Work Text:
The morning light in their bedroom was a soft, sluggish pale blue, filtering lazily through the lace-trimmed curtains Lucas’s mother had gifted them when they first bought the house. Outside, the sharp autumn wind was stripping the last gold leaves from the maples in the yard, sending them skittering and scraping across the shingles of the roof in tiny, erratic bursts. Inside, the room remained a warm, quiet haven, heavy with the stillness of early dawn and smelling faintly of washed flannel, cedar floorboards, and the deep, heavy warmth of sleep.
Max had been awake since five-thirty.
She was lying flat on her back, her copper hair spread across the pillow in a tangled, unruly halo. Despite the chill seeping through the glass panes, her skin felt clammy and uncomfortably hot, and she spent twenty agonizing minutes staring at the water stains on the ceiling plaster, trying to talk her stomach out of turning completely inside out. It wasn't the dramatic, sprinting-to-the-toilet kind of morning sickness she had read about in books; it was a low, heavy, nauseating ache that settled deep in her core, making her feel as though she had been running laps in her sleep while carrying lead weights in her chest.
Slowly, carefully, holding her breath to keep the room from spinning, she tried to roll onto her side to escape the soft glow of the window. But the second her hips shifted, her stomach rolled right along with her. Max froze, shutting her eyes tight and letting out a small, frustrated breath through her teeth, her left hand coming up to press flat and rigid over her lower ribs.
Beside her, the heavy mattress creaked under a sudden shift in weight. Lucas stirred, blinking sleep out of his dark eyes, his eyelashes heavy against his cheeks. He didn't ask if she was okay—they had been together long enough that he knew better than to ask stupid questions when her jaw was set like iron. He just saw the rigid, guarded way her shoulders were held and the faint sheen of sweat at her hairline, and let out a soft, sympathetic sigh, rubbing a broad hand down his face to clear the lingering grogginess.
"Bad?" he mumbled, his voice deep, gravelly, and thick with sleep.
"I hate everything," Max grumbled, her eyes snapping open to fix stubbornly on the ceiling. "I hate this bed, I hate the morning, and I hate your face."
Lucas snorted, a small, tired laugh breaking through his chest, his shoulders shaking under the quilt. "Good morning to you, too."
He didn't make a grand production out of it. He never did. He just swung his long legs out from under the covers, grabbing his heavy grey sweatpants off the floor where he’d dropped them the night before and pulling them on. He padded bare-footed out of the room, leaving the door cracked just an inch so the faint hall light wouldn't hit her eyes.
Max stayed completely still on the mattress, counting her breaths and listening to the familiar, quiet rhythm of their home—the low, steady hum of the refrigerator downstairs, the floorboards creaking under his weight in the hallway, the distant hiss of the tap running in the bathroom sink.
Ten minutes later, the door swung open a bit wider, and Lucas returned carrying a small wooden tray he usually reserved for when one of them had the flu. On it sat a tall glass of tap water with tiny ice bubbles clinging to the glass, a half-empty sleeve of saltines he’d scavenged from the back of the kitchen pantry, and a cool, damp washcloth folded neatly into a small square.
He sat gently on the edge of the mattress, careful not to jostle the springs, and set the tray on the nightstand. With practiced quietness, he unwrapped two crackers, the cellophane crinkling softly between his long fingers.
"Here," he said, holding one out to her. "Eat it before you start complaining that I’m standing too loudly."
Max glared at the square cracker like it had personally offended her, then reached out with cold fingers and took a tiny, reluctant bite. "I'm not complaining. I'm silently suffering."
"You're glaring at this little piece of bread like it insulted your mother," Lucas noted dryly. He reached over, unfolding the damp cloth, and pressed the cool, soothing fabric gently against her warm forehead.
Max let out a long, quiet sigh, her rigid shoulders dropping an inch as the chill cut through her clammy heat. She closed her eyes, letting her head sink back into the pillow. Lucas pushed her wild copper hair back away from her face, his broad hand warm and solid where his knuckles brushed over her temple to check her temperature.
"Take a sip of water," he instructed softly.
