Today had been Sasha's day to get pampered by friends and family, but it had been business as usual for Rhys. While she was having gifts of decaf coffee and cleverly arranged diapers bestowed, he was wading through an agenda more crammed than a sardine can. He recalled the last thing he saw on his desk before he packed up for the day: a stack of applications that he continued to put off. Why Atlas couldn't hang onto its janitors for more than three months was beyond him.

Before that, the grand re-opening of Fran's Frogurt would have been a pleasant diversion, except he had to insist to the new Fran once more in person that the flavor he'd suggested in the ECHO-Net survey should be called "Rhys-berry Ball-mond," not "Raspberry Almond." Still, it was a veritable jubilee on his tastebuds. He knew the brave, metallic jazz warrior it honored was smiling down from a better place.

At the start of the day, he had reluctantly agreed to another chat with Shanneth Kyrie for Your Morning Meridian, figuring enough time had passed that the flub in his last interview would be mostly forgotten. That had gone alright at first. Maliwan's and Jakobs' leadership changes had given Atlas a momentary advantage, and the self-made CEO could hardly pass up a chance to talk about that. Then out of left field the bubbly host lobbed, "You've got to end the suspense: when are you going to pop the question to Miss Sasha?" Rhys thought a makeup crew would emerge on camera to cover up the bright red blush.

Since coming to Promethea, he had always tried to keep his business and personal lives separate. Luckily Sasha was a pro at that. When she clocked in as Atlas' Executive Director of Weapons Testing she became another person, just like she had as a con-artist. That had its upsides…when he saw her all day every day, but couldn't hold her in his arms until clock-out, she never stopped being all he wanted.

Of course, there was a downside, too. When she'd vanished just before the Maliwan conflict, he'd lost her twice. First as a loyal Atlas defender he could rely on when Katagawa Jr. started waving bribes and threats around to his people. Second, more deeply, he'd lost her as his soulmate. Bagels and frogurt (no matter how many favorite flavors he claimed) were suddenly just a substitute for her best egg sandwich. The cost of renting out Lazy River Land for his team's Company Day felt less justified if she wouldn't be there sunbathing on a beach chair. Without her, life on Promethea was only half-lived. Getting her back was a miracle. Funny how those seemed to seek her out. Like the watch, and now their unborn son.

He swept the wayward thoughts aside as Sasha kissed his cheek, laid her head on his shoulder, and gave him the okay to read "Chester The Chubby Varkid" aloud. He was so glad she didn't laugh at the idea; she couldn't know how much it meant to him. On this momentous occasion, he could finally stop the internal broken record saying "I'm going to be a father," and start telling himself "I'm a father."

Because for real…the sooner he managed to get his mind around that sentence, the better.

He lolled his head down as much as he could without disturbing Sasha's on his shoulder, as if that would make his voice any clearer to the baby inside her. "Hey…" he began, and then trailed off. They hadn't decided on a name yet, since she had too few ideas for boys' names, and he had too many. (Getting the sex revealed early hadn't sped up that executive decision-making process like he'd hoped.)

'Junior' didn't feel right just now. All these years, and 'Kiddo' still wouldn't roll off his tongue, either.

"Hey, Lil' Bud," he decided. "I'm going to tell you a story now. That's kind of a thing I do. You'll figure that out soon enough."

"Second that," Sasha murmured with a sip of her decaf.

"This one was your mom's favorite." He showed the book to her stomach…and immediately felt her head shift on his shoulder to give him that look. "…I'm holding it up for you currently," he added, "but your mom's so excited to hear it again that she's getting in your way with her big belly."

Sasha gasped sharply and tensed. "Whoa," she breathed, hand on navel. "Rhys. I felt a kick."

"Really?" His stomach did a cartwheel. "Can I feel?"

"Sure." Her foot whumped into his calf.

"D-oof!" He winced. "…You see what I put up with, Bud? Hope you're on my side." He cracked open the book and cleared his throat. "Without further ado, let's begin 'Chester And The Chubby Varkid.' Please hold all questions, burps and thumb sucking until the end of the presentation."

The first page was a splash of browns and blues that took him right back to Pandora…but in the best way possible. In the center was a scattering of green-ish pods with larval varkids coming out. The illustrator had made a noble effort to sell their cuteness, Rhys had to admit.

"Chester and his brothers come out in the sun," he read. "They flap their new wings. Thrum, thrum, thrum."

Sasha made a wistful noise in her throat. "Fiona would roll the R's at that part," she said in a far-off voice. "Thr-r-r-um, thr-r-r-um."

"I stand corrected. 'Thr-r-r-um, thr-r-r-um.'" Rhys flicked his cyber thumb at top of the book to turn the page. His state-of-the-art, red paisley arm boasted the closest-to-life sensitivity now available in cybernetics, including tiny laser cuts in the fingertips to mimic fingerprints. That made page-turning less of a precision exercise, despite his left arm currently occupied by a drowsy Sasha.

