"This is for my very best friend in the audience tonight," he beams, the crowd already going nuts the second the words best friend leave his lips, and he can't help the grin that threatens to spread even further, "who will be joining me here on the stage in a couple of moments, though she doesn't know it yet. Shh, don't tell her."

The wink is almost too much, and she can feel herself flushing, her hand moving instinctively onto her abdomen, all sheepish laughter and shock that he'd do this.

"Our friends on the front porch are telling jokes and they swing swiftly towards happier times—"

She loves Jason Mraz, and he knows this, so when she hears "0% Interest" come on, the slow grin seems to get away from her.

"You left your thumbprint inside me now for months it seems, but mine only brushes your soft surface and somehow it leaves me listless."

It doesn't hit her about what he's singing until he slows down the lyrics, and her eyes go wide. He can't be. It can't be.

At the same time, he also refers to her as his little sister in practically the same breath, and Karl appears to relax beside her just slightly, and she's quick to wipe the tears from her eyes as she scrambles to clap for him as the song comes to a close.

"As I'm sure you've all read by now, there's this amazing woman in the audience tonight who's having my baby," the slight pause is enough to make her heart jolt, "for my partner and me, who also happens to be in the audience tonight. That alone has her deserving a spot beside me on this stage tonight, I think," he beams, patting the seat of the new chair next to him. "Ladies and gentlemen, Lea Michele!"

Clambering out of her seat and up to the stage as the crowd erupts in thunderous applause once more, he leans in to kiss her on the cheek before she takes her spot next to him, all soft grins for him as she takes the microphone.

That night they perform "Lucky," "The Guilty Ones," "Rolling in the Deep," and "Miss Hollywood," Jon occasionally filling in the space between songs to talk about Josie, his hand never too willing to leave her abdomen for too long a stretch.

It's sweet, and when they all walk home down Broadway, she knows his hand is itching to take hers.

"Couldn't sleep?"

"I could ask the same of you," she says, dangling her legs off of the counter as she smiles into her tea. "You have this way of handling your microphone stands, you know. Like you should be married to them."

Taking the cup out of her hand to place at her side and deftly stepping between her legs to pull his arms around her waist, he moves to rest his forehead on hers, beaming widely. Her bump is pressing up against his stomach, and the connection— him, her, and their baby in between— feels perfect.

"I'm not married to you."

"Hasn't stopped you yet, right?" That coy smile on her face is going to be the death of him some day, and he smirks, leaning in close to her ear.

"Are you implying you were turned on by my performance in there?"

"Until you sat down and invited me up onto the stage? Yes, sir."

That makes him laugh, loud and entirely genuine, his whole body rocking her back and forth alongside. All until he remembers that he has a boyfriend fast asleep in the next room over, and they should be quieter.

"Should have told me," he whispers into her ear, intent on sending shivers down her spine as his hand moves to cup her ass, the other slipping around her neck to tug her in closer. Peaches.

"Jon—"

"Shhh, baby, daddy's going to make it all better again."

"Daddy, we can't."

"Lea—"

He knows they can't. Well, shouldn't. But right now, he wants Lea, and as much as he tries, he can't shake the feeling of needing to have her now, no excuses passing between them anymore, not even when he tastes tears on her lips as he kisses her, hard, hard, soft, and she scrambles to get his shirt off of him as quickly as possible.

"Your room," he mutters firmly, slipping out from between her legs to pick her up bridal style instead. "We'll lock the door. We can do this if you promise to be really quiet."

She nods against him, holding on tightly as he carries both her and Josie into her bedroom all at once, placing them gingerly down on the bed before slipping back out to turn off the light and lock the door.

"You're my whole family now," he whispers into her ear once he's by her side again, his body molding against hers from behind as one hand find home on her belly, the other dipping into her panties to feel her, slipping first one, then two fingers inside of her.

"Daddy—"

"Shhh, it's okay, baby. We just need to be quiet."

His fingers find her clit, and he groans when he hears her helpless whimpers, the way she desperately bucks up against the pressure. He's already hard, but teasing her will only make her louder, and as much as he appreciates the noises she makes, waking up Karl is the very last thing that they need to have happen right now.