She opened her eyes, taking the glass from his hands, and drank a little water, letting the cold liquid wash down her dry throat. She chewed down the rest of the cracker, breathing slowly through her nose until the heavy nausea finally settled down into a dull, manageable rumble.
"Better?" he asked softly, watching her face closely.
"I'm still exhausted," she admitted, slumping deeper into the pillows and letting her eyelids flutter shut again. "My legs feel like lead."
"Then don't get up," Lucas said simply. He stood up, kicked off his sweatpants, tossing them carelessly back onto the chair in the corner, and slid right back under the heavy quilt beside her.
He pulled the thick covers up over both of them, instantly blocking out the draft, and tugged her in until her back was pressed flush against the warmth of his chest. Max let out a quiet, contented sigh, resting the back of her head against the broad crook of his collarbone and tucking her ice-cold feet against his shins. Lucas wrapped one heavy arm over her waist, his chin resting right near her ear, his steady breathing rustling a few stray strands of her hair. He smelled like clean cotton, cedar, and warm skin—a familiar, comforting scent that grounded her faster than anything else in the world.
They lay there in the quiet for a few long minutes, listening to the old radiator clink and hiss softly in the corner of the room as it fought off the morning chill.
Max tilted her face slightly back toward him, her eyelashes brushing his jaw. "You're going to be late for work if you stay here."
"I took the morning off," Lucas murmured, his voice muffled against her neck.
Max blinked, turning her face a little more to look up at him. "You what? Lucas…”
"I swapped with Fred," he replied casually, his hand lazily tracing small, soothing patterns over the soft fabric of her t-shirt. "Told him I had a pipe leaking under the bathroom sink and needed to fix it before the floor warped. Which was believable enough. My real job today is making sure you don't pass out."
"A leaky pipe?" Max muttered, a small, genuine smirk playing on her lips. "You're getting way too good at lying to cover for us."
"It's not lying, it's protecting our private information," Lucas murmured with a quiet grin, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the back of her shoulder, then another to the sensitive spot right behind her ear. Max shivered pleasantly, leaning back into his solid touch, her hand coming up to cover his where it rested over her waist.
"It feels weird keeping it a secret, though," Max admitted softly, her gaze drifting toward the faint blue light in the window. "Dustin was at the house for twenty minutes yesterday and I felt like I was holding my breath the entire time."
"I know," Lucas whispered, his thumb lightly caressing her side through her shirt. "Dustin would lose his mind and start trying to calculate growth percentiles before we even reach the second trimester. And my mom would probably move in for the next nine months with three deep freezers full of casserole. It's nice that it's just ours right now. Just you and me."
Max let out a soft breath, her heart warming at the thought. "Yeah. I like that it's just ours."
They drifted into a comfortable silence, the house settling around them. After a while, Max felt his hand shift. His broad palm slid down her stomach, resting flat over her t-shirt. There was no bump yet, nothing to show the world that anything had changed, just the familiar, soft cotton of her shirt—but his hand settled there like it belonged there, warm, steady, and protective.
"You know," Lucas murmured into her hair, his dark eyes drifting toward the window as his voice softened into something deeply reflective, "I've been thinking about my dad a lot lately. Just... how he was when we were growing up."
Max turned her head slightly on the pillow to look at him, her blue eyes searching his profile. "Your dad?"
"Yeah," Lucas said, a soft, introspective smile touching his lips. "Growing up, he always seemed like this unshakeable wall. He worked those long shifts, came home completely exhausted, but the second he walked through the front door, he made our house feel totally safe. He never made a big deal about it, but he just knew how to protect us. How to be steady."
Lucas paused, his thumb making a slow, gentle circle over her waist.
"I used to think being a father meant knowing every answer beforehand," he admitted quietly, meeting her eyes in the dim light. "I kept thinking I needed to be this perfect, unbending pillar like him, or I’d fail. But looking at you right now, feeling how real this is... I realize my dad wasn't unshakeable because he had no fear. He was steady because he loved us enough to show up every single day, no matter how hard things got. And I know I can do that. I know I can be that for you, and for this baby."
