Disclaimer: I don't own American Horror Story or any of its characters.

Spoilers: None, yet. Later chapters will spoil S2E5 with slight differences.

"Tell me about it one more time."

The corners of Lana's mouth turned upward into a smirk as the tips of her fingers played over the other girl's hair, curling it gently as she spoke. She pressed her cheek against the top of Wendy's warm forehead, her eyelashes fluttering against flushed skin.

"Darling, I've told you a million times," she smiled in spite of herself.

"And I want to hear it a million more," came the soft reply, voice tinted with just a hint of coarseness. Her eyes darted up in the dim light of the room to catch Lana's gaze. Her lips moved in a silent plea.

"Okay," Lana sighed quietly, adjusting her position in her-their-bed before brushing a gentle kiss against the top of Wendy's head. "One more time tonight, then you've got to get some sleep so you'll feel better. I know you want to get back to work and you can't do that as long as you're sick." She peered adoringly down at her lover before clearing her throat.

"There will be a small white picket fence upon pulling up to the curb. It will run the length of the front yard and around to the back. The walkway to the front porch will be lined with flowers, and there will be-"

"What kind of flowers?" Wendy interrupted, her eyes fluttering open with the question.

"What kind of flowers do you want?" Lana posed, curling her fingertips into Wendy's palm.

"I'm thinking peonies," she responded quietly, "pink, purple and white. Maybe some hydrangeas in the flower bed just in front of the porch. Would you like that?"

Lana nodded, "I would. With your touch they'd blossom and grow all summer. On the front porch there would be a two seated swing. For those nights when it's not too cold and not too hot. We would sit there and watch the sun go down."

Wendy listened quietly before turning her chin up towards Lana's gaze. "Tell me about the children."

A knot formed in Lana's throat, and she brought a smile to her lips. She blinked several times before finding her voice.

"There will be two of them," she added softly, gently scratching her fingernails along the soft skin on Wendy's arm. "Do you remember the names we talked about?"

Wendy nodded, moving her face into Lana's hold. "Elizabeth Christine and Charles Edward. I remember."

"Yes," Lana found it difficult to speak suddenly, "Elizabeth would come first. Beth. You could carry her. She would have dark eyes and hair, and your crooked little grin. She would love painting, and horseback riding. She would always bring home some kind of animal that she would ask to keep and take care of. She would grow up wanting to be a veterenarian."

Lana could feel Wendy's smile press against her. "Tell me about Charles."

"Baby Charlie," Lana spoke softly, "The same dark hair and dark eyes as his older sister. Charlie would have a heart of gold. A heart that never stopped loving or accepting. His passion would be in adventuring. He would build treehouses in that old oak in the backyard. He would go on pretend treasure hunts and come home with some old junk that he would swear would be worth something one day. In spite of his love of travel, I think he would realize that his true calling was to help other people. He might grow up to be a doctor. Maybe a teacher, like his mother."

"One of his mothers," Wendy added quietly, her voice low. "I think I'd want to be called Mommy. And you could be Mama. Would that be all right?"

Lana swallowed hard, clenching her teeth together before she spoke. "That would be wonderful, darling."

Wendy settled against her, eyes closed and breathing steady. Lana's fingers continued to stroke her lover's hair, skin, face. She loved these quiet, intimate moments between them that weren't initiated by lust or arousal, just a need to be as close to the other as humanly possible. There were no words between them for several moments and Lana took the opportunity to blink away the moisture forming in her eyes. As much as she loved these soft, private discussions, she also resented them. Wendy was such a dreamer. Working with eight-year-olds on a daily basis did that to a person. When she wanted something, she dreamed about it and wished for it with all her heart while holding onto the childish belief that it was possible so long as you wanted it enough. In her mind, Wendy lived in a world of crayola skies and wishes-upon-a-star. She was just waiting for the world to catch up with her.

Lana was more of a realist. In her job as a journalist, she saw the real world on a daily basis. She knew how cruel the world could be, or how cruel the world was, especially to people who didn't fall into the accepted stereotypes of society. She knew in her heart that there would never be a white picket fence, that Elizabeth Christine and Charles Edward would never exist. They were just stories whispered between the two of them, dreams that Lana knew would never come true. There would never be a house full of children that the two of them had raised together, as a family. Society would never allow it, or accept it. All there could be was the two of them, and that was only if they managed to keep their love hidden behind closed blinds and locked doors, their words of passion whispered and only when they were alone.

Upon feeling the full weight of her partner upon her, she recognized the sounds of Wendy's quiet breath as she slept. There was little more than a soft grunt from the woman as Lana shifted out from under her, stepped onto the bedroom floor and adjusted the sheets back around her girlfriend. Slipping into a silk robe and closing the bedroom door behind her, she slipped down the hallway and into the sitting room. Lana grabbed a pencil and her pad of paper from her purse and slid onto the couch. She reached for a cigarette and lit it, taking a long drag before finally opening the notepad.

"Hot fucking Mulled Cider," she grumbled, her eyes scanning over the scant recipe that her editor had placed her in charge of preparing for the paper tomorrow. "Who gives a shit about Hot Mulled Cider? No one, that's who." Sighing, she shut the notepad, sending it sliding across the couch where it came to a rest. She pulled her legs up beneath her on the couch, took another long drag of her cigarette and reached behind her, fiddling with the radio knob until the static disappeared and the sound of nightly news began to filter through to her living room.

"...reportedly have taken the killer into custody. He is currently being held at Briarcliff Mental Institution pending psychological tests that will determine his placement of correctional facility. Kit Walker, reportedly going by the moniker Bloody Face, has been accused of murdering several women, including his own wife, Alma Walker. Walker was apprehended earlier this evening by state police who found him in a state of confusion and dysphoria. Upon arrest, Walker claimed that he and his wife had been abducted by extraterrestrials..."

Lana tilted her head, straightening her posture as the newscast went on. She had heard of this man, this Bloody Face. Of course it was just a crude nickname that the media had given the murderer on account of the disturbing mask he reportedly wore. Crude nickname or not, however, the murders and word of his capture were huge news. News that she absolutely knew she needed to be involved in. If she could convince her editor to let her cover his capture, there would be no doubt that she'd be on her way to a Pulitzer. Time, Look, every reputable news magazine would be clamoring to interview her for a spot in their publication. The reporter who had covered the case of the most infamous serial killer on the east coast to date would be a hot item. More importantly, the woman who had covered the case. It would not only open doors for Lana, but for every woman attempting to break into a male dominated society. Aside from that, it would make Wendy proud. She could already visualize the proud grin slipping across her lips. She would wear that green dress to the award ceremony; the one that hugged her hips just so. Lana would have to resist the urge to unzip the back and sneak into the restroom with her all evening.

The newscast went on, but Lana had already stopped listening. She leaned back onto the couch again, taking another long drag of her cigarette before grinding the stub into an ash tray. She felt a smile creeping onto her face and took a deep breath to calm herself. Yes, tomorrow, she would march into her editor's office and demand to cover this story. She had been covering household items for far too long. She was too damn good to waste her talent on recipes and cleaning tips. She would absolutely not take no for an answer.

After tomorrow, she knew that her life would change forever. From now on, things were going to be on her terms.