George and Scout had come close to having their first real fight on the morning they left Surrey. They were settled in the car, on their way to the airport in London.

"Hey, I've been wondering," Scout began.

"Hm?"

"How are we going to travel on the plane with Bandit and Jess?" she asked. "I mean, obviously we wouldn't put them in cargo or anything, but we don't have crates for them. Did you buy them tickets or what? How does that work?" She turned to George curiously.

"Well," he began cautiously. "Now don't get in a strop--"

Scout sat up. "Things didn't go very well last time you began with that phrase, if I recall," she said, looking suspiciously at her boyfriend. She blinked at him, waiting.

"We, um, that is to say, you, and I, and Jess and Bandit, of course," George said with an ingratiating smile, "will be traveling separately, that's all." He nodded.

"Separately?" Scout repeated. "Separately how? Like you booked us our own row of seats or something?"

"Sort of? But not exactly," he faltered.

"How?" By now she was sitting ramrod straight, far away from the comfort of George's arms, where she'd been when they'd begun this conversation.

Fuck.

"We're traveling by private jet," he finally admitted. "But it's just a little one, I promise," he continued quickly.

"It's just a little one?" Scout repeated. "George, I told you and told you, I was fine to travel commercial, I told you I didn't need a private jet, didn't I? It's extravagant, it's a complete and total waste of money! I mean, in this day and age, when there are people dying because they don't have access to fucking clean drinking water, for Christ's sake, for us to be leaving such a massive carbon footprint, traveling by fucking private jet--!" she glared at him, furious.

"No," she finally said.

"What?" he asked, sure he'd misunderstood her.

"I won't go," she said firmly. "I'm buying my own ticket and going alone. I'm not going to spend god only knows how much to fly on a fucking private jet because you have some kind of paranoia about me being slightly uncomfortable on a commercial flight."

"You'd leave us?" George asked reproachfully. "You'd really leave me and Jess and Bandit at the airport and go off without us?"

Scout blinked at him, trying to hold on to her anger. "George, when I say something, I have to know that you're listening to me, not just treating me like some kind of idiot, bun-in-the-oven incubator without a brain or opinion of my own, you know?"

George sat back, beautiful dark blue eyes looking wounded. "That's so unfair," he said. "I love you and want you to be well-cared-for, is that so wrong?" he asked. "What if your feet start to swell, and you need to put them up and you can't because there isn't enough room? Or you need to walk around? You know how narrow the aisles are on those commercial flights, even in first class! What if you need to lie down, hm?" And now he was sitting up, looking pretty furious himself. "Or, or, you might feel sick, because you know you still feel nauseated sometimes. You hate to do that in front of other people, you know you do." His voice got soft. "You're 'a private hurler', you said so yourself." He blinked at her. "Scout, please." He placed a gentle hand on her arm. "This way you get the exact food you want, exactly when you want and need it, with people at your beck and call, with me to wait on you hand and foot--"

"I assume I would've had that anyway," Scout said with a small attempt at a smile.

"You would, you would," George answered, rubbing her arm, nodding. "But you know what I mean. And when I started thinking about Bandit and Jess, when you told me they'd be welcome at your parents' house and they could come with us, I realized that a private plane really was the best thing for all of us. I mean, think how much they'd suffer on a commercial flight. Look at them, darling."

George gestured, and Scout looked in the back of the SUV, where the dogs peacefully slept, snouts on paws, happy to be traveling in the car with their people, no concerns at all about where they were headed, worn out from their days with George's nieces, nephews, and the clumsy, fun, Buttercup.

Scout smiled.

"I'd be comfortable anywhere, obviously," he continued, pressing his point as he continued to rub her arm, "but Jess, Bandit, and you and bump here," and he moved his hand to lovingly caress her tummy, "well, you four would obviously travel best on a small but comfortable private plane, so that's what I got for us, okay?" He pulled her head forward to press a kiss on her soft, raspberry ice lips. "Okay?" he repeated.

Scout looked at George.

"So unfair," she said.

"What?"

"For you to use that perfect face," she replied, her mouth turning up at the corners. "Honest to Christ, Wilder. Those eyelashes, the dark blue eyes, the cheekbones, with that jawline, and the surfer blond hair, Jesus, you're just a walking cliche, but you turn my spine to silly putty."

"Scout, Lawson," George murmured, pulling her back into his arms. "I expected more from you. Seriously? All you have going for you, your brains, your New England sensibilities, your multilingualism, and you fall for my fucking face?"

Scout climbed into his lap, sitting sideways, snuggling into him, getting comfortable, as he wrapped his arms tightly around her, feeling the baby firmly against his stomach. "Sorry, George, but it's quite a face. Now shut up, so we can snog for a few minutes before we get to the airport, okay?"

They arrived at the airport all too soon. Scout corralled the dogs, got them on their leads, pottied and all that, and they boarded the sumptuous jet; George was right, it was small, by jet standards, Scout supposed. But there was a bedroom, a sitting area, and even a small dining room.

Wow.

"This is nicer than the apartment where I lived with Will last year," she told George as they buckled up the dogs for takeoff. George's face darkened like a thundercloud at the mention of her ex-boyfriend's name.

"You know, Will's not actually that bad," she said, trying to lighten the mood. "He's really smart, and funny. You'd like him." They took their seats, across from Jess and Bandit, who were looking interestedly around the cabin. They were old pros at this, having crossed the Atlantic, and even the Pacific multiple times with George on his many travels around the world.

