A/N: Total fluff. All of it. Just because I can! :P Hope you enjoy it! And sorry about the delay!!

Jim knew it would rain all day, because it always rains on his birthday. When he sees the storm clouds rolling in above the houses across the street, he frowns in their general direction even though he's expected them all day. He's been sitting on the porch for about an hour, drinking coffee and trying to solve the Sudoku puzzle in the newspaper, almost successfully ignoring the sounds of construction crews repairing the asphalt on the corner after a water main break the week before. But already, he can feel the humidity rising, and sees it wilting the edges of the newspaper, and it makes him a little sad that it'll be another year before they can afford to build a proper overhang for the porch. Instead of feeling bummed about it, Jim resolves to go down to the Starbucks a few minutes away. It seems like a good enough compromise. Besides, it's his birthday, and with no big plans to celebrate, a nice big latte sounds divine. It won't drive the rain away but at least it will taste great.

He steps inside, tossing the paper onto the table near the door and grabbing his car keys. "Honey, do you want anything from Starbucks?"

"Chai latte, extra sweet," comes the sing-song reply floating down the hallway.

He shouldn't have to ask, he knows her order by now; but he wants to make sure every time in case she wants something different.

Driving back from Starbucks, Jim watches as the clouds chase him. He races into the house, carrying two venti drinks in his hands. As he finally reaches the front step, he can see the dust and dirt kicked up by construction crew being wetted down by the misty rain that has begun to fall. The drops make short work of the dust plumes; in seconds, the air no longer looks sepia-toned from the dirt which has been suspended there since the work began. There's a clarity that makes Jim's eyes hurt, like he's looking at his front street through a too brightly illuminated magnifying glass even though it is as gray and overcast as it could be. He hurries inside and deposits the drinks on the same table as the now-finished Sudoku. She's good, he thinks as he pads down the hallway to where he knows she'll be.

Sure enough, there she is, curled up on her side, half asleep. She's wearing a pair of white linen pants and a blue tank top, no bra, very summery. The window is open and the breeze coming in is cold; he doesn't understand how she could even be close to sleep in such conditions, so he moves to close the window.

"No, honey, don't. I like to hear the rain," she reaches out absently, trying to grab his hand. "Just grab a blanket and come here with us."

He grins and puts her chai on the bedside table next to her before pressing his lips to her temple and then unfolding a quilt from the rocking chair in the corner. "Yes ma'am, Pam."

Pam smiles and closes her eyes again, settling into the pillows. As Jim joins her, he is careful not to wake the sleeping child nestled against Pam's chest. Still, his weight shifts the mattress and the boy stirs, cooing in his sleep and settling back again into his toddler dreams.

"I thought we were going to try and stop him from napping in the afternoon," Jim's voice is barely above a whisper.

Pam just smiles and shrugs, "I guess it's nice to pretend he's still little."

"He is little."

"You know what I mean."

Jim does. He smiles and reaches over to stroke his wife's hand. The boy between them stirs again; Jim wonders if he's replaying their trip to the park that morning in his head, when a friendly dog had come up to them and started to play and at first Jude had been frightened, too frightened to move, but eventually he and the dog called Biscuit were the best of friends. The whole way home, the two-year-old on Jim's shoulders couldn't stop talking about "da biiiig doggie", carrying on quite the conversation despite his limited vocabulary. The more the boy fidgets now, the more Jim is convinced that in his dreams, Jude is still playing catch with a border collie.

Jim is staring at Pam, who is staring at their beautiful baby boy, and neither of them expects it and are shocked into furious fits of laughter as soon as Jude levels a swift, dreamy, totally unintentional kick into his mother's thigh. Pam can't tell whether she should laugh or cry, so she does a little of both. Jim marvels at his son's future soccer abilities before gently scolding the sleeping boy.

"You're such a bully," he whispers with a laugh, "Stop beating up mommy!"

Pam laughs and rubs her thigh, unable to get even remotely mad at her little boy.

Jim leans up on his elbow. "Do you remember when you were pregnant with him, how much he used to kick and move around?"

Pam rolls her eyes, "How could I forget? Jim, I lived through it!"

Jim's eyes widen, "What, and I didn't? Come on, Pam, how many times did you get me up in the middle of the night because he wouldn't let you sleep and you didn't want to be awake all alone?"

Pam pouts and Jim knows that she knows it's his weakness, that face. "He is just a little bully," Pam says, "You should see him when you're at work! He throws his food, his toys, he kicks and runs around like a maniac!" she's grinning now, "I know, psychological warfare. He takes after his daddy."