"Jon, please," she begs, and he nods against the crook of her shoulder, tugging her panties off. The way she spreads her legs to him, he strokes himself once, twice, before pushing gradually inside, Lea letting out a low moan as her head falls back against him.

"You feel so good, baby," he breathes, stroking her hair back to keep it out of her face as his hand keeps her on the brink of orgasm on her clit as he thrusts, shallow, quiet, desperate.

He and Karl haven't had sex since about a week ago, and Lea feels fucking amazing around him. But even more important than that, something he's been almost dreading to admit to himself, the emotional intimacy just isn't there anymore. He and Lea have been doing this for years, and nothing has ever changed. Their bond has always been a more profound one, and he can't think of anyone that would come even remotely close to Lea.

That scares the shit out of him.

"Jon," she pleads, turning slightly in her position to look at him. Her eyes are damp, and he doesn't have to be told twice that it's his job to fix it, kissing her cheeks dry. "I love you," she mutters softly, and he nods as he strokes her hair.

"I love you, too. With all my heart."

"Promise?"

"Of course I do."

When she comes against his hand, it only takes him one, two more thrusts to spill inside of her, the desperate need to feel her taking him over with a soft groan, clutching onto her body as though she were slipping away.

"Jon?"

Her voice returns him to alertness, and he blinks awake to slowly kiss a path up her neck. "Hm?"

"You can't fall asleep here."

She has a point, of course, and as reluctant as he is, he grabs tissues for both of them off the headboard, making quick work of cleaning himself up and putting his pajama pants back on.

When he slips back into bed with Karl, Lea safely tucked into the guest bedroom by herself, it takes him just two seconds to come up with the feasible excuse that Lea needed to talk, and that he was there to support her. It's enough for Karl, half-asleep, but it isn't enough for Jon, staring at the ceiling helplessly as he realizes that there's someone else he'd rather be wrapped around right now, and that they're the wrong gender, that this is all wrong. That gay men aren't supposed to fall in love with their girlfriends, that this feels rather like the universe has played a cruel, elaborate trick on him.

Karl has these terribly annoying little habits, things he knows shouldn't annoy him as much as they do. The way he can't ever not put a coaster under his coffee mugs, the way he never eats his olives when he orders martinis, the way he always feels the need to binder-clip the toothpaste while rolling it slowly up... it's excessive.

And while they've both been behaving themselves just fine with one another, it doesn't stop Jon from begging Lea for a weekend elsewhere, anywhere else to escape Karl's habits and the fact that they never have any time for just the two of them.

Karl is around during the day and goes to class at night. At night, Jon's performing in Millie, and while Lea has come along to the show on several occasions, taking up space in his dressing room, watching his performance over and over— it's not the same as curling up on the couch with her to watch classics.

So it's no wonder that they're both in the Bronx with her parents for dinner— delicious, as always, Italian tonight, the whole chatter amongst the table heartfelt, genuine, and welcoming. He always feels at home with her parents, where, even with just the four of them, it still feels like the place is packed.

It's only after dinner, Lea and her mother plating the cake they're supposed to have for dessert, that Lea's father drags him into the living room with him.

"You can't just get her pregnant and then back out on the commitment. I mean it. I'll buy you a house."

"As generous as that is, Mr. Sarfati," he can't help but laugh, "if I was going to marry your daughter, I'd do it for the right reasons."

"What did you two talk about?"

The mid-March air is still chilly even for New York, and he's glad they both packed coats as he grins down at her, the smell of exhaust fumes and steam from the manholes in the street mixing together to create something that is so distinctly Manhattan that he has to smile. Even with only a few blocks to walk from the Subway stop to his— and Karl's, he has to remind himself— apartment, it's nice to slow down and enjoy the night with Lea by his side.

"I told him I'd think about it."

"About what?"

"Marrying you."

That makes her laugh, the loud, brash, disbelieving one that he wants to kiss away as it dies out, and she's left staring up at him quizzically. "That's not a very nice thing to joke about to a lady, Jonathan Drew."

"I'm not," he leans down to kiss her on the top of her head as he grins into her hair. "You always said we'd make a fantastic married couple."

"I think Karl might have some objections to that, don't you?"

