[For some background on this story, please feel free to read I've Been Dreaming of a Future that Looks like Our Past, but it's not totally necessary.]

A/N: I have left this life and been reincarnated... As #joscartrash. I would say I'm ashamed, but honestly I'm not. I adore them so, so much, and this might be my favorite thing I've written in a really long time. So please enjoy! :D

When he finally made it home from the airport, it was well after one in the morning, and he was so exhausted that he hardly made it up the two flights to their apartment. After he stepped inside, he left his bags by the door, not wanting to carry them all the way to his bedroom, and took off his coat and boots. He knew Jane would be asleep by now, and Anthony put to bed long ago, and he didn't want to make any noise that would wake either of them unnecessarily. As quietly as he could, he headed towards the back of their apartment, moving through the dark, familiar space as easily as if it were lit. And for once, there were no toys to trip over. A rare blessing.

Their bedroom was dark when he opened the door, but Jane had left the shades partially open, and so he could just make out her dim shape beneath the covers, lying curled on her side. He smiled a little at the dark mess of hair obscuring her face as he stripped out of his travel clothes and pulled on a pair of shorts to sleep in. He eased into bed carefully, trying not to wake her, taking his customary spot on the right side. He watched her back for a moment—she was curled away from him, towards the window—and he smiled. It was good to be home, finally. Even if it had taken all day to get here. He bent forward, pressing as quick a kiss as he could manage to her shoulder—which, after a week apart, was not very quick—but she didn't wake at the touch, and that was all that mattered. He lay back and closed his eyes in deep contentment. He could already feel sleep coming when—

"You said you'd be home for dinner, Oscar."

He opened his eyes, trading one dark for the other. He was not surprised she was awake. After all these years together, he had learned to be caught off-guard by her.

"I know I did," murmured, turning to her. Her back was still to him. He reached out, brushing a few fingers along the knobby line of her spine, hidden beneath the thin fabric of an old tank top. "I'm sorry. The flight got cancelled, I called—"

"Ant missed you during dinner."

He closed his eyes again. He hated hearing that, hated the reality of it. Hated that even if it wasn't actually his fault he wasn't here, it was still his fault. His fault for leaving. His fault for not being back on time. "I'm sorry," he whispered, an edge of pleading entering his voice now. "I tried, but there were no other—"

"And I missed you after dinner."

He blinked at the change in conversation, and felt the guilt melt away as a smile spread over his face. Suddenly feeling a bit more awake than exhausted, he scooted towards her beneath the covers. Wrapping an arm around her middle, he tugged her back against him. "Missed me, did you?" he whispered in her ear, pressing a warm kiss to her neck. "Hm?"

He felt her shiver beneath him with satisfaction, and he was about to roll her over onto her back, when his fingers brushed against something else.

"Hey now," he pretended to complain, even as his smile widened to joyous proportions. "There's an interloper in my bed. What's this kid doing here?"

Jane smiled, looking down at the little boy nestled into her chest and stomach, fast asleep. She turned to her husband, pressing a kiss to his cheek. She squeezed his arm. "He got worried you were never going to come home. He wanted to be here in case you did."

Oscar closed his eyes. "Aw, Jesus, Jane..."

"It's okay," she whispered, cupping the side of his face. "I told him you'd be back. I told him you always come back."

He ducked his head in gratitude, and kissed her gently on the lips. "Thank you," he whispered against her mouth. "Thank you."

She was smiling and her eyes were bright when she pulled back. She ran a hand through his travel-messy hair, brushing it into some semblance of order. She could tell from the way it stuck up in odd places that he'd been tugging on it during the day, trapping it in furious, helpless fists. She patted it down gently with a smile. Then she let her hand slide around his neck, and drift down his bare chest.

"How thankful are you?" she asked softly. Her hand lowered, and her head dipped closer. "It's been a week," she breathed against his jaw, trailing kisses against the hard line of bone, loving the scratch of the six days' growth that had appeared there during his absence. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you too," he murmured back, tilting his head to recapture her lips with his. When he twisted a hand in her hair, he felt a moan vibrate from her lips to his, and he pulled her closer. "So much," he breathed, breaking their kiss to latch his mouth onto the thin skin of her neck, and the birds tattooed there. "More than you can imagine..."

"Good." There was a hint of self-satisfied mischief in her voice, and it made him look up. She was scheming; he could see it. She smiled, though, and kissed him quick on the lips. "Stay here, then. I'll put Ant to bed."

