George first noticed Scout's bump around the middle of November. By the best of his calculations, she was about seventeen weeks along, and she was so thin that any change in her body was noticeable right away, especially to him, because he looked at her all the time. She tried to be careful to cover up in front of him, and he knew she was doing this. It made him feel terrible, and he tried to respect her privacy, he really did, but he was desperately in love with her, and desperate for a glimpse of the baby, and just desperate in general.

Ever since her discovery of the attic, and the shrine to Tessa, Scout had not been comfortable being in uncovered in front of George in any way, and of course this meant that there had been no physical contact of any kind between them, except for the night of the nightmare. She always undressed in the bathroom when she bathed, and was careful to get dressed again before opening the door.

And at night, in bed, she always turned away after a careful, polite, good night, and a chaste, goodnight kiss, usually on the cheek. George had no idea what had caused her change, but assumed uneasily that it had something to do with her pregnancy, though he had a feeling, deep down, that it didn't. He pushed these feelings away, or tried to, anyway.

So their relationship, which had been a brand-new thing, of passion and discovery, of exploring and touching, even through her morning sickness and her body's changes, had become a sad, arid wasteland of loneliness for both of them, their bed a mute testament to non-communication and misunderstanding.

And George became a sneaking, peeping Tom, who would try to look away when she stood and stretched, but whose eyes would linger on her hips and belly when her shirts rode up. He would glance at her front when her small, pert breasts, which were swelling with her pregnancy, would poke at the front of her shirts when she'd lean back in her chair. His gaze would inadvertently drop to the top of her blouses when they'd gape away from her neck when she'd bend over to scratch the dogs' heads. He felt like a complete and total pervert, and he felt completely helpless to do anything about it. He wanted her so much he'd shake sometimes from it, and feel his hands balling into fists at his sides, and he'd just have to step outside into the cold air to wrench his mind to other things.

She was pregnant, he'd tell himself. He had no business thinking of her this way, especially when she'd made it so plain that she didn't feel that way. She was still feeling sick, throwing up regularly, poor thing, obviously she didn't feel like shagging all the time.

Scout, for her part, couldn't get the images of Tessa out of her head. She snuck up to the attic just about every day to commune with the scrap books. She'd sit with them in her lap, listening to the sound of the wind and the rain hitting the windows, looking at the beautiful couple, living the glitzy life she could never live. Or she'd pull out one of the VS catalogues, which was almost worse. Obviously George wasn't in those, but she was on page after page, a living, breathing advertisement for sex, a sultry goddess, no tan lines or protruding bones, just curves and voluptuousness everywhere. How long had it taken him to make these books, to preserve these images?

So Scout would work herself up to a state, then creep back downstairs and sneak back into the library to work on the books some more, usually with the dogs for company. Sometimes Sunil or Alfred would come into help her. They finally seem to have comprehended the shelving system she wanted to implement, and were slowly getting the shelves back in order as she input the data.

And she saw her bump, too, in the mirror, around the time George did, and she wanted to share it with him, but she was too ashamed to. She thought she looked funny, misshapen, almost. She'd gotten used to seeing Tessa's body every day in the catalogues and scrapbooks, and she looked pale and odd to herself.

So she just finished getting dressed and went downstairs to the library to sort books. It was a rainy November day, close to Thanksgiving, Scout thought, though she was no longer sure. Funny how quickly those holidays just slipped away when the superficial accoutrements were stripped away and there was nothing around to remind you.

She sat down at the big table in the library and flipped open her laptop to start entering the information on the first book when she felt it.

Like the world's tiniest butterfly was fluttering against the inside of her abdomen.

She sat perfectly still, wondering if she'd imagined it.

It happened again.

She stood up so quickly she tipped the chair over with a bang, making the dogs jump. She ran out of the library, trying to sound loud, but not frightening, calling, "George! George!"

"Yeah? Scout?" She heard running from the kitchen and he emerged, comically, holding an open carton of yogurt, hair piled in a haphazard bun on top of his head.

"What? What's wrong, darling?" he asked. Of course he'd think something was wrong. She hadn't voluntarily spoken to him in weeks, and she especially hadn't sought him out like this, running through the house shouting for him.

"Oh George," she said, face shining. "The baby moved!" And she smiled, raspberry ice lips slightly parted.

"What? It did?" he breathed. "Oh glory, Scout, that's marvelous, what a wonderful thing--" And he smiled back at her, unable to control his delight. He put the yogurt container down on the floor and began to reach for her, but pulled back, his expression faltering. "How absolutely wonderful," he said again.