"He'd survive," he laughs, and means it.

She's fallen asleep with her head in his lap, Jon's fingers tracing slow patterns in her hair. The TV is off, and he's doing his best not to move despite the cramp slowly developing in his left leg, lest he wake her. If he watches her belly closely enough where her shirt has ridden up just barely, he can almost detect movement under the skin, their daughter.

It's quiet enough that the door's slow unlocking might as well have sounded like a bulldozer, and he flinches.

"You know I've been trying to call you for the past half hour."

The sharp inhale of breath, the way he tenses at Karl's pained, whispered confession feels like an inevitability.

"There was a really bad accident thirty blocks from here, and the cab was getting nowhere fast, so I figured I'd let you know that I'd be late when I started walking instead. But you didn't seem to care. It's like you weren't even concerned enough to pick up your fucking phone and see why I might be a goddamn hour late."

His voice is stifled, the veiled anger behind it contained just barely.

"It was on silent," he returns his terse reply, the lump in his throat slowly nearing the size of a golf ball.

"Of course it was."

This conversation has been a long time coming. Even Jon can recognize that much.

"You know, when I flirt with a cute stranger at an LGBT charity event and he flirts back, most of the time I don't expect him to be in love with a girl."

"You take that back."

He instantly regrets the way his head whips around to face Karl when Lea inevitably begins to stir in her sleep, blinking awake as she slowly sits up her very pregnant form.

This isn't where they should be having this conversation. Not with her here, not now, his stomach in knots.

"What's happening?"

"Lea, please— please don't. Not now."

"It's been true for months," Karl continues, not caring very much about the audience suddenly listening in on their conversation. "Do you honestly think I don't have enough of an imagination to know what happens when I'm not here? Just because her chest could pass as a boy's—"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence!" he spits, getting up out of his seat to face him, already missing Lea's warmth against him. "She's my best friend."

"I'm your partner! I'm supposed to be your best friend!"

In all fairness, he has a point. But this is Lea. She's always been the one and only exception. He loves men. He really does. He enjoys having sex with men, not women, and yet, there's Lea, beautiful and perfect for him in her own feminine way, making him think that there must be exceptions in the world, that labels are for those who can't accept the reality of the complexity of their hearts and minds.

"That's unhealthy!" Lea cuts in, getting up off the sofa to glare at Karl, her hands on her hips. "A wide social circle where you don't rely entirely on your partner to be everything to you is the key to a good, solid, stable relationship."

"Lea, please—"

"Don't try to shut me up!"

"Lea, he's right," he mutters hotly, turning to face Karl with a sigh. "Which is why I don't think that this is going to work. You have that friend of yours, in Brooklyn. Or your parents in town. Stay with them. You have the whole weekend to move out."

It only takes them half an hour to pack and an hour for the fight to escalate further, Karl suddenly fighting for them while Lea is forced to sit and watch his life fall apart because of her. None of it seems particularly fair, even from her vantage point now on one of the Blue Moon's hotel beds, not two feet from Jon.

"I'm sorry. This is my fault."

"No," he smiles at the bedspread with a soft laugh, "you were right. I kept holding onto Karl because I wanted so badly to prove that I could have a functioning relationship with someone who wasn't you, but it didn't work."

"It was nice of you to give him that time to move out."

"It was the least I could do." He sighs, getting up off the bed to put on his shoes. "I mean, I think we both knew it was coming sooner rather than later. He was just upset on principle that it had to be because of a girl."

"As long as that's not why you two broke up, I'm happy."

"Of course not, mommy," he laughs brightly, leaning over to kiss her. "Come on, let's go out to eat."

The restaurant down the street from the hotel is too ritzy for their tastes, and they settle on something a couple of blocks away, soup appropriate to the rainy mid-April weather that seems to have taken over the streets of New York City. It's an absolutely brilliant view out the window, if she ignores the way the waiter has been hitting on Jon unrepentantly for the past half hour.

"You know, it would be cuter if I was getting that kind of attention," she tells him brusquely as Jacques leaves them alone once more after refilling Jon's water for five minutes.

"I don't know why you're not."