She started to sit up, to reach for their sleeping son, but he held her back.

"Let me. Please?"

She nodded at once, letting go, and watched as he got out of bed and came around the room. Just as he neared, Jane gently shook their three-year-old awake. The boy mumbled tiredly, his little eyes blinking awake to the sight of his mother's face.

"Anthony," she whispered, brushing his brown hair away and kissing his forehead. "Wake up, sweetheart. There's somebody here to see you. Somebody special, who came from a really far ways away, just to say goodnight."

Groggy, it took the little boy a moment to come back to earth. He focused on his mother first, squinting in the dark, trying to put the pieces together. When she pointed and whispered, Look there, he turned his head, and then he all but launched himself into the arms of the man crouched beside the bed.

"Papa!"

"Hey, Ant," Oscar smiled, catching his son easily as he flew through the air. "I've missed you, bud. How're you doing? How was your week?"

The boy didn't say anything, simply wrapped his arms tight around his father's neck, and hugged him close. Oscar caught Jane's eye and smiled over their son's little shoulder, mouthing Be right back, as he hoisted him up into his arms and then got to his feet. "I heard you missed me, hm?" Oscar murmured, heading to the door. "But I bet you had lots of fun with Mama while I was gone, right?"

Against his chest, he could feel his son nod. The boy's grip—surprisingly strong for such a young kid—didn't loosen as they left the bedroom. In the dark, Oscar headed down the hallway, towards Anthony's room on the other side of the apartment. He was just opening the door when the little voice buried into his chest spoke.

"Mama said your plane couldn't fly."

Oscar nodded, picking his way carefully through his son's room. He'd found all the scattered toys he'd missed earlier, and he did his best not to trip over any of them on his way across the room. "Mama was right," he said slowly, focusing on making his way through the minefield in the dark without falling. "My plane couldn't get off the ground. There was too much snow in Chicago."

"It was buried?"

He smiled, "For a bit, actually, yes. But then they cleaned it off, and it got in the air, and I flew home."

"Even with the snow?"

"Mm-hm," Oscar murmured, pulling back the sheets of his son's little bed with one hand, and cradling him close with the other. "Even with the snow," he confirmed, laying the boy down in his bed. He crouched by the side of it after Anthony had been settled, and reached out to touch a couple fingers to his son's little cheek. The boy's eyes were already closing, but Oscar smiled anyway. He'd missed this the last six days: the simple pleasure of putting his son to bed, of watching him drift off in peace and security. Oscar pressed a kiss to the crown of his son's head. "Night, Anthony," he whispered. "I love you, kid."

The boy was already too far gone to reply, but that was fine. Oscar watched him for a moment more, watched him breathe and exist and live, and then he finally got to his feet. He crossed the toy-strewn room carefully, and paused one last time at the door for a final look at his son, a final moment of thanks. Then he shut the door, and stepped out into the hall.

Jane was sitting up in bed, waiting, when he came back in. She had her knees pulled to her chest, and her hands wrapped loosely around them. He smiled when he saw her cheek resting on her knees; she looked tired, and he felt a rush of gratitude that she'd stayed up for him. He knew this last week, being a single parent while also working full-time, must not have been easy.

"You didn't have to wake him for me, you know," Oscar said, closing the door behind himself. "I could've carried him back asleep."

"I know," Jane nodded. "But I wanted to. I wanted to see his face when you appeared out of nowhere," she confessed, cracking a smile, and he grinned back. He made his way to bed, and slid in beside her beneath the sheets. "He loves you so much, you know," Jane whispered, looking over at her husband. "He missed you like crazy while you were gone."

Oscar smiled a little at the hoarseness in her voice, and came up to sit beside her. "Well, I'd hope so," he joked, trying for levity. "After all, he is my kid—" his eyes cut to her, his voice lowering "—unless we need to have some sort of talk?"

It worked: she laughed a little, and leaned into him. "No talk," she whispered, resting her head against his shoulder. "That boy is all yours, head to toe." He smiled, and pressed a kiss to her hair. Then her forehead, then her lips. The last kiss deepened, and she turned to him as it did, moving into his lap as he spread his legs to make room for her. She tangled a hand in his hair to hold him to her—as if he would ever want to pull away—and pushed herself against him.

"I've missed you like crazy too," she whispered, trailing her other hand down his abdomen. He groaned, low in her ear, when she slipped a hand beneath his shorts and touched him. "Really missed you," she whispered, tightening her grip as he swore, and rose automatically into her touch.