"I somehow doubt that that I'd ever feel anything approaching affection for such a complete and total bellend," he retorted.

"Bellend?" she repeated. "Don't think I know that one."

"Well, use your very keen powers of deductive reasoning," he said to her with a grin. "What pejorative can you think of that's shaped like a bell that's on the end of something, hm?"

Scout thought for a second, then laughed. "I think it's funny that something men think so highly of, in just about every culture in the world, is used as a pejorative, again, in just about every culture in the world," she said. "There are so many words for penis, in so many languages, you know? And most of them are used to call other men names."

The plane leveled off, and they unbuckled the dogs, though they left their body vests on, for convenience. The dogs took off to explore the plane, and George and Scout settled down on the comfortable couch to watch movies.

"George?"

"Mm?"

Scout pulled her legs up and leaned even further into George's body, stretching her slim form like a cat.

"I'm sorry I was such a bitch about the plane. You were just trying to be nice, and it's your money, and you have every right to spend it however you like. I was very ungracious and ungrateful, and I behaved in a very ugly way. I'm really ashamed of myself." Her voice was very soft by the time she finished talking.

George pulled her so she was lying in his arms, legs stretched out across the couch. "No, I'm sorry, too, darling. You told me how you felt, and you were very clear, and I completely disregarded you." He planted a kiss on her forehead. "We both need to learn to communicate better, I think." He felt the pendant that lay across her chest, and picked it up to scrutinize it.

Scout took it from his fingers, smiling.

"You really like it?" he asked for about the thousandth time. "You're not just saying it to make me feel better?"

She turned glowing eyes to his face, nodding. "I love it," she assured him, and he saw her face, and believed her.

He'd watched her open it on Christmas morning at his parents' house with his heart in his mouth. He'd noticed that Scout didn't really wear jewelry, but the urge to buy her something sparkling, sentimental, and expensive had been overpowering, and he'd given in to this urge in a huge way. He'd felt marginally better when she told him the sad story of the bracelet the night before, but he was still more than a little concerned when he handed her the box to open.

She stared at the open box in silence as the room around her erupted in the noise of children going crazy over their gifts, adults exclaiming over theirs, and the dogs just generally being happy everywhere. She turned shining eyes to George as she lifted it out of its velvet lining.

"I know mum already gave you the other necklaces," he began, but she shushed him, putting a finger on his lips.

"George, this is simply beautiful," she said, nodding.

It was a simple column of stones, made up of a ruby, a diamond, and a sapphire, each about two carats, deep and pure in color and clarity.

"See, I reckoned the ruby on top to hold us all together, because that's your birthstone, and the sapphire on bottom to support us, because that's mine," he explained softly. "And the diamond in the middle, for the baby, because it'll be born in April," he finished, smiling.

To his dismay, Scout, clutching the pendant in her fist, had turned and walked briskly from the room, unnoticed by everyone, who was still engrossed in unwrapping their presents. He'd followed, her, finding her sitting on the front stairs, face in her hands.

"Scout? What's wrong?" He sat next to her and pulled her hands from her face.

"Oh, George," she said mournfully, turning her tearful face to him. "I don't even know how to respond to all this, and being pregnant has turned me into this raging hormone factory!" She held out the pendant to him. "Other than my mother and father, no one has ever, ever given me jewelry before in my life, George!" She was almost accusatory in her tone. "And you know when you bought me those flowers at the greengrocer's after the doctor in the village?"

George nodded, putting an arm around her.

"That's the first time anyone's ever given me flowers," she confessed. "I saved the petals, from that bouquet, George. I spread them out in the windowsill of the upstairs back bedroom until they dried and put them in a box. I st-st-still have them!" And she crumbled into tears, putting her face into his chest as he smiled and patted her back.

Poor little button.

"I feel like such an idiot! I'm not like this," she raged at herself. "I'm Scout, I'm the sensible, unsentimental tomboy who doesn't cry and doesn't wear jewelry and certainly doesn't give a shit if anyone gives her fucking flowers, you know?" She looked at George, who laughed.

"What?" she asked.

He sighed and reached across her for a tissue. "Your little nose is running, darling," he said, handing her the tissue.

"Oh," she said sadly, blowing vigorously. "Great. I'm sure I'm very attractive." She shook her head.

George pulled her close, turning her head by the chin so he could kiss her very softly on her humble and trembling mouth. "I've never seen you look more enchanting, honest," he said nodding.

"Now," he continued. "Let's get this necklace on you and get back in there, rejoin the gift unwrapping orgy, shall we?"

She nodded, smiling with reddened eyes. She turned around and let him fasten the clasp and they returned to the main room, where no one seemed to have noticed they'd even been gone.

"So," Scout asked, "what kind of food do they serve on this plane, anyway?"

"Actually, they serve sushi," George replied. "And burgers, and ice cream, and burritos, and steak."

"George, we're only going to be on the plane for six hours!" Scout laughed. "We won't have time to eat all that."

"I wanted to make sure you'd have all the things you've been craving, that's all," he replied. "Listen," he said, getting serious. "You need to understand something. You're with me now, and you're carrying my baby. That means that my goal in life is to make sure you're happy and comfortable in every way, okay?"

He sat her up. "So whether it's food or jewelry or dogs or flowers, I'm yours to command." He nodded, dark blue eyes boring into hers. "I belong to you. Pure and simple."