The way he's looking at her, squeezing her hand, the way he actually seems to mean what he's saying— it's almost enough to make her question whether he isn't actually in love with her, too. No man could gaze upon her in this state and still find her appealing.

"That might have worked five months ago, when I didn't resemble a beached whale."

"I think you're beautiful."

She has to doubt. Not even the nurses at her new Gynecologist's office thought them any different from a normal couple when they went in for her 27-week check up, once again, without Karl.

Now Karl isn't a problem anymore, but neither of them has said anything about their relationship. This is, of course, partially Lea's fault, but a part of her feels distinctly as though she wouldn't feel so unsure about everything if Jon weren't flirting back every time that very gay, very male Jacques rounded their corner of the restaurant to stop and chat.

"Do you still... want to keep the baby?"

"Are you kidding?" he beams, leaning in to kiss her hand. "I'm in love with her. We'll raise her together, just you and me. We make the best team. You're my best friend, Lea. And there's no one else I could see myself raising little Josie with. So if you want to take her from me, I'm afraid you'll have to fight me."

"Hey," he sidles up behind her, wrapping an arm around her midriff to rest on her stomach as he slowly kisses a path down her neck.

"Hey," she mumbles back, turning in his arms to face him slightly. The baby is kicking, Jon smiling a little wider with every one he can feel through her belly.

"There's an upside to this, you know. Now we can stop fighting about what to do with the nursery and just paint it the way you want it. And we won't have to worry about where you're going to sleep anymore. Because it'll be beside me."

It's a comforting thought, even though she's not sure that she'll be able to take a lifetime of sleeping next to Jonathan and not being able to tell him that she's in love with him. Kissing, touching, loving, but not being in love, the two things so irrevocably different that it aches in her chest.

On the bright side, this means a butter yellow nursery complete with ladybugs and butterflies, and the butterscotch-color changing table and crib set that she's been thinking about too much for this not to be her baby.

There's no way he doesn't know. She's sure of it, the way she looks at him, the way her touches linger for too long, the way she presses her body against his a bit too desperately and pretends that what she feels between them is real, not make believe.

Jon is a good actor, but the way that he would look at her sometimes in his roles as Jesse, as Melchior— she wants to believe that it's possible, that it's not just in her head.

"And now we won't have to worry about getting caught fucking anymore," he murmurs, grinning into her hair.

The dress is a bit chilly, but it's easier than humiliating herself with maternity pants in her size, and a light jacket is usually enough. It makes it easier to get undressed when she can't see her own feet anymore, too, easily slipping out of sandals and bunching up the fabric of the dresses at her sides to tug them over her head.

Jon is helpful, of course, kissing a long stripe up her back as he slides the dress over her head, and she sighs softly against him.

This time, he doesn't even stop her when she moves to kneel at the side of the bed, taking him into her mouth as far as she can go as he groans and lets his head fall back. It's, admittedly, not very far. Unlike Rachel, Lea does have a gag reflex, and Jon is, admittedly, on the larger size. And while gay men are known to be bigger than their straight counterparts by about half an inch or so, Stephen didn't even so much as compare, Lea's hand coming up to help out her mouth as she sucks, occasionally meeting his eyes from her position on the floor.

It's hardly his favorite, her sucking him off, and more often than not— like now— he'll push her back and pull her up onto the bed once more, kneeling between her legs until he makes her come. According to Jon, it reminds him too much of any guy, and he doesn't want to think, even once, that the girl he's sleeping with here, isn't a girl, that Lea is, and will always be, his only exception to heterosexuality.

She doesn't mind, relishing in the way her body arches against his mouth as she comes, the way he sidles up against her back as she curls up in fetal position in a natural response to her orgasm, drawn out of her languidly by deft, clever fingers and a tongue too good at this to only suck cock. He presses inside of her in one smooth, fluid motion from behind, his hand coming up around her body to palm at her breasts— first one, then the other, gently biting at her shoulder as he groans into her skin.

"Fuck, Lea, baby—"

"Daddy—" she moans, rocking against him for more friction as his hands move to highlight her most feminine features in the midst of their fucking— her breasts, the swell of her belly, her clitoris, the way she's soaked for him, his teeth tugging at her earlobe as he whispers in her ear.

