Chapter Text
You met Laura Hollis for the first time when you were nine years old.
She became the Queen of England at eighteen and your fiancée at twenty-two after she proposed to you in the bathroom of an Icelandic hotel. Now, twenty-five and married to her, you’re sitting on the floor of a bathroom much like that one. Laura is sat beside you, her feet flat against the cold marble floor.
“You’re pregnant.” She says for the fifth time.
“Yeah.”
She’s got a pregnancy test in her hand and there are two on the ground between you. The light in the bathroom gives her skin an almost fluorescent glow and not for the first time, you think she might be part angel.
The two of you had wanted, from the very beginning, to start a family of your own. Dreaming about a far-off, blurry future is a lot different than picturing a date in the same calendar year, however
“Holy crap.” She says.
Holy crap is right.
Ever since you could remember, you’d been reading fairy tales about princesses - you were a princess yourself and it only added to the magic of it all - and to this day, you know every single one by heart. You don’t recall any mentioning how happily ever after involves a coiling of anxiety around your guts at the thought of having kids, though.
There’s fear, too. And a dreadful anticipation for handling difficult days - anyone related to you is bound to have several of those within a single week - mixed with this light feeling of excitement in your chest. Oh, and joy. So much joy that you’re not really sure how to express it.
Laura doesn’t seem to know how to handle it either.
“You’re pregnant.” She says again.
“We’ve established.”
Her hand automatically drifts to your abdomen and she lifts your shirt so she can press her palm against your skin.
Slowly, probably as to not startle you, she bends towards you. Her lips ghost over the skin of your midsection and her breath comes out hot.
“Hi baby.” She whispers. “I’m your Mum and I’m going to take very good care of you.”
You can’t help laughing at how serious she is and she pouts about it until you kiss it off of her lips.
“Mum, huh?”
“Makes me feel like Molly Weasley.” She says, laughing. “And that’s what I remembered calling my mother, so - “
“I like it.” You shrug. In truth, you like the idea of your child calling Laura any variation of the word mother.
“Yeah?” Laura’s expression breaks out into a grin. “Do you want to - should we tell my parents first? They’re the best audience. And then I’ll take you to the doctor’s and we’ll ask when we can start telling other people - ”
“We can do whatever you want.”
“What I really want is to cancel everything today except dinner with the guy who won Britain’s Got Talent.” She bites her lip. “So that I can spend the whole day with you.”
“We can spend the day together when you’ve got that Sunday off next month.” You say, pulling yourself up to your feet. You hold a hand out to help your wife up and she kisses you in thanks. “Now go shower, I’m going back to bed.”
Laura pouts, “Not fair.”
“Hey, I’ll be the one carrying an extra ten pounds when this is all said and done, I should be able to sleep whenever I want to.”
“Good point.” She hums and presses closer to you before leaning up to kiss you. “I can’t wait. You’re going to be so gorgeous.”
“Thanks, cupcake.” You say, rolling your eyes at the cheesiness. “Now go shower. You don’t want to be late. Boss might get mad.”
“I am the boss, babe.” She says, kissing you again. She does take your advice, though, and starts pushing you towards the door. “Go back to sleep. I’ll see you at dinner tonight.”
“Oh yes, with the sword-swallower.”
“I told Elizabeth we maybe shouldn’t have invited him. Think of how much food he’s probably able to swallow. We’d go bankrupt!”
You sigh at the joke, “Is that the funny you have prepared for tonight? Because if yes, I think you need to hire a new speech writer.”
“Shut up, Carm.”
“That’s baby mama to you.” You fire back and the two of you spend ten more minutes debating what you would rate the movie of the same name before Laura’s finally able to get started on her shower.
The first time you feel the baby kick is when Laura is cooing at your stomach while doing her third Sudoku puzzle of the day. She has a hand under your shirt and her intentions, for the most part, are pure, which is a bit new for the both of you.