Max felt a thick knot form in her throat, her heart swelling with an emotion so fierce and soft it almost hurt. She stroked the back of his hand where it rested against her stomach, her thumb tracing the warm, familiar line of his knuckles.
"Lucas," she whispered softly, her eyes shining in the dim room. "You've been my steady place since we were kids. You don't have to try so hard—you're already everything they're ever gonna need."
Lucas’s throat worked around a heavy wave of emotion. He leaned in, burying his face into the crook of her neck, pressing a soft, lingering kiss right over her fluttering pulse point.
"Tell them to cut you some slack today," he mumbled, thick with affection against her skin. "You're trying to sleep."
"Tell them yourself," she murmured softly, her fingers lightly running through the dark curls at the nape of his neck.
Lucas chuckled against her skin. He shifted under the quilt, sliding down slightly until his broad shoulders were level with her hip. Resting his forearm over her side, he leaned in until his face was right against her lower stomach, his breath warm through the fabric of her shirt.
"Hey in there. Lay off your mom. She's cranky enough as it is."
Max swiped at his shoulder with her hand, a small, breathy chuckle breaking through her chest. "Shut up, Sinclair."
"I'm serious," he whispered, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss through her t-shirt over her stomach before sliding back up the mattress. "Consider me your personal assistant for the next four hours."
"My personal assistant, huh?" Max smirked, raising an eyebrow at him. “And what are your qualifications?"
"I brought you crackers, I lied to Fred, and I'm currently keeping your feet warm," Lucas listed off smoothly, his dark eyes sparkling with quiet humor. "I'd say I'm overqualified."
"My feet are still freezing, actually."
"That's a lie," Lucas murmured, reaching down to grab her wrist gently.
Max rolled over onto her other side to face him completely. Lucas adjusted instantly, wrapping his broad arm around the small of her back to anchor her flush against his chest, pulling the heavy quilt all the way up over her shoulders.
She rested her palm flat against the front of his soft t-shirt, her index finger absently tracing the cotton seam of his collar.
"Hey, Lucas?"
"Yeah?"
"What do you think it's gonna be?" she asked softly, looking up at the strong line of his jaw. "A boy or a girl?"
Lucas’s gaze softened, a sweet, radiant warmth lighting up his eyes. "I don't know. What do you think?"
"I don't care," Max murmured, a tiny smirk touching her lips. "I just hope that if it’s a girl, she’ll inherit my stubbornness so she can give you as much trouble as I do."
Lucas let out a quiet, breathless laugh. “If it’s a girl and has your hair, I'm never going to let her leave the house," he whispered, his breath catching as he reached up to gently tuck a stray strand of copper behind Max's ear. His fingers lingered warm against her cheekbone. "And if she has your eyes... God, Max, I'm going to be completely helpless. She’ll get away with everything.”
Max let out a breathless laugh, leaning her cheek into his broad palm. "You're already soft."
"Only for you guys," he admitted easily, without a single shred of hesitation. He leaned down, pressing his lips gently to the tip of her freckled nose. "Boy or girl... they're gonna have a great mom."
Max let out a small, genuine smile, wrapping her arm tightly around his waist under the quilt.
"Have you... thought about names at all?" Max asked softly after a quiet moment, her fingers lightly tapping against his ribs. "Or are you waiting until we find out?"
Lucas was quiet for a second. The corner of his mouth twitched into a sheepish, half-hidden smile. Slowly, without loosening his grip on her, he reached down with his free hand toward the nightstand, blindly feeling along the wooden surface until his fingers found his leather wallet.
Max lifted her head off the pillow, raising an eyebrow at him. "What are you doing?"
"Nothing," Lucas murmured, popping open the wallet with one hand and pulling out a small, thrice-folded piece of yellowed lined paper. "Just... don't laugh."
Max’s eyes widened slightly. She snatched the paper from his fingers, unfolding it to reveal a small, neat list written in his precise, unmistakable handwriting.