"Jane..."

He watched, able to do little more than lie there and shake beneath her, as she touched him and trailed kisses down his chest. He swore again as she began tracing the definition of his abdominal muscles with her tongue.

"Christ, baby..." He tipped his head back, letting it smack against the headboard behind him, but hardly even noticing the pain. His eyes flickered closed. "Jane..." He lost himself in her touch until he felt her go too far, until he felt her pull his shorts away and duck down...

"Hey." He put his hands on her shoulders, pulling her up. "No, no, no... Not tonight. I was the one that was late. Let me—"

"Don't care," she whispered quickly, "I want you," but he pushed her gently away, and onto her back away, letting her slim body fall back against the mattress. She sighed at the soft impact, watching as he moved to kneel above her. She reached out, cupping the backs of his thighs with a smile as he situated himself over her waist.

"Hi," she whispered, looking up at him.

He smiled, touching her hands with his. "Hi," he whispered back. He bent low over her, supporting himself with one arm as he kissed her slow and deep on the lips. "I'm sorry the flight got cancelled," he murmured between kisses, "I'm sorry I was late and missed dinner. I'm sorry—"

She slid a hand up between their mouths, blocking them from touching, and him from talking.

"Shh," she whispered. "You're here now." She tipped her head back to look him in the eye. "And I'm happy your plane landed safely, no matter how late it was."

"Me too," he mumbled against her hand. "But can I say sorry for one more thing?" His hands drifted down her sides, and she smiled with anticipation as he played with the hem of her tank top.

"One more thing," she allowed.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here to be with you after dinner."

She smiled, lifting herself up off the mattress as he pushed her tank top up. "It's still after dinner," she reminded him, grabbing the rest of the shirt, pulling it over her head, and tossing it to the floor.

He fell back to her, pressing a hard kiss to her mouth as her arms wrapped around his back. He could feel the power there, the desperation, in the way she held him, and he pressed himself closer, kissed her deeper. No matter how many times he left and came home, or how many times she left and came home, the return was always like this: heightened by bone-deep relief of seeing the other still alive, regardless if they'd been apart for a weekend or a week and a half. The old scars never quite did disappear, and despite all the years that had passed, neither of them forgot how lonely it had been, before, when they had been without the other.

She mumbled softly in protest when he pulled his lips from hers, and began trailing kisses down her chest, but when his hands started tugging at her pajama bottoms and underwear, she fell silent save for a soft sigh. She lifted her hips, and he pulled the rest of her clothes off, and then he ducked down between her bare legs, faster than she could remember, or even comprehend.

"Oh, God..." She moaned, arching her hips up from the bed when he touched her for the first time in a week as if it were for the first time ever.

He smiled, easily fitting a finger inside her, and brushing his thumb through her warm, wet arousal with pride. "You have missed me," he whispered, as if it were a revelation. As if she could've been lying.

"Of course I've missed you," she replied, tipping her head forward to catch his eye from where she laid spread out before him. There was a flash of mischief in her green eyes again; he caught a glimpse of it sparking through the dark. "I mean come on, it's been six days you've left me to my own devices."

"Your own devices, huh?" He grinned, his head peeking out from between her thighs as he ran a hand up her side. "And what devices would those be, dear?"

She smiled, lying back. "Make up for your absence, and maybe I'll tell you."

"Maybe you'll show me."

"Ha!" She laughed. "If you're lucky."

"Oh, I am. I'm very, very lucky," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her leg before ducking back down and letting his tongue join his fingers in the quest to do as she asked, and get what they both wanted. She moaned at the touch, her whole body rising to him as he lapped his tongue at her wetness and stroked his fingers inside her. He went slow, moving at a pace that he knew was infuriating for the sole reason that he needed to: it had been six days, and he was not going to rush this like they were out of time. He would not act like that with her anymore.

Still, her hands gripped his shoulders and her nails dug in and her legs did their best to drag him closer, as if they only had moments before it would be over. Even as she tried her best to undermine him, he smiled at her efforts, and rewarded her—a sharper thrust there, a harder suck here. When he circled her clit with his tongue and applied pressure, she cried out loud, her whole body arching up as if she were coming—though they both knew she wasn't there yet.

"Hush," he whispered in warning, though he was grinning, and his eyes were bright from where they hid between her thighs. "Don't wake the little one, now."