It's her one Sunday off for the month and you really can't think of a better way to spend your day rather than here in bed with her, sunlight streaming through the curtains. Laura's phone is on the nightstand, switched off and the door to your bedroom is locked. It's a perfect lazy Sunday.
You're on your back, listening to her random conversations with the baby while also trying to help her solve the puzzle when you feel it and you know Laura feels it too because she scrambles up on her knees less than a moment later with this look of awe on her face.
"Did the baby just - was that a kick?" She asks, her hand still on your abdomen. She lowers her head and lets her ear rest next to her hand. "Come on, peanut, do it again for Mum."
"You wanna get kicked in the ear?" You huff, but you're smiling at her antics and her excitement. You're excited, too. This is - you're having a child.
"I don't mind." She sounds the same now as she did when you first took her to the Sweet Factory. "That's our baby."
"Yeah." You say and Laura smiles this watery smile. She's wiping at her cheek a moment later and you sit up to kiss her. "Hey, no tears, cupcake. This is a happy occasion."
"I know that." She says, pressing her mouth against yours again before continuing. "You just - you're going to be the most amazing mom."
"You too." You say as you lower yourself back on the bed and she resumes her previous position except now she's rubbing small circles against the skin of your abdomen instead of keeping still and it's soothing and you're relaxing under her touch within minutes.
Laura continues on with her puzzle and you try to help, but you're falling asleep because of her and you're perfectly aware that you're not helping.
"Is it nap time already?" She asks cheekily. Your eyelids are drooping, but you see her reach over and drop her puzzle and pencil off of the edge of the bed. She's slipping her arms around you and pressing a smile to your neck not even a moment later, hand under the fabric of your shirt.
"Did you have anything else in mind?" You ask, pulling her closer.
She shakes her head and her hand is rubbing those maddening circles again. You can already feel sleep taking you.
"I love you." Laura says. "I love you both more than anything."
"What the frilly hell is this?"
Laura is sat at her desk when you walk into her office, probably going over her daily debriefing of Parliament's session for the day. She looks up at you and the shirt you've got in your hand and she laughs.
"Do you like it?"
"It's - " you look down at the shirt and you honestly don't know why you're so against it because it looks like something Laura would wear and you like Laura's clothes. You wear them most of the time. "I - "
"It's called colour, Carm." She says and she looks amused by the whole situation still. "That shirt is purple and it has flowers."
"It's - it's appalling."
Laura laughs so hard she has to put her head down on her desk and you take a seat in one of the comfortable chairs meant for guests across from her and glare a little because this isn't funny.
"I have an extra large shirt in the closet somewhere. I used to wear it to sleep." She says when she notices the look on your face. "Probably in one of the drawers. It's black."
"I can't wear that in public." You tell her. "I need to go shopping."
"Elizabeth already did all of your shopping."
You hold up the shirt in response and Laura purses her lips in the way she does when she's trying not to smile.
"Do not laugh about this. I'm serious."
"Okay, I'm not laughing anymore! I promise!" She brings a hand up to cover her mouth and her nostrils flare before her whole face straightens and you would find it amusing that she's put on her Queen Laura face just for you, but nothing about this whole situation is amusing.
Laura takes you shopping within the week.
She gets a maternity store closed down early so that the two of you can visit. She leads you around the place by the hand, flicking through racks of clothes as you go.
“What about these?” She asks, dangling a pair of jeans in front of your face. They’re black, but bootcut, and your face must show exactly how you feel about them because Laura laughs a little before letting go of your hand so she can fold them up and return them to the shelf. “Okay then. No bootcut.”
This continues for what feels like ages, Laura’s patience with you never wavers, though, and by the end of it, she’s got an armful of different grey and black pieces of clothing for you to try on.
“Thank you.” You tell her when she closes the curtain of the fitting room stall behind you.
“For what?”
“For taking time out of your schedule for me.” You say, pulling on a pair of pants that you don’t totally hate.