Jim smirks, "Wait a sec, let me call the Times. I can see the headline now," he runs his hand in front of him, simulating the headline. "'Mom beat up by toddler; Blames father's genetic contribution'. Compelling, Beesly."

Pam is still grinning, "Genetic contribution?" she laughs, "Only you can make the act of conception sound so dull."

"Obviously we need to invite Dwight over more often if you think my sex talk is dull," Jim says.

"You hear Dwight's sex talk a lot?"

Jim shakes his head, tsks a little, and finally stands up beside the bed, "I'm going to move him to his own bed."

"You'll wake him."

"Then I'll sing him back to sleep."

Pam stares back, wide-eyed. "You want to give the kid nightmares?"

He scoops the child up in his arms and narrows his eyes at Pam, "You can be replaced, you know."

Her voice is like honey as it pours from her mouth, and she leans back against the pillows again, still clutching her leg. "You love me too much."

Jim nods and slowly manoeuvres out of the master bedroom and across the hall to the little boy's new room. Cradling Jude in his arms, Jim pulls back the covers and then sets his son down with his head on the pillow, then carefully works his legs under the comforter before drawing it up to his chin. He knows it's too early for bed and too late for a nap, and he knows that real bedtime will be a hassle. But he's on holiday so it's worth it to see Jude sleeping so peacefully.

As he's about to walk away, he hears a tiny voice behind him. Jude is half-awake, rubbing his eyes, "Daddy?"

Jim returns to sit on the edge of the bed, "I'm here."

"Sing."

Jim laughs quietly, "I don't know… ."

"I hearded Mommy say you were gonna sing."

"You hearded Mommy, did you?" Jim asks, "Well now, Mommy doesn't lie, does she?"

Jude shakes his head.

"All right then, you asked for it," Jim says, "What song do you want to hear?"

"My song."

Jim nods and cracks his fingers, "Your song, okay…," he takes a deep breath, "You ready?"

The boy half laughs and Jim smiles, then launches into a whispered version of "Hey Jude", the song Pam and Jim danced to at their wedding and which inspired the name of their firstborn because it was the only song that could get him to stop moving around if they played it through headphones around Pam's swollen belly. Jim is no Paul McCartney, but he performs admirably; by the time he's singing the second verse, Jude's eyes are slits on his round face. Within a moment, the boy is asleep, and Jim is kissing him on the forehead before going back to join Pam in bed.

"I heard you," Pam whispers as Jim crawls in next to her. "Hearded you, rather."

"Did you now?"

"I did."

"What did you think?"

She frowns, "Eh… I wouldn't quit my day job if I were you."

Jim goes into fake shock and mimes being stabbed in the chest. Pam laughs and kisses him, "I love you."

"I love you too."

"Thanks for the chai."

"You're welcome."

"And for saving me from our bully of a son."

"He's just a boy."

Pam has a mischievous look on her face. "Are you saying if he were a girl, he wouldn't do that?"

Jim shrugs, "I don't know many baby girls with whom we could compare violent tendencies."

"Hm," Pam is thoughtful. She takes his hand and interlocks their fingers. "What if we… oh, I don't know… somehow managed to find a baby girl?"

"Then it might be a different story."

"Well there's a fifty-fifty chance with each pregnancy," Pam looks down at their hands, "And I mean… if you took us for example… we already have one boy, so aren't the odds kind of in our favour if we wanted a little girl?"

"I think you missed the stats and probabilities math class, didn't you?" Jim smirks, squeezing her hand, "But it's worth a shot, isn't it?" He leans in and kisses her on the throat, exactly where he knows she likes to be kissed. Her body arches towards his at first, and he wraps his strong arms around her body and pulls her closer; but she giggles, pushing him away.

With a nod, her smile grows. "Nah, we don't need to."

Jim frowns, "Why not?"

"Well you can't get pregnant if you're already pregnant, right?" Pam winks at him, "Or did you miss the sex ed class in high school?"

Jim's eyes widen quickly, and Pam continues to grin. "Happy Birthday, Jim. Welcome to fatherhood, part two."

Jim just smiles and kisses her plumped lips while his hands roam Pam's body, stopping on her stomach. Another baby. Another nine months of planning and coddling and picking out the perfect song to play through Jim's headphones and which could, perhaps, inspire their child's name. Jim smiles at the thought, and kisses Pam again.

Maybe they won't build the overhang next year, Jim thinks. But when he actually stops and listens, over the sound of Pam's breathing and the music to "Hey Jude" playing in his head, he realizes that maybe the rain isn't so bad after all.