting a strong arm around her waist as she took a few steps away from the car and bent over. He pulled the hair tie out of his own hair and quickly got her hair up in a messy pony tail, so it was away from her face, then braced her slender body against his, pulling her waist against his hip.

"No, George, I don't like to do this with other people, please," she said in a small voice. "I'm a private hurler, you understand?"

This made George laugh so hard he nearly had to let her go.

"George, please!" Scout was insisting as she tried ineffectively to move him back.

"Ah, stop, you," he chided, pushing her hands away as he held her and rubbed her back.

Scout gave up as she felt her breakfast coming up, and she braced herself on his knee as the terrible retching and gagging began.

"Fuck," she said, "I hate throwing up." And she continued, the roiled, partially-digested contents of her stomach emerging on the side of the Cornish country road.

"Really? It's one of my favorite things," George responded with a smile, continuing to rub her back, lifting her shirt so he could touch her smooth flesh. "Shh, shh," he soothed, pressing a kiss to the top of her messy pony tail.

Scout coughed shallowly and took a few deep breaths and stood up straight, swallowing experimentally.

"Think you're finished? Hm?" George asked softly.

"Yes, I think so." Scout nodded. "Thank you, George." She closed her eyes and leaned her forehead on his briefly. "And I'm sorry I was such a bitch. I just really, really hate to throw up."

George laughed comfortably, pulling Scout into a hug. "I don't think you should apologize, either for puking or for being a bitch," he replied. "For one thing, you're going to spend an awful lot of time apologizing if you start doing that," he said. He let go of her and quickly backed up, anticipating a violent response to his words, holding up his hands to defend himself.

"Stop, stop!" he cried in mock concern. "Remember, I'm the father of your unborn child, you need me, right?" He took a step toward her. "Plus, you profess to love me sometimes," he reminded her, smiling once more.

Scout started to cry, shocking the hell out of herself. "I do, I do love you, George, don't even joke about that," she said tearfully.

George quickly went to her, hugging her, confused. "Jesus, Scout, what the fuck's the matter? I'm sorry I made you cry, honest I am." He was beside himself. "I didn't mean to, oh my god." He crooned softly to her as they stood in the weeds, as she tried to get her tears under control.

"I don't know," she sobbed. "I guess all that shit about pregnant women is true, huh? I feel like I'm going c--c--crazy!"

After a few minutes her tears tapered off, and they got back in the car to finish the trip home, at a more sedate pace.

"I'm so sorry, George," Scout said sincerely. "I don't think I've barfed and cried in the same day since I was, like ten years old or something."

George looked over at her briefly and smiled. "It's okay, honest. You're so fucking cute that I don't care what you do, you know? Let's just get you home and get some food in you, since you seem to have thrown out every calorie you consumed so far today."

And they rounded a curve and Farraway Mist came into view. They both noticed that, though it was a sunny day, their home was shrouded as usual in fog and wet clouds that rolled in from the cliffs and sea that surrounded it, its own gray and dreary mood, a gloomy setting that seemed to invite doom.