"You have a list?" Max breathed, a sudden, bright laugh escaping her chest. "Lucas, we had our first ultrasound two weeks ago! How long has this been in your wallet?"
"A month," Lucas admitted, his cheeks flushing a faint, warm dark brown as he looked down at her. "Maybe six weeks. I started writing things down whenever a name stuck in my head. It's just ideas!"
Max ran her thumb over the neat blue ink. "Okay, let's see... Erica Jr.?" She stopped, looking up at him with pure horror. "Are you out of your mind? One of her is already overwhelming the entire tri-state area. We are not naming a child after your sister."
Lucas snorted, reaching over to try and cover the paper with his hand. "That was clearly a joke!"
"It says 'Erica' with a giant question mark next to it," Max pointed out, her lips twitching with a grin as she scanned further down. "Okay... Samuel. Maya. Arthur... Arthur?" She looked back up at him, her blue eyes sparkling with affectionate mockery. "Arthur Sinclair? Sounds like a sixty-year-old accountant."
"It's classic!" Lucas defended smoothly, though a helpless laugh broke through his voice. "It sounds strong. Responsible."
"It sounds like he comes with a pipe and a tweed jacket," Max countered, leaning her chin against his chest. But as her eyes reached the bottom of the slip, her teasing softened. Written in smaller, quieter ink at the very end were two names—simple, sweet, and entirely unpretentious.
She ran her index finger over the ink, her heart swelling with a sudden, thick warmth.
"David... and Iris," she whispered, her thumb hovering gently over the page. She looked up at him, her eyes searching his in the dim light. "Where did you get these two?"
Lucas took a slow, quiet breath. His hand reached up, his long fingers gently cupping the back of her cheek, his thumb softly smoothing over her skin.
"David means beloved," Lucas murmured, his dark eyes shining with an emotional, unshielded intensity that made Max’s breath catch. "And I couldn't stop thinking about... David and Goliath. Standing in front of something giant and terrifying, even when you feel small, and knowing you have the strength to defeat it. That's what you did. Every single day, you faced monsters—and you pulled through. You survived. I want a son to have that kind of courage. I want him to know he comes from someone unbreakable."
A sudden, hot sting pricked behind Max's eyelids, her throat knotting tight as she stared at him, unable to speak.
Lucas’s gaze softened even further, his thumb gently catching a stray, teary lash at the corner of her eye.
"And Iris means rainbow," he whispered softly, his voice thick with a quiet, trembling devotion. "The colors that come out when the sky finally clears up after the worst storm of your life. After all the dark, dark days we went through... this baby is our light. They're the rainbow, Max. They're proof that the storm is completely over."
Max let out a small, trembling breath, a tiny, watery laugh breaking past her lips as a teardrop finally spilled over her cheek. She didn't say a word—she couldn't. She just pressed the slip of paper tight against her chest, right over her heart, and buried her face deep into the warm curve of Lucas's neck.
Lucas held her instantly, pulling her body flush against his, his arms wrapping around her like an unyielding shield. He kissed the side of her head, resting his cheek against her copper hair, letting her breathe him in while he held her safe in the quiet morning light.
"David and Iris," Max whispered brokenly into his neck, her arms tightening around his shoulders until her knuckles turned white. "I love them, Lucas. I love both of them so much."
Lucas breathed softly into her hair, just holding her tight.
After a long, quiet moment, Max reached out from under the quilt, carefully slipping the folded paper under his pillow for safekeeping before tucking herself right back into his chest, her thumb lightly smoothing over his jawline.
"We're still never using Arthur, though," she murmured, a sweet, tear-stained smile breaking across her face against his neck.
"Fair enough," Lucas chuckled softly, the vibration of his chest warming her cheek as he held her close.
They lay together in the quiet light, Max resting her head flat against his chest, listening to the deep, steady beat beneath his ribs. Her fingers idly traced the seam of his t-shirt, her thoughts drifting into the silent, uncharted space of the months ahead.
"It's strange," Max said softly after a long pause, her voice barely louder than a breath. "I keep trying to picture what it's actually going to be like. Not just the doctor visits or the cribs... but the actual moments."