"He'll—Oh!—He'll be fine. He's slept through louder."

"He certainly has." Oscar's warm chuckle between her legs sent her writhing, and earned him a sharp dig in the side with her foot.

He took it in stride, and paid her back by burying his face between her legs, and driving her so far and fast to the edge that she was panting in seconds—only to feel him pull away the moment she was about to tip over the edge. She clenched her thighs, both in an effort alleviate the stress he was putting on her, and to trap him there. Her eyes stared down at him—You're not getting out of this, they promised—and he pressed a few soft kisses to the length of her vagina. As if they had only just started. As if she were a virgin, and a scared one at that.

"Don't do this to me," she growled, panting, pushing her hips hard into his face. "Enough with the teasing, Oscar, please. Make me come. It's been a week, I need—"

"It has been a week," he agreed calmly. A smile spread across his face as he propped his chin up atop one of her thighs, the picture of repose. "And if I want to take my time and savor what I've missed, I'm gonna take my time and savor it. Understand?"

Her eyes narrowed. "I hate you," she bit out, kicking his steely side a little harder than necessary. "I really hate you."

He chuckled. "Yeah, keep telling yourself that." He dipped a hand between her thighs and drew a glistening trail of desire up the middle of her body, from her stomach to the rise of her chest. "I'll just leave the evidence to the contrary right here, all right?"

"Oh, fuck me," she breathed, her breasts heaving as she watched.

He smiled, caught her eye: "Soon. I promise."

Then he ducked his head between her legs, and for a while, all she could do was watch the mess of hair atop his head bob and shift as he lapped at her and teased and sucked and pushed. He went deep and slow and fast and hard, varying it every couple seconds to keep her forever on the edge of being satisfied.

Finally, when he got her to the point where she was nothing more than a whimpering, gasping body desperate for release, he allowed it. He pushed his fingers inside her one last time, twisted his tongue around her clit, and listened with utmost satisfaction to the cry she gave off, and the way she broke apart and flooded his mouth and hand. He closed his eyes, holding on hard to her hips as she spasmed, doing his best to capture every drop, to drink in all that he had missed in the last six days. He could feel her rocking beneath him, could hear her whimpering and mumbling, and he had visions of what it had been like, when he'd been gone. How she had touched herself, thinking of him. How she had imagined herself, lying beneath him like this, or on top of him, or beside him.

He lost himself so deep in his own fantasies of her fantasies that it wasn't until she pulled on his ear that he looked up.

"Hm?" He felt groggy, drugged, even though he wasn't the one that had just had an orgasm.

She smiled, running a finger along the delicate curve of his ear. "I just wanted to say I love you," she whispered. She was still breathing hard—and her face was so beautifully flushed from the exertion—and he smiled. Out of all the I love yous, this was always the best: her, in the aftermath of his touch.

"Love you too," he whispered back. He pressed a kiss to the tops of either of her thighs, listening to the soft whimper she gave off as he crawled his way up her body. She was sensitive, he knew, so soon after coming. Nonetheless, he pressed himself against her, just so she could feel.

Her eyes closed, and she moaned softly at the rigid touch against her stomach.

"Oh, I've missed you," she whispered into the air between them. "I want you."

He grinned, and kissed her on the mouth. "You'll have me. When you can breathe properly again, that is."

She pinched him on the shoulder for that, and he retaliated by pulling her close for a kiss. She allowed it, turning on her side so they could face one another. She wrapped one arm around his back, keeping him close, and trailed another down his naked chest. She liked the damp sheen of sweat she could feel there. She loved how much effort he put into her pleasure, as if every time was the first time all over again, and he wanted—needed—to prove himself worthy and loyal.

"You must be tired," she whispered when their lips parted. "From the trip, I mean," she added with a chuckle, lest he think she were implying something else. She touched his chin gently. "I'm sorry you were stranded out there all day."

He shook his head. "It's okay. Nothing to worry about now." He brushed some hair out of her face, and bent to kiss her gently. "As for being tired…" He ran a hand down her side, and around the curve of her ass. She started a moment when he hitched her leg up around his hip. "I'm not too tired, no." He pulled back to smile at her, to kiss her nose, her forehead, her hairline. "What about you?" he murmured. "Have enough left in you to welcome your travel-weary husband home?"

She smiled and nodded, taking his chin in her hand to pull him close for a kiss. "Always," she whispered against his lips. He kissed her back slowly, and maneuvered her until she was lying down again, and looking up at him. She watched his face as he took off his shorts and readied himself, and slipped in between her spread legs.