"Love you, love you so much, baby."

She comes on his cock without any further stimulation, her body pulsing around him as her fingers dig into the soft material of the pillowcase by her head, making her knuckles turn white as she cries out. Even Jon's expletives in all of his orgasmic throes sound like music to her ears, and even without the label of I'm in love with you, she's grateful to be falling asleep in his arms when she does.

Admittedly, they should have both seen it coming.

With so little to do while Jon is gone to do Millie, it would only seem natural that she'd suddenly find more time to visit her mom and dad, go shopping, reconnect with their Spring Awakening family. Upon being asked, he insists it's not a date, but Jon— normally a very good actor— is a truly terrible liar at times, particularly in the face of her.

It doesn't help much when Jon heads out with friends, or receives phone calls from this or that guy.

She flirts, of course, and usually in front of Jon— deliberate, at that— but at almost eight months pregnant, it never gets far enough to do much of anything, and in the end, she finds that she's made a lot of male friends, more than half of them requesting her to get them Jon's number.

The nursery only took them three weeks to finish, and with only six weeks left until her due date, the restlessness makes sense, of course.

It's been raining entirely too much, and even in the flats she's resigned herself to wearing, it's too easily to slip, especially when you can't see your feet, especially when the steps leading down to the subway are so damn steep.

It's hard enough to get up again, but the cramping in her abdomen hits almost instantly, and suddenly it's not even a question of whether or not to bother Jon during rehearsal anymore.

"Where is she? Lea Michele Sarfati, where did they put her?"

"And you are?"

"I'm her—"

It's a good question. Her gay best friend? Her boyfriend? If the number seeming to burn a hole in his pocket by now is any indication, he has no right to call himself her boyfriend. He loves her, of course, but that doesn't mean anything, especially not with the way his heart seemed to rush to his throat the second her sobbed words passed through the line. Jon, I slipped, it hurts— the baby, I need help—

"I'm the father," he says as quickly as he can muster, his eyes flickering up at the map of the hospital above the secretary, as though it would have a Lea-shaped label on it somewhere to indicate where he needs to be running to make sure she's really okay.

"Room 504," the nurse tells him, and he nods, quickly, rushing down the hallway to follow the signs telling him where to go. The stairs are good enough, the elevator is too slow, and in all his rush, he has to ask two more nurses for directions in the hopes of finding room 504.

"Thank god," he finally feels himself let go of a breath he's been holding when he sees her sitting up in bed, seemingly fine, baby bump still there, as though it might disappear if he didn't watch it closely enough.

"I'm okay," she mutters, and he shakes his head as the smile blooms on his face, leaning down to kiss her on the top of her head.

"I was so worried about you two."

"I'm fine," she reassures him again as he sits at the edge of the bed, interlacing their fingers on her belly. "And so is baby Josie."

"What happened?"

"My fall sent me into labor, but I got to the hospital quickly enough that they managed to stop it in time."

"Have I told you that you're glowing lately? You're so beautiful. I was so worried that I wasn't going to see either of you again."

The baby kicks in response, and he feels his eyes itch, a damnable reminder that he's too invested in this, that suddenly, Lea's become his whole world, making him wonder whether she hasn't always been, and if anything has even changed, whether he's just been too stupid to notice it.

"I'm fine," she repeats again, her hand coming up to cradle his cheek, stroking softly. "How was rehearsal? Where you in such a rush that you forgot to put in your contacts?"

Right, the glasses. They feel uncomfortably comfortable on his face, and he pushes them back up on his nose with a soft smile.

"You don't like them?"

"Your glasses? I love them! They make you look so professor-chic."

That makes him laugh, and he grins at her before returning to address her original question. "My understudy took over. I got the phone call just before I was about to go on stage, so I kind of had to hurry and change into normal people clothes before taking the subway down here." Clutching onto her free hand, he gives another sigh of relief. "How long until I get you back?"

"They're just monitoring me for a bit longer, then I should be able to leave. They just want to make sure I don't go back into preterm labor."

"Then I'll stay right here until they let you go."

"You remember that engagement ring I gave you a couple of years back?"

"Of course."