The fledgling monstrosities on the page looked overjoyed at their newly discovered power of flight. "They learn to take to the air today…" On the opposite page a coiled, tentacled being laid in wait. "Maybe the threshers would like to play."

This was nice, Rhys thought. He could already see his son a few months from now, a pacifier wedged between his toothless gums, his hazel eyes fixed on Gortys' mobile as they slowly shrank closed, absorbing the dozenth encore of this tale of monsters living in harmony on Pandora.

Rhys turned the page. "Um…" He blinked a few times at the splattering of green bug guts that greeted him. "Threshers think varkids are a yummy snack. They hurt Chester's family. Squash! Poik! Whack!"

The next few pages recounted, without ever breaking their rhyme, the violent deaths of Chester's brothers at the whim of the cruel threshers. Some of the varkids had managed to burrow and metamorph into their adult forms first, but even that just gave the book illustrator an excuse to plaster the later pages with still greater quantities of bug gore.

"Chester is sad, his brothers are gone. He needs to be stronger, so he can live on. …Jeez," Rhys paused at the page where poor Chester gazed over the strewn remains of his varkid brethren, human-like tears falling from his insectoid eyes. "Is this seriously what you grew up on, Sasha?"

"Hm?" She stirred, like she was almost asleep until hearing her name. "Well, I think it's relatable."

"Relatable?" he echoed. "I thought this was a children's book."

"It is," she said. "A Pandoran children's book. What, you thought we got tucked in to stories about learning to share, and practice good hygiene? Nope—we went to sleep at night learning about survival." She looked up at him. "Pandora didn't just start to suck when you grew up, you know."

He considered that. "Yeah. That makes sense," he conceded. He stared off into space, allowing the book to close slowly around the finger that marked the page.

He must have zoned out a second too long for Sasha's comfort. "You okay, Hon?" She sat up, alert. "Should I tell Zer0 we have a Code Cyan?"

Rhys shook his head. "Code Cyan" meant compromised cybernetics. He knew Sasha kept an EMP device on her at all times for just such an emergency, but since she obviously wasn't as swift as her usual self right now, Zer0 was also "Cyan Certified." …Which was to say he could be relied on to cleave his employer's arm off with a saber in the event it…became a hazard to anyone.

"No, we're good. It's not a Code Cyan," Rhys said. "I was just thinking. In school, I was scared of dodgeball-induced concussions. It's freaky to think that at the same time I was learning to duck in gym class, there you were on Pandora…a little girl…learning every day how not to get stabbed." He brought his hand up instinctively to stroke her hair. "I mean, I always knew that about you on some level. But this?" He gave the book a wave. "This is a legit eye-opener."

Sasha took his hand away from her hair—not forcefully—and held it in her own. "That better not be pity I'm hearing, now."

"It's not," he assured her. "It's called a compliment. You really hung in there. That's pretty incredible."

"Heh, I appreciate it, but that's just how it was. I got out, didn't I? With…some help." She gave his hand a squeeze. "And if it's him you're worrying about," she rubbed her belly, "I promise to teach him everything I know about how not to get stabbed." She gave a reassuring smile. "There's not much to it, really. Pointy end, bad. Done."

"Sash." He gave her a serious look. "I'm not worried about that. Our boy will be round-the-clock safe, even if I have to buy out Pangolin to cover the nursery with shields."

"I'm not the business expert, but buying out Pangolin sounds a bit like overkill."

"All I'm saying is, I won't let him go through what you did," he said. "But, I hope he still ends up more like you."

She blinked. "I…" She fell silent and turned away, in that abrupt conversation-ending way of hers. He wondered if he had embarrassed her.

When she continued not saying anything for a few more moments, he turned back to the book. "So let's see…wanton slaughter…inconsolable grief…okay, here we are. 'Chester digs deep in the ground. He springs out big, strong, and all round.'"

Another page turn, and he drew a breath to begin detailing Chubby Chester's heroic charge against the thresher menace.

The words were stolen from his throat as Sasha leaned heavily into him and pressed her lips to his. Her fingers slid under his vest and latched onto the fabric of his shirt to pull him closer to her. The sensations that filled him were an even mix of surprise, confusion and mirth. He bookmarked Chester's exploits with one finger again to bring both arms tightly around her. She gelled into him as they kissed.

When they parted she blinked hard, though there was no hiding that hint of dampness at the corner of her eyes, even as she brushed them stubbornly into her shoulders one at a time.

"Thanks," she murmured. "For saying there should be more of me."

"You kidding?" he said, giving her earlobe an affectionate pinch. "Thank you for being you."

"Just so you know," she said, drawing back to her position against his side on the couch. "It wouldn't be so bad if he took after you a little."

"Oooh, was that a compliment? Careful, Sweetheart. You might hurt yourself."

Her head returned to his shoulder. "Better tell Lil' Bud what happens next," she said simply. "We can't leave it on a cliffhanger."

With his arm now tighter around her, and his head on top of hers, he made his way to the final page.

"He is now flying on as Chester The Chubby Varkid. So sleep tight and wake stronger, just like he did."