Her eyes closed as he entered her, and his whispers of Look at me fell on momentarily deaf ears. He waited, sheathed inside her, until she had adjusted and looked up. A slow smile spread over his tired face at the sight of her, and she smiled back. He bent down, kissing her on each cheek, on her forehead, on her nose.

"I love you, Jane," he whispered, finally letting their mouths touch.

She mumbled the words back, and when she hooked a hand around his ribcage, and another in his hair, he took his cue to start up. He withdrew and returned, setting a slow, leisurely pace that he knew they both needed. Her earlier impatience had died out with her arousal, and his exhaustion was coming back. This would be slow and steady, not so much a momentous homecoming as an ordinary one. Slow, easy, simple: all things he had never dared to hope for in this life with her. And all things he had somehow gotten.

Though he tried to whisper his love for her as they moved together, she stole his breath and he hardly managed more than a couple words. But she spoke enough for the two of them. Whenever their lips parted, she was whispering his name. She told him how she'd missed him; how she had thought of him constantly in his absence; how she had looked at their baby and been grateful to see the traces of himself he left with her every day.

They were not sad words she was telling him, but they tugged at him nonetheless, and he found himself kissing her more and more, pushing into her more and more, simply to bring them to the end. To remind her that he was here with her, and always would be—that their son was not the only piece of him she had.

He bent down close to her, his thrusts growing faster and more unruly the nearer they got to the end. He could feel her with him, could feel her next orgasm just waiting to trigger his.

"Oscar," she whispered. Her voice broke through his concentration, and he could hear the pleading there, and he did his best to keep going, to get them to the end, to give her what he knew she needed. "Oscar," she whispered again, her voice firmer now. Her nails were digging into his shoulders.

"I know," he gritted out. He was so close—she was too, he could feel it—and all it would take was a few more thrusts and then they'd be gone, spinning, mindless.

"Oscar, I—"

He was so close. They were so close. One more second. He needed to focus. "Jane, just—"

"I want to have another baby."

Everything stopped.

Like a switch had been flicked, or a plug pulled, he froze inside her. His hands went numb around her. His brain stopped working. All he could feel was the pounding of his heart in his chest—somehow so much louder, now, than it had been a moment ago—and the trickle of sweat falling from his forehead down the side of his face. It was going to run into his eye, he knew, but he couldn't move to push it aside. He couldn't do anything.

She was breathing hard beneath him, her chest rising and falling rapidly, and for a second, he could see nothing but her in labor all those years ago: her panting, her stomach so big and round, her legs propped up and spread to deliver, her face red and sweat drenched, her voice calling frantically for him, her hands reaching for him...

"Y—You want—You—"

He swallowed, tried to clear his airway, but he couldn't get the words out. He couldn't think. He could hardly even feel. He knew he was inside her still; he knew that he was—or had been—seconds away from orgasming, but there was nothing now. Nothing but her looking at him, and those six words she had just said.

Her chin shook when she tried to smile. Her fingers trembled when they reached for his face. But she said it again.

"I want to have another baby with you."

He closed his eyes.

"I want us to make another child," she whispered. She brushed the sweat away from his eyes, and combed some of his hair behind his ears. "I love you," she whispered, leaning up to press a kiss to his forehead. "And I want to carry your baby again. Please." She bit her lip, pulling back. His eyes were still closed. "Oscar?" she whispered nervously. "Are you listening? What... What do you say?"

"What do I say..." He shook his head, a smile breaking open across his face as he opened his eyes and looked at her. "What do I say? What do you think I'm going to say?"

She grinned, wrapping her arms around him and hugging him tight, so tight he groaned, but still she didn't let go.

"Oh, I love you," she whispered in his ear, digging her hands into his back. "I love you so much. Thank you. Thank you."

He pressed kisses to her neck, her shoulder, her throat—any part of her that he could reach. "I love you too," he whispered back. "Always. Forever."

She smiled, burying her face in his neck. "I like the sound of that," she whispered. Then she pulled back, and kissed him, laid back down against the mattress. He took the cue, and after kissing her one last time, he began to move again within her. He tried to be slow, tried to make it last, but they were both already so far gone that it only took seconds to break apart.

When she came, he muffled her cry and his own by joining their mouths, fusing every part of them together as they shook and collapsed into one another, boneless and overwhelmed.

