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“This is all your fault,” she muttered, slumping with her back against the tub.
“Yes, it is, sweetheart, and I am deeply sorry for the thousandth time,” Niles said, seated beside her with his legs stretched out before him.
C.C. groaned, tossing her head back, one hand resting beneath her heavy stomach. Niles reached over, placing his hand there too — gently rubbing over what was no longer just a ‘little baby bump.’
Unfortunately, the morning sickness had yet to slow down, even now, close to her third trimester. She almost dreaded waking up each day. Breakfast nearly always ended with her groaning into the bathroom and heaving over the toilet.
He kept his eyes on her face, watching her take small breaths through her mouth — her usual, failed attempt to hold it back.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered, as he always did.
And as always, she knew he meant it.
He’d been sympathetic, steady — practically perfect — through the entire pregnancy. A true doting husband. She smiled to herself, thinking about how thoroughly he’d spoiled her.
In the first few weeks, he’d hovered like a hawk. He insisted she take leave from work and after two weeks of pleading, she finally gave in.
He made sure she ate balanced meals — the ones she could keep down. He dashed to the grocery store for every craving, no matter how ridiculous or inconvenient. He never complained.
Every doctor’s visit, he was there. Holding her hand. Asking the right questions. When he heard their baby’s heartbeat for the first time, he’d barely kept it together.
A sharp groan pulled him from his thoughts. She squeezed his hand as she shifted uncomfortably.
“This is getting really old, kid,” she grumbled, leaning forward again.
Niles let out a quiet laugh, but quickly moved with her. He pulled her hair back into a ponytail with one hand, while the other wrapped protectively around her middle as she knelt.
When she was done, he kept one hand on her belly, and felt it — a strong kick beneath his palm.
“I think your son is awake,” he smiled, applying a little pressure to the spot. The kick answered him.
C.C. flushed the toilet and leaned back. “He won’t let me eat and now he’s kicking me. Your kid.”
Niles stood and offered his hands to help her up. Like always. Like it was routine now — one they’d built together.
He helped her to her feet slowly, careful not to rush her. Once she was steady, he grabbed a clean cloth from the counter, ran it under warm water, and gently dabbed at her face. His touch was light — reverent, even. She didn’t protest. She was too tired, and too used to this routine by now.
“Sorry I’m such a mess,” she muttered.
“You’re not a mess,” he said firmly, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You’re building a human. The least I can do is keep you upright and adored.”
She let out a weak laugh and rolled her eyes. “Ugh, stop saying sweet things when I look like I’ve been dragged backward through a hedge,” CC tells him while weaving her fingers through her hair looking into the mirror.
“You look radiant,” he said, helping her out of her robe and into a clean one he’d laid across the bed earlier. “Glowing, even.”
“That was sweat,” she deadpanned, but the smirk that followed told him she appreciated it anyway.
Once in their bedroom and she was settled against the pillows, he ducked into the kitchen. She heard the faint sound of a kettle, then the fridge opening and closing — followed by him muttering something about “Where did I put those damn worms…”
When he returned, he carried a tray with a steaming cup of ginger tea, toast with strawberry jam, and — triumphantly — her beloved sour gummy worms. He placed it gently on the nightstand and handed her the tea first, careful not to spill a drop.
“I swear, if you weren’t already the father of my child…” she said with a smirk, reaching for a gummy.
“Oh? And what would I be?” he asked, settling beside her again.
She popped the candy in her mouth. “Dangerously close to being the man I finally propose to.”
Niles laughed. “Well, good thing we’ve already sorted that out. Though I wouldn’t mind hearing you say it, just for fun.”
“In your dreams, Butler.”
“I dream exclusively of you. And sometimes sour gummy worms. You hated these once, remember?” He said taking one from her hand and tossing it into his mouth.
“And now our son has cursed me with his taste buds.”
“Remind me to thank him later.”
She took a sip of the tea, sighed into it, and leaned her head against the headboard. He watched her, then sat beside her — closer this time — and rested his hand again on the firm curve of her stomach.