It's right at the top of her jewelry box, it's own little section devoted to it entirely, Lea having reasoned that she ought to stop wearing it with Karl around. Her hand itches at the reminder that she's not wearing it, and she wrings her hands before returning her attention to the soy hot chocolate she's making them from scratch.

She's been ordered bedrest for the remainder of her pregnancy, but both Jon and her know that she's entirely too restless and stubborn to stay in bed all day. Making hot chocolate is a good outlet, and it isn't as though she feels too poorly to walk around the apartment.

"I want you to wear it."

He's been quiet for a good half hour, just staring at the counter, and with the sudden shift in the balance, Jon throwing everything off all at once, she almost spills hot milk all over herself as she glances over her shoulder, forcing her face to stay neutral.

"What?"

"I want you to wear it."

"I don't— why? You've been... going out on dates, shouldn't I be allowed to, too? I mean, maybe it'll have to wait until I stop looking like a zeppelin, but... I mean, I should be able to."

"Do you think maybe... people can change? Their minds— change their minds, maybe? That maybe they've just been wrong for years, and they've been fighting it for so long that they're not even sure what's real anymore? Or what you want? Just that you're... feeling all of these things, unable to explain any of it in context of this... identity you've spent your whole adult life building? That maybe you're a complete idiot, and everything is different, and you've been wrong this whole time?"

Suddenly, she feels ill, wondering if the ache in her chest and the clogged feeling in her throat are ever going to go away when he gets her hopes up like that. But she can't say it, can't tell him if it turns out to not actually be true. Maybe he's decided he's actually vegan, or that he suddenly hates yoga. It shouldn't make so much sense. So she settles for the next best thing.

"My mom... always used to say that... when someone shows you who they are, you should believe them. And I've always believed you, Jon."

"Do you remember the last time I was on Side by Side with Susan Blackwell? Someone asked me if the taste of your mouth reminded me of home by now, and I said no."

"Yes," she breathes, suddenly unable to stare at anything but the hot chocolate boiling in front of her. It's not supposed to be boiling, and at this rate she's going to spoil it, but it doesn't matter, not with the way she can feel her eyes watering as she forces herself to keep staring at the stove, not daring to turn around and face him.

"I said that because you were never mine to come home to," he whispers, an she squeezes her eyes shut, her hands clamping around the edge of the counter, hard, to the point of pain, holding her breath. "I never had that luxury. Someone else always got to call you home, but it wasn't me. You were always an adventure, kissing you. I wasn't even supposed to like kissing you, but I did. And I was too scared to explain it. And earlier today in my dressing room, 'Lucky' came on my iPod, and it was like my whole chest lit up."

"I don't understand." Her words come out more choked than intelligible, and if he didn't know before, he does now.

"I'm in love with you."

Flowing freely down her cheeks, there doesn't seem to be a way to stop the tears as she turns off the heat on the stove, wrapping her arms around her chest as she steps back. It's too much.

"Lea, say something."

"I'm never going to be able to look at you as anything other than my soulmate," she whispers, feeling her heart ache in her chest even as she stares at the lifeless counter, knowing fully well that the second she looks at him, the second she turns around to face him, she'll dissolve into tears. "It's always been you, I think I've always been in love with you."

When he wraps his arms around her and kisses her, she can't help the tears, clutching onto his front with a fervor that betrays her fear of losing him with her words.

But he doesn't let go, and even when he makes love to her that night, nothing changes. If anything, it's better, Lea realizing in one gasped moment as she catches the glint of her left hand in the lights of the city streaming through the open window, that she's no longer just sleeping with her gay best friend, but her fiancé.

"Do you know who blabbed?" Lauren's voice cuts through the other end, and Lea sighs, dangling her feet off the counter.

"No. It's not even like it's official-official. We didn't have an announcement or anything. We've just been telling everyone no comment."

"Oh, trust me," she laughs. "I know. But this is allover the media. Every single nook and cranny seems to think you're the first woman on this planet to turn a gay man straight. Some people are saying you're secretly a man."

"That's hilarious," she groans, looking up from her spot on the couch as she hears keys in the door. "Listen, Jon's home, so I'm going to let you go."