When you push the curtain open to show Laura the fit, you’re almost surprised to find her standing directly on the other side, but then her thumbs are hooked into the belt loop of the pants and she’s wrapping you up in a hug.
“I will always have time for you.” She says softly. Her hand wanders to rest on the bump of your belly. “Yours first. Queen second.”
Your first ultrasound is on a Monday.
Laura can’t come because she’s scheduled to be ceremoniously opening Parliament, which as far as excuses go, is probably the best one anyone’s ever come up with for missing their pregnant wife’s first ultrasound. Your mother makes the trip out to London, though, and she drags Will along with her. This results in all three of them, Kirsch came along too, looking over the technician’s shoulder as she’s applying the gel on your skin.
“It’s cold.” The tech says about two seconds after when you would have appreciated the warning. The cold makes you flinch a little.
“You couldn’t tell her that before you splattered some on her?” Will says, irritation evident in his voice.
“William.” Maman admonishes. She turns to the technician. “He has a point - “
“Alright.” You cut them both off with the most menacing look you can manage. “Let her do her job.”
The tech gives you a grateful glance before continuing on with the appointment. After a few moments, she presses the ultrasound wand against your skin and the screen to your left comes to life.
Your breath catches in your throat at the sight and you’re pretty sure your heart skips a beat when the baby’s heartbeat becomes audible.
The heartbeat grows steadier as the scan hones in on it and it’s only when Maman comes around and wipes the moisture off of your cheeks that you realize you’d been crying.
“Am I having a grandson or granddaughter?” She asks the tech.
“It’s still early and difficult to tell. We’ll be certain by the next appointment.”
Maman nods and asks several more questions that you’re sure Laura listed out for her in their last communication, but you’re too busy staring at the moving mass of cells on the screen to pay attention.
Later, when you wake up as Laura is slipping into bed behind you, you grab blindly at your bedside table to show her what has quickly become your new favourite possession. You hadn’t shown it to her over text because you wanted to be able to see and hear her reaction and so it’s the anticipation that shakes you into consciousness.
“Carm - what - “ Laura mumbles when you accidentally drop the photograph of the ultrasound on her face. You feel her shifting to get a hold of it. “What is this? Can you turn on the lamp?”
Your arms feel like lead. “No.”
“What?” She huffs and you hear her elbow collide with the nightstand. A second later her phone’s flashlight is on and you’re shutting your eyes tightly to keep your retinas from burning. “Oh my god.” She says after a moment of stunned silence. “Peanut looks like a peanut.”
You let out a laugh that you hadn’t realized has been wanting to come out of your mouth since you first saw the image of your child. It’s one that even you can’t describe as anything other than jubilant. Laura is laughing too by the end of it.
“A beautiful peanut.” She says, leaning over you - you hadn’t even realized she was sitting up because your eyes were shut so tight - and peppering kisses all over your face. “Our baby is so pretty already. How did you do that?”
“Drank all my vitamins, sweetheart.” You aim for your usual unaffected tone, but your throat is all of a sudden clogged up by what feels like a massive bundle of emotions. “I do need my beauty sleep though and for me to get that, you’d have to stop licking my face like the puppy you are.”
"Shut up." She says, bumping her head against your arm affectionately. You think maybe she learned that from someone in your family. "Sorry I wasn't there today."
"That's okay. You had Queen things to do."
"Yours first." She promises against your mouth.
You feel around for her hand so that you can lead it to where a now familiar weight is settled in your midsection.
"Ours first." You agree.
Being pregnant is very different from what you thought it would be. Your feet hurt 24/7, your bladder feels like it’s about the size of a piece of gravel, and you’re hungry all the time. Laura helps with foot rubs and fetching you little snacks whenever she can. In exchange - she made you sign a freakin’ contract like the child that she is because the mood swings own your soul to the point that you can actually say no to Laura sometimes for a change - you let her read to the baby whenever she gets home before you fall asleep.