She gave off a soft cry when he fell down onto her afterwards, but he knew better than to roll off. She had always liked the weight of him, the delicious way it crushed her after they made love in this position, as if they really were molding their bodies into one.

He pressed his face into her hair as he lay atop her, inhaling the smell of her shampoo and her sweat and her desire. He loved the mix of them, in the room, after a night like this. He loved how the physical proof of their love became a cloud around them, cocooning them together. He loved her—plain and simple. But more than that, he loved how she loved him back.

I want to have another baby, she had said. I want us to make another child.

Still, minutes later, the words sent a tremor through him. They made his heart pound. They made him wish he could make love with her again, immediately.

As it was, he couldn't, so he did the next best thing. He rolled onto his side, pulled her with him, and lay there holding her. She groaned softly at the change in position—and loudly when he pulled out—but she nestled into him anyway. He bent down, kissing her shoulder, and rubbing a hand over her back. Finally, when his mind was clear and he couldn't wait any longer, he asked:

"Why now?"

"Hm?" She stirred in his arms, rubbing her nose against his chest. "Why now what?"

"Why do you want to have another baby now? Not that I'm saying I don't want that too," he hurried to say when she looked up. "But I'm just curious." He reached out a hand to tuck some of her stray hair behind her ear. "Is it only because I was gone so long? Because you know I can travel less if—"

She shook her head. "That's not it, Oscar."

He looked at her, waiting to hear what it was.

She sighed. "To tell you the truth, I... I've been trying to find a way to talk to you about this for months. I've been trying to find the right opportunity, the right moment, but there was never a good time..." She looked away.

"There doesn't need to be a good time." He reached out a hand to cup her cheek. "Oh, Jane, you could've come to me with this any day; it wouldn't have mattered. I would've always said yes. Of course I would've said yes. We could've—hell, we could've been in a fight, and if you'd said the words, 'I want to have another baby,' I would've dropped my argument and once and begged, Please, let's." He bent closer, until she had no choice but to meet his eyes. "Jane, come on. You have to know this."

She nodded. "Part of me does," she agreed. "But part of me..." She shrugged weakly. "What can I say? I already have so much from you. I've already asked for so much from you, taken so much, and you've given me everything, everything, and—"

"—and I will continue to give you everything, just as you give to me," he interrupted. "Come on," he chided. "This is how we work, you know that. It isn't about taking and giving, it's about the two of us together." He tipped his head at their bedroom door. "It's about that kid down the hall." He smiled, "It's about whatever other kids end up being down the hall."

She looked up, a smile tugging on the corners of her lips. "Yeah?" she whispered. "So let's... Let's try, then?"

He nodded, and bent to touch his lips to hers. "Let's try then."

She took his face in her hands and held him still. He could tell from the rigid way she held herself how badly she wanted to kiss him, but she held back and stared at him. After a second, she whispered, "I am so happy it's you I'm married to," and then, before he could so much as breathe, let alone return the words in kind, she had surged forward and taken his mouth with hers.

He smiled when she rolled him over, rolled him onto his back so that she was kneeling astride him, and then he lifted his hands to cop her hips.

"I think I should leave for long trips more often," he mused against her hungry mouth. "If this is what it gets me when I come home, I might leave for months at a time."

She nipped at his lips, voicing her disapproval for such a plan, and he hugged her close, trapping her within the confines of arms as he lifted himself up into a sitting position. She fell back into his lap, being careful to put her weight in her knees and shins so as not to crush his thighs. They kissed for a few minutes, running their hands over one another, becoming reacquainted as if after a year away.

"Any particular reason?" he asked finally, as their kisses started to deteriorate and they migrated back to laying down by the head of the bed. He took her left hand in his, pressing kisses to her ring finger. She knew what he was asking after, but she waited for him to say the question aloud: "Any particular reason you told me tonight, that you wanted to have a baby?"

She shrugged, yawning. "You finally came home."

"Mm, that I did." He kissed her cheek. "But I'm still curious… If it hadn't been tonight, what would've happened?" His eyes brightened. "Did you have a whole plan? A speech prepared? Candles and a nice dinner?"

She rolled her eyes. "What am I, a Lifetime movie?"

He laughed at the reference; she'd gotten good in the last few years. It wasn't often that she missed one these days.

"No, to answer your many questions," she replied with a smile, brushing her knuckles against his chin as they lay before one another. "I didn't have a plan or a speech or a nice dinner prepared."