"You two have fun. And promise me we are having another family reunion soon, because the rest of the family is dying to talk to you two."

Hanging up with a sigh and an apologetic look thrown at Jonathan, she frowns. "I have no idea what happened, but Lauren Pritchard wants to hear all about our sex life."

"Figures," he shrugs with a frown, leaning down to kiss her before tossing his coat on the back of the couch and kicking off his shoes. "I've been giving a lot of no comment responses to everyone who asks."

"Me, too. I guess it doesn't help that you've had all that recent press doing Millie."

"And that you're a big star," he grins, affectionately squeezing her thigh as he plops down beside her. "I have an interview with The Advocate in two days to talk about it."

That catches her attention, and she sits up straighter, trying to somehow relieve the pressure in her lower back and listen attentively all at the same time.

"What are you going to say?"

"The truth. That it wasn't originally the plan for us to raise Josie together, but that even the best laid plans of mice and men fall through and change. That I'm in love with you, and that the LGBT community can either accept that sexuality is fluid in some instances, or they can't, and I'll be sorry to see them go. Have you talked to your parents yet?"

Her parents are a good diversion from something so near and dear to his heart. He's been so intimately in touch with the community, always so closely tied to their causes, that it hurts to see him lose that just for being who he is.

"My dad called earlier, wanting to know if he could trust what was in the papers."

"And?"

"Well, I told him the truth, obviously. He was absolutely thrilled;" an understatement, "said he couldn't wait to welcome you into the family properly as his son-in-law."

"Ha! Am I still getting that house?"

"I don't think I'm going to let him give you that house," she grins, playfully punching in the arm. "Your parents?"

"Want to come down and have dinner with us. Here. You should invite yours, too, it could be fun."

"You do realize that this is like the setup of a bad joke, right? A Mennonite, a Methodist, a Jew—" Her face pales, and she stops, a small whimper escaping her as her eyes go wide.

"What? What's wrong?"

"I— I think I just made a mess of our couch," she whispers, feeling her whole dress soak through. "My water just—"

"I'm calling a cab, just— don't move," he mutters, frantically searching for his phone.

"But we're not ready for this! We didn't pack!"

"I'm packing right now!" he yells over his shoulder, disappearing into the bedroom with his phone glued to his ear as she struggles to stand.

She's only a week away from the full nine months mark, and it shouldn't feel too early— it's well within the window of time that the doctor highlighted for them back towards the end of October, and she's been uncomfortable for what feels like two months now, waddling from place to place without feet, feeling more and more like Garfield with every passing day.

But not being prepared is even more terrifying, and she scrambles around the apartment for anything Jon might have missed in his effort to throw everything into the duffle bag all at once.

"There's a cab outside, come on, I can always run back to the apartment for more stuff if I need to."

"Did you pack my music?"

"Shit," he mutters, disappearing back into the apartment as she starts her slow trek to the elevator.

Everything seems to slow down significantly once she's in bed and being attended to by the nurses, including Jon's heart rate, having skyrocketed the second her water broke, and not daring to calm even for a second. He's just grateful that they arrived early enough that she could receive her epidural, numbing some of the pain of her contractions down significantly.

"Can I push? I want to push!"

"Not yet, honey, you're only six centimeters. But you're getting there. You're so close."

"But she wants to come out!"

He feels like a fish out of water. Most straight guys, he's sure, know what to expect when this day comes, as though this is some kind of Superbowl of the Extremely Heterosexual Olympics about which he never learned from growing up gay. The majority of his knowledge about all of this that didn't come from Lea or her gynecologist came from the prenatal yoga sessions they both attended together, which altogether, doesn't count for much.

He feels completely lost, all of Lea's advice about what to do in this moment out the window as he feels himself unable to do much else other than stroke her back and tell her that he's proud of her, that things will be okay, and that he loves her.

"I'm going to call our parents, okay? My parents will probably get here in the morning, but I figured I need to tell them where we are."

With her permission, he slips back out into the hallway to breathe a sigh of relief and take out his phone, quickly dialing the number to contact her parents, both of them more likely to make it down to Manhattan to the hospital than his parents, and definitely people she'll want to have here as quickly as possible.