Lucas rested his chin on the crown of her head, his broad hand rubbing slow, soothing circles over her lower back. "What kind of moments?"
"The firsts," she admitted, her blue eyes gazing quietly at the pale yellow light on the wall. "Like... bringing them home in the backseat of the car and driving twenty miles an hour because every bump in the road feels terrifying. Or holding them in the middle of the night when the whole house is completely pitch black and quiet."
She paused, swallowing hard against a sudden, sweet knot in her throat.
"I keep thinking about you holding them," Max whispered, her hand tightening slightly in his shirt. "You're so big, Lucas. And they're going to be so small. You're gonna look ridiculous holding a tiny baby on your chest."
A soft, breathless laugh escaped Lucas's throat, deep and rumbling against her cheek. He turned his face into her hair, pressing a slow, lingering kiss right over her crown.
"I don't care if I look ridiculous," Lucas murmured, his voice thick with an unshielded, quiet tenderness that made her heart ache in the best possible way. "I've thought about it, too. I think about waking up at two in the morning, coming into the room, and seeing you fast asleep with them resting right here on your shoulder. Just watching the two of you breathe."
He slid his hand down, resting his broad, warm palm flat against her stomach under the blanket, his fingers spreading wide and steady over her cotton shirt.
"I think about teaching them how to ride a bike down our street," Lucas whispered, his dark eyes shining with a soft, steady light as he looked down at her. "Running alongside them until they don't need me to hold onto the seat anymore. Teaching them how to skateboard—if you let me."
"I'm teaching them how to skateboard," Max corrected immediately, a genuine, radiant smile finally breaking across her face. "You're in charge of basketball and organized sports. I get skateboards and music."
"Deal," Lucas whispered with a sweet, crooked smile.
He leaned down, pressing his forehead lightly against hers, their noses brushing in the warm, cozy dark beneath the quilt.
Lucas propped himself up on one elbow to look down at her. He didn't say anything right away, just lay there watching her face—the pale scatter of freckles across her nose, the way her hair was sticking slightly to her forehead, the tired, fierce blue of her eyes that he’d been completely in love with since they were kids riding bicycles down rainy streets.
He reached out, his thumb lightly tracing the outline of her lower lip, his touch so unbelievably gentle it made her heart swell until it almost felt heavy in her chest.
Max held his gaze, her cheeks warming under his steady, soft stare.
"Stop looking at me like that," she muttered, tugging the edge of the quilt up past her chin.
"Like what?" Lucas asked, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a lazy, affectionate smirk.
"You're looking at me like... I don't know. Like I hung the stars or something." Max rolled her eyes, though she couldn't hide the faint flush creeping up her neck. "It's weird. I look like a mess."
Lucas let out a quiet, breathless laugh, reaching over to pull the quilt back down so he could see her face properly. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek, then another to the tip of her freckled nose, and finally down to her lips. It started as a quick kiss, but Lucas deepened it lingeringly, his mouth warm and full of an unhurried, quiet devotion that made Max melt completely against him, all her lingering tension dissolving.
When he finally pulled back just an inch, his forehead rested against hers, his dark eyes shining and completely unguarded.
"I'm looking at you like that because I love you," Lucas said softly, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone. "Messy hair, morning sickness, and all."
Max blinked, her breath catching slightly at the simple, unshakeable truth in his voice. A warm, helpless smile broke across her face, melting away the very last bit of her fatigue. She let out a soft laugh, reaching up to wrap her arms tightly around his neck, pulling him down until her face was tucked comfortably into the warm crook of his shoulder.
Lucas wrapped his broad arms tightly around her, burying his face in her copper hair and holding her flush against his chest.
"Stay right here," Max whispered into his neck, her fingers lacing into the soft hair at the back of his head. "Don't move for at least another hour."
"Not going anywhere," Lucas promised quietly, pressing a tender kiss into her hair. "I've got all the time in the world."
He shifted his weight slightly to make sure she was completely supported, his hand settling back over her waist, holding her close as the pale morning sun slowly turned the bedroom gold.