He pretended to pout. "Not even candles?"

She shook her head. "Not even candles." She paused a moment, a smile flicking on the edges of her mouth. "If I did, though…"

He leaned forward, intrigued. "If you did?" he pressed.

"Well, it wouldn't be good," she warned him, "so shoo away all the romantic ideas you might have." She thought for a second. "You know, I would like to be able to say that I would've said something about wanting to give Ant a brother or sister, or wanting to give you another child, but..." She caught his eye. "But those would be lies," she whispered.

"How so?"

"Because the truth is, I'm just being selfish again."

He smiled. "Oh, I highly doubt that," he replied. She was the least selfish person he could think of, both in her previous life and in this new one.

"Well..." A smile played on her lips. Her cheeks grew a little redder.

"What?" he pushed, interested now. After all these years, it was rare he ever got to see her blush about anything. When she didn't answer, he tickled her side, listening to her burst with laughter. "Tell me!" he demanded.

"Stop!" She cackled at the strategy, pushing him away, before locking his hands with hers so he couldn't touch. Then she met his eyes. She held them for a long moment before she answered.

"I'm being selfish because..." Her grip loosened, and she threaded their fingers together. "Because I want to feel you inside me all the time."

He closed his eyes, blew out a breath. "Jesus. If I'd needed to come again, that would've done it..."

She smiled. "You will." She ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it where it was already ruffled. "We still have to make this baby, remember. And if I've heard right, it takes lots of trial and error."

He grinned, snaking an arm around her neck to pull her close for a kiss. "Lots and lots."

"Morning and evening."

"Afternoon, too."

"In the shower."

"The laundry room."

"Mm, the kitchen."

"Ooh." He grinned. "Floor or counter?"

She caught his eye. "Why choose?"

He laughed and let her go, leaning over to press a kiss to her shoulder. "How old are we again?"

She smiled, hugging him to her with one arm. "Um, by my last count, thirty-six," she said, pointing to him, "and thirty-eight," she added, pointing to herself.

"I feel like I'm twenty years old, being married to you."

She laughed. "Oh right, except when you have to, I don't know... Do taxes or talk with the insurance company or be a father to your son..."

"Wait—" He pulled away, feigning surprise. "—I have a son? Since when?"

She flicked him in the chest, rolling her eyes. A moment later, she settled back into him. She sighed when he wrapped his arms around her middle, and tipped her head to the side when he lowered his chin to her neck. He kissed her there, slow and soft, for a couple minutes before speaking.

"You know," he murmured, "if we're going to be having sex this much to make this baby, I think we'll need to find a more permanent nanny. Better yet, maybe you and I could take a vacation."

"A sex vacation?" Jane laughed. "Oh, that sounds very responsible."

"Just one week of irresponsibility." He smiled, turning to her. "Come on, we could do it. Take off work, go wherever you want, spend a couple hundred hours in bed..."

"Conveniently just leave our three-year-old behind, for certainly he's big enough to fend for himself now, isn't he?"

Oscar waved a hand. "Oh, Patterson will take the ant. No questions asked. You know how she's always scheming to steal that kid for her own."

Jane grinned, laughing again in his arms, because it was true. They could do exactly that. Take a week off of work, ask Patterson to do a favor that was more like heaven to her, and just disappear, the two of them, to spend a week trying to make another baby.

It sounded perfect—just not the kind of perfect she wanted.

"I want it to be here, though," she whispered, turning to her husband. She rubbed a hand against the side of his leg. "I don't want us to go and fly off somewhere we've never been to make a baby, I want to do it at home." She rubbed her hand against their mattress. "Here."

He pretended to pout. "Aw, really? Not on the kitchen floor?"

Jane chuckled, tipping her head against his chest. "Well, I didn't say that..."

"Mm, good." He kissed the crown of her head. "You can still be part of my breakfast tomorrow morning then, excellent."

There was a half-second of silence in which nothing was said—and then she burst out laughing, curling into him, her naked body shaking with mirth against his. He chuckled, too, and ducked his head into her neck.

"Promise me something," he whispered.

"Anything," she replied, still grinning, sliding up a hand to cup the back of his neck.

"Make sure you tell me when I get too old to be saying shit like that, okay?"

She chuckled, pressing a kiss to his lips. "Never."

A/N: Wow. Have you died from all the sap yet? I think I have. Anyway, if you have thoughts, hit me upppp. :)