“Can’t I read even if you’re asleep?” She asks one night, curled up beside you, her nose pressed against the underside of your jaw.
“No.” You respond. “What are you gonna do, coo at my stomach while I’m trying to sleep?”
“Peanut likes it.” She says, moving her hand to rest against your belly button. You can feel her smile against your skin.
“You know you can’t keep calling the baby peanut, right? We can not legally give that name to a human being.”
A pause.
“Do you think your mother would be okay with it?”
“Laura, I wouldn’t be okay with it.”
The second time you go into an ultrasound, it's just you, Laura, and the technician. Plus a shit ton of bodyguards outside the door.
You expect the cold on your skin this time around, but you're nervous for some reason and so the feel of it still makes you squeeze Laura's hand. She squeezes back, practically bouncing in her seat.
The technician, not the same one you had before, nervously makes small talk with Laura. You don't pay much attention until she says, "Ah, there she is."
“She?” You and Laura say at the same time.
“She.” The technician confirms. You’re not even sure what else happens during the appointment, just that Laura’s crying the whole rest of it and you probably are too.
Afterwards, in the car, Laura kisses your stomach over the fabric of your shirt.
“Hi, baby girl.” She whispers and the puff of her breath that you can feel through the fabric makes you smile. “I’m your Mum and I’m going to take very good care of you.”
You’re crying again by the time she straightens up to kiss you. It feels a lot like you're close to some sort prize. That after everything the two of you have been through, the universe is giving you both a beautiful gift.
“Softie.” She teases.
“Pregnant people get mood swings, Hollis.” You say, bumping your foreheads together gently. ‘I think I’m having one at the moment.”
“You’ve been having one for like, months now.”
“I won’t let you read to the baby if you keep this up.”
She honest to god stomps her foot. “You signed a legally binding document.”
“I’m pretty sure you hand-wrote it in the back cover of your Sudoku book. What part of that sounds legally binding to you?”
“The part where you signed it? And I stamped it with the Royal Seal?”
“You did not.”
“I did.” She says smugly. “Besides, peanut and I are reading Dr. Seuss tonight. You love Dr. Seuss.”
“I do not - “
“You do. Even peanut knows it, probably.”
“Shut up.” You tell her, meaning to pull away.
“Horton Hears a Who.” She says, tightening her grip on you. “I promise I’ll even hold it up to show you the pictures.”
The first thing your mother says when you relay the news is, “What names are the two of you considering?”
“Huh.” You say.
“I can send over a family tree and Laura can pull hers up on the web. I am sure there is a common ancestral name hidden in those branches. Let me just call my secretary - "
“I am not naming my daughter Morticia, so you can forget the family tree.” Beside you, Laura sniggers.
“It is a perfectly acceptable name and I never said that’s what you had to choose - “
“Maman, half our ancestors were named Morticia and even you weren’t cruel enough to give that name to a child.”
“William was supposed to be a Morticia.” She says.
You sigh, “I’m sure Laura and I will think of something.”
"Not Mary." Your mother says, clearly pushing some sort of agenda. "Nor Anne. Nor anything overly boring like the British are fond of."
"No Mary. No Anne. Got it."
"Mircalla, I am serious."
Laura presses a kiss to your shoulder then and holds her hand out for the phone. You give it gladly and she stalks off to pace like she's prone to doing whenever she's on the phone.
You only catch snippets of what they're talking about. It's a little slower than your own conversation because they keep switching between French and English - Laura's French is slow at best and Maman's English is stilted as well - by the end of it, though, Laura's laughing and promising your mother she'll tell you how proud your mother is of you.
"So proud." She says once she's settled back in bed. "Practically ready to shout her pride from the rooftops of the palace."
"Funny, I only ever recall her slandering the names of your ancestors while she was on the phone with me." You hold your arm out and Laura snuggles closer obediently,one hand automatically drifting down to rest over your stomach.
"Tough love, hey?" She giggles and props herself up on her elbow, scooting down so she can be level with your abdomen. She whispers, "Hello, Morticia."