The baby kicked again, as if to acknowledge him.
“Getting stronger,” he murmured.
“Just like his father,” she said without thinking.
He glanced at her, surprised — not by the words, but by how gently she’d said them. She caught his look and shrugged, her lips twitching. “Don’t let it go to your head, Butler.”
Niles smiled and scooted closer, easing himself into a half-lie beside her. She shifted, letting him wrap his arms around her as she curled into him, their hands overlapping across the rise of her stomach.
She leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed. “You really have been perfect, you know. For months. Even when I yelled at you for bringing home the wrong brand of water.”
“That wasn’t water,” he corrected, grinning. “It was poison in a fancy bottle. You were absolutely justified.”
She giggled — a real one, not forced — and he felt her body soften beside him.
A few minutes passed in easy quiet. She sipped her tea. He rubbed gentle circles on her stomach. The baby responded with a few soft kicks, and they both stilled to feel it.
It wasn’t long after that she fell asleep. As best he could, he slipped from their bed using the time to prepare dinner for both of them.
Once Niles was done he padded softly back into the room, the scent of dinner still clinging to his shirt, warm and familiar. She was curled up on her side, one hand resting protectively over the soft swell of her belly, her breaths slow and even.
Niles stopped in the doorway, heart hitching — like it always did.
It wasn’t the first time he’d caught himself doing this — just standing there, watching her sleep like he’d forgotten what movement was. He always told himself he’d only linger for a second, but then he’d get caught in the way her hair spilled across the pillow, or how peaceful her face looked in the dim light.
He didn’t mean to stare.
He just… did.
His fingers twitched, wanting to reach out, to brush the hair from her cheek, to kiss the small furrow between her brows — the one that only ever appeared in her sleep, like even her dreams had attitude.
There was something about seeing her like this — safe, here, his — that made the whole world feel still. He couldn’t help but feel like the luckiest man alive.
With a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, he crossed the room and knelt beside the bed, brushing a thumb gently along her temple.
She looked so peaceful like this. Softer. Untouchable in a way that made his chest ache. There were still moments — even now — where he wondered how the hell they ended up here. Him, a butler. Her, a Babcock. And yet… nothing had ever made more sense.
He smiled.
God, he was so stupidly in love with her.
“Darling,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper, “time for our shower.”
He didn’t want to move her. He wanted to stay like this, just a little longer — memorizing the quiet, the warmth, the miracle of being hers.
The sound of the bathroom faucet running drifted softly through the bedroom. C.C. sat propped against the headboard, wearing one of Niles’s shirts over a pair of soft cotton shorts. Her damp hair hung over her shoulders, longer now than it had been in years — her sharp bob grown out and tucked behind her ears without a second thought. She hadn’t bothered to dry it.
The room was quiet, lit only by the soft bedside lamp and the amber glow from the hallway. Niles was brushing his teeth when he heard the mattress shift behind him — not the usual shuffle of pillows or a grumble about sore hips, but something different.
She was tired, but something was keeping her mind from shutting off. A weight behind her breastbone. A knot of old thoughts she hadn’t dared untangle in a long time.
He smiled at her in that goofy, genuine way he always did when he caught her looking vulnerable and didn’t want to scare it off.
She offered a faint smile in return, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
By the time he climbed into bed beside her, the towel folded neatly on the nightstand, she was staring down at her hands — her thumb absently brushing over the curve of her stomach.
“You’re quiet,” he said gently.
She didn’t answer at first. Just stared ahead like she was trying to solve something she didn’t have words for.
He climbed into bed beside her carefully, touching her hand. “Hey…”
She blinked, and when her eyes met his, they were shinier than usual.
“Niles,” she said softly, “what if I’m not… good at this?”
“At what?” His voice was gentle, but the concern slipped through.
She hesitated. She didn’t want to ruin the peace of the evening, didn’t want to sound ungrateful for everything they had. But the thoughts were louder than her fear of saying them.