Scout reached for his hands, which he'd started to lower to his sides. She placed them on her belly, after first lowering her denim stretch pants. She smiled shyly at him, and he felt like his spine was melting when he saw her beautiful mouth turn up at the ends. She firmly placed his palms on her abdomen, and he spread his long fingers on her warm, white flesh.

"Now don't move, ok?" she whispered. "It might take a while, because I only felt it once when I was sitting back--" She gasped, her grasp on his wrists tightening. "Did you feel that?" she asked.

George was nodding. "Yes, yes!" He grinned at her. "Fuck me, I felt it I felt--" He stopped talking and stared at her. "Oh my god! I felt that, too! No fucking way! Like tiny wings or something!"

They stood like statues for a few moments more, just looking into each other's eyes, but the baby appeared to be finished for the time being. Almost of their own accord, George's arms went around Scout's body, moving over her barely there hips, sliding around her back, under her purple sweater.

He looked at her carefully, watching to make sure this gesture wasn't unwanted.

She looked at him steadily, large eyes unblinking. She slid her hands up his arms, taking a deep breath, fitting her soft lips to his, opening her mouth, making a soft sound as their tongues touched.

George tried not to be too aggressive, to reach too far or too hard with his tongue, but it had been so long, and she tasted so good, Jesus. He wrapped his arms more firmly around her body, feeling how much larger her breasts had gotten as they pressed against his chest.

Oh, god, she was pregnant, George, she was the mother of your unborn child.

But all he could think about was how far away the couch was in the lounge, and whether or not he could just hoist her up by her thighs and wrap them around his body. He wondered if she'd mind, or if this was a far as she wanted to go. How could he find out?

As all these thoughts were racing through his mind, Scout jumped lightly onto him, wrapping her thighs around his body as she threaded her fingers into his hair, giving a hearty tug, which she knew drove him demented.

He didn't even remember walking across the hall.

The next thing he knew he was pulling his clothes off, trying to take his pants off before he'd removed his belt. Then he was helping Scout with her clothes, which was much easier, because she was already starting to wear loose and stretchy clothes, which were easy to take off.

"Hold on, hold on," he said, looking at her beautiful, serious face, which was already softer, less angular around the jaw as she gained weight for the job of making a new life inside her body. "We don't have to do this if you don't want to," he said slowly. "I don't mind at all. At all," he repeated with emphasis.

"Really?" she said softly, smiling. "At all?" She palmed him through his underwear, and he was already so hard and throbbing that her gentle hand on him made him hiss with pain.

"Okay, maybe I'd mind a little," he amended with a grin. "But that doesn't matter," he insisted. "All that matters is that you and the baby are comfortable, okay?"

Scout gave him a fast kiss and pulled her bra off. "Okay," she agreed.

George stared at her breasts. They were still so small, and pointy and pert and perfect, but they'd filled out a little, and the nipples had darkened and grown significant, and they were just more there somehow, and George couldn't take his eyes off them. Or keep his hands off them.

Scout gave a low moan when he put his mouth on them, and he stopped immediately.

"I'm sorry, does that hurt?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No, not exactly, but they're definitely more sensitive or something." She was sitting in his lap, and she leaned in and kissed him, deeply. "It's a good thing," she insisted, pulling his head back to her chest. "Keep going, George," she sighed.

So they came together that afternoon, in the lounge, with the baby firmly, securely between them, and George was able to put his hands on it, finally, as much as he liked, which made him very happy.

He gave Scout three orgasms in a row that afternoon, which made her very happy, and him, too, and it made him hate the man called Will Frye even more than he did before as he looked at the beautiful woman gasping in front of him, her mind obliterated with the strength of her multiple climaxes. He came shortly after she did, as he held her hips and shot deeply into her, feeling like he was losing consciousness for a few brief seconds from the strength of it because it had been so long.

And after, when they were drowsing together, happily naked, and George's large hands were touching her belly, and he was stroking the baby, ecstatic about this turn of events, he asked, "Scout? What was all that about, then? The past few weeks?"

She shrugged. "Nothing. I just felt weird about the way I looked, that's all. It was just something I needed to work through, that's all, okay?"

He dropped a kiss on her head. "Of course it's okay. Of course."

And later, they walked back out to the large hall, where they found the two dogs skulking guiltily, next to the very clean yogurt container, both with white rings around their muzzles.

At least they'd shared.