You can't help the snort that comes out of your nose.
"I promised we'd consider Morticia." She finally admits. "It was the only way I could get her to hang up."
"What's this, the virginal British monarch telling a lie?" You say mockingly, stroking her hair. "Oh heavens."
"Virginal, my ass. You know that better than anyone, you despoiler of virtue."
You hum as she settles against you once again after shutting the lamp off. You're about to fall asleep when you feel her finger tapping against your collarbone.
"What?"
Laura says, “Do you ever think about how the brain named itself?”
“Cupcake, our daughter is not naming herself."
She rolls over and makes a face at your words, “But what if she hates the name we give her? What if she ends up hating both of us for the rest of her life because of it?”
“She’ll hate us for the rest of her life if we don’t name her.”
“Maybe we can pick from a hat or something.”
"We're not picking from a hat." You lean over to plant a kiss at her temple. "Come on, we can do better than that. You can just text Obama and ask Michelle for her opinion instead."
“I’m serious, Carm.”
“Hey, I’m serious, too.” You tell her. “We’ll figure it out.”
Your water breaks on a Wednesday. It’s cloudy and gloomy and actually quite cold outside and Laura’s late because she’s having a meeting with some dignitaries, but when she’s finally by your side for good - she was asked to leave the first time because she had a Reese’s peanut butter cup in her mouth and her beanie still on so the nurse told her off as best as a nurse can tell off a Queen - she takes your hand and suddenly everything is fine.
“I’m here.” She says around a mouthful of her chocolate. “I’m late, but I’m here. Oh my god, how are you? Do you need water or like something to eat? There’s another peanut butter cup in my jacket pocket outside I can - “
“Laura. I’m giving birth.”
“Right.” She lets out a long breath. “Oh god, it’s happening.”
“It’s happening.” You agree.
“We’ll get to meet our daughter soon.” She smiles and kisses your cheek. “Do you have any idea how thankful I am for the both of you? Because I’m so so thankful.”
“I love you.” You tell her.
“I love you, too. Oh god, did we pick a name? We picked a name, right?”
“Weeks ago,” You say. Her rambling is actually putting you in a more relaxed state. You roll your eyes at her because seriously, she's the one that got to pick the name, not that you're complaining. “If you’ve forgotten, the hint is that she’ll be named after your favourite chocolate treat."
"Cadbury?" Laura jokes.
"Twix." You respond, rolling your eyes.
“I can’t wait to meet her.” She says just as the nurse comes in to, presumably, take you from the pre-operation section to the operating room. “You ready? Do you need anything?”
“No, I’m good. Great, even.”
“Good.” Laura kisses your cheek again. To the nurse she says, “I can come, right? That’s okay?”
“Of course, your majesty.” The nurse says. “Right this way.”
Laura squeals - squeals - in excitement at the words and you laugh.
"Ready?” You ask her. She takes your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles.
“I can't wait.”
Reese is born in the early hours of the seventeenth of November.
You watch the nurse hands her off to Laura and your heart is so full at the sight that you can no longer even remember the pain that you just experienced.
Laura comes over to you and settles Reese in your arms soon after. She leans down to kiss you - it doesn't work too well because you've both got massive grins on your faces - and then pulls her phone out and takes a quick picture of you and the baby now nestled against your chest.
“She’s so beautiful, Carm.” Laura says, her voice cracking. “So pretty. I can’t believe she’s ours.”
“Me neither.” You respond, looking down and holding your daughter’s hand against your chest. You're in complete bliss in this operating room. “Hey Laura?”
Laura looks like she’s rocking back and forth on her heels, unsure what to do with her hands and so you let go of Reese's hand for a second to reach out to her instead. Your fingers tangle together effortlessly and you pull her towards you until she's close enough that her hands move on instinct. She rubs your cheekbone with her thumb while her other hand drifts to rest on Reese's head.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”