“At… being a mother,” she whispered, eyes dropping to the curve of her stomach. “What if I mess him up? What if I yell too much, or I’m too cold, or I don’t know how to connect with him? What if I…” Her voice caught, the words getting tangled with the tightness in her chest. “What if I treat him the way my mother treated me?”
Niles’ expression softened instantly. He reached out and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.
“You are not your mother, C.C.”
“I know. I know that, logically. But sometimes I hear her voice in my head — criticizing me, pushing, never satisfied — and I worry it’s just in me now. That I’ll become her without even realizing.”
She pressed a hand to her stomach. “She wasn’t cruel, exactly. She just… wasn’t there. Not the way I needed. I don’t think she ever really saw me. Not until I became what she wanted.”
Niles shifted closer, cupping her face. “You don’t have to become anything for this child except yourself.”
“But what if that’s not enough?” Niles blinked, taken aback for only a second. “C.C…”
She swallowed. “I was never held the way a kid should be. I was molded. Into something sharp. Polished. Polite. Expected. And it… stayed with me. Sometimes I still hear her voice in my head.”
Niles was quiet, letting her speak. Not interrupting. Just listening. She went on:
“I’m scared I’ll become that voice without realizing. That I’ll snap the way my mother snapped at me. That I’ll see him struggling one day and not know how to be soft. Not know how to help him without making him feel wrong.”
Niles reached for her then, his hand brushing her damp hair back, thumb smoothing gently over her cheek.
“You’re not your mother,” he said, voice more firm but kind. “You’ve already broken the cycle just by caring about it. You love that little boy with everything you have — I’ve seen it in the way you talk to him, the way you think about him, even when you’re frustrated or sick or exhausted.”
“It’s already more than enough,” he said softly. “You’re already loving him in ways your mother never loved you. You’re thinking about his feelings, his future, the kind of world you want him to grow up in — before he’s even born.”
C.C. let out a shaky breath, and he pulled her against his chest. She melted into him, letting her head rest over his heartbeat.
“I don’t want to fail him,” she whispered.
“You won’t,” he murmured. “And if you ever feel like you are, I’ll be right here — every step, every sleepless night, every meltdown. He’ll have both of us. And he’ll know what love feels like because of you. ”
Silence settled between them for a long moment — not heavy this time, just still.
Then she spoke, more serious this time.
“I was scared, Niles. When we found out. I mean… not about you. About me. I didn’t know if I’d be good at this — being a mother. Loving someone the right way.”
He turned toward her, his expression soft but grounded. “You’re already good at it. You’ve been good at it every day — even when you’re groaning into the toilet or throwing gummy worms at my head.”
“That happened once.”
“Twice,” he corrected gently. “But both times, your aim was impressive.”
She smiled — tired, but real. “Do you think he’ll like me?”
“He already does,” Niles said, resting his hand protectively over hers. “He kicks for you more than anyone else. He knows your voice. Your laugh. Your heartbeat. Of course he likes you. How could he not?”
She didn’t answer, but the silence that followed was full of something warm and fragile — something healing.
“I hope he has your patience,” she whispered.
“I hope he has your fire,” Niles said.
“He’ll probably have both. And a very strong opinion about water brands.”
“And an impeccable sense of timing,” Niles added, smiling as their son gave another tiny thump beneath his palm.
“Lucky me,” she whispered sleepily.
“No,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. “Lucky us. You don’t have to be perfect,” he whispered. “You just have to show up. And you will. I’ll be there too. You’re not doing this alone, C.C.”
He pulled her even closer, and she let him — let herself rest in the warmth of him, head pressed to his heartbeat. His hand stayed over her stomach.
“He kicked so much today,” she murmured, quieter now.
“I know. I felt it.”
“He doesn’t let me spiral too far.”
“He gets that from you,” he smiled.
“God help us.”
“God help me, ” he teased, earning a soft, watery laugh from her.
They lay like that for a while — her hair damp against his chest, their hands laced over the growing life between them.
And when she finally drifted off, Niles stayed awake just a little longer, listening to both of their breathing, whispering quietly to the little boy they’d meet soon.