"Mr. Sarfati," he greets the man who has always requested to be called Marc as soon as he hears the phone being picked up, "we're at the hospital. Lea's in labor. If you and your wife could come down here, I think Lea could really use the support right now."

It's the easier phone call to make of the two, Jon still not having quite wrapped his head around the fact that he's telling his mother that his daughter is being born even as he says it, his parents agreeing to rush down as quickly as they can make it, just as Lea's parents have.

It's an hour later until her parents arrive, a welcome distraction from the stress of fatherhood before fatherhood even sets in, and even with her parents there, distractions are hard to come by.

By the time she's eight centimeters— three hours— they're singing "I Believe" together, by the time nine hits— two hours— it's "Lucky."

At least the songs are something else to focus on , and the epidural keeps her sane, though the contractions are still bad enough that she's walking aimlessly around the room in an attempt to save herself from the pain and the pressure on her back.

It takes another two hours until she she's finally dilated enough to push, Jon watching her and Josie's heartbeats almost as closely as he's watching Lea. All things considered, it's a miracle any of them are still awake. It's rounding around six a.m. by this point, and though Jon isn't feeling the impatient pressures of sleep take him over, he knows that her parents must be, out in the waiting area with a teddy bear, roses, and balloons to welcome baby Josie into the world whenever she decides to come out.

"I'm dying," she tells him quite seriously as she rounds out another push, and he feels his heart ache, placing a careful kiss at her temple as he clutches her hand more tightly.

"You're doing amazingly, baby. Come on, you're almost there."

"No, I can't push any more, I don't want to."

"You're almost there," the nurse repeats, and he nods into her hair as he tugs her closer, wishing he could help, somehow, take some of her pain away, be a seahorse, anything.

An hour and a half later, Josephine Marie Groff's first cry rings clear through the room, and Jon can't stop himself from crying.

"She's so beautiful," Jon whispers as he sidles up closer to her on the hospital bed, Lea having scooted over enough until he could join her. Slowly, a lazy thumb traces over Josie's cheekbones, careful not to wake her small, sleeping form, and he smiles against Lea's cheek as he tugs her closer. "How are you feeling, mommy?"

"I have everything that I could possibly ask for," she laughs softly, beaming over at him.

"Ten perfect little fingers and toes," Jon chimes in. "I think she's the most wonderful thing we've created so far."

"You think?"

"Nothing in the world comes close to this."

They've already survived both sets of parents, the bed now surrounded by light pink balloons and gifts here and there. It all feels a bit like Thanksgiving, but all crammed into one very stressful 2-hour period with very little food to show for.

"How aren't you tired, daddy?" she nudges him just in time for the yawn to take him over.

"Extraordinary circumstances do wonders to keep you awake," he laughs. "I'll go home to sleep when I can take you and Josie with me."

"Even if it takes a whole day?"

"Even if it takes a whole day."

Epilogue

"No, Josie, we can't always run and scare the goats!" he laughs as he runs after her, snatching her up into the air until she's securely on his shoulders, laughing as he returns to Lea's side.

"I cannot believe you talked me into this."

"What, coming out here to visit my parents, or having another one?" he beams wider than she thought possible on him, and she can't help the way he seems to light up the whole place.

In this case, Amish country, his parents' farm, surrounded by goats. This is the last place she wants to be, she's sure of it, trying desperately to avoid stepping into unpleasantries with her new shoes, Jon having told her expressly to avoid wearing them.

"Both?" she laughs, smacking him lightly on the ass.

"My mom said," he leans in conspiratorially as his hands play with Josie's up in the air, as though she were dancing, "that we are expressly forbidden from performing a rerun of Spring Awakening in the hayloft tonight." Grinning, he bounces Josie on his shoulders, their daughter looking every bit like she's having the time of her life on there.

"What does she expect? I'm already pregnant!" It's hardly what she's envisioned for herself, two kids— she's putting her foot down after this one, no more— but Jon is such a fantastic father that she can't help but agree, that even if his career takes a backseat to fatherhood, hers doesn't have to.

Gender roles are outdated, he keeps reminding her, and now, with Josie at a solid four years old, and her at two months pregnant again, she's almost starting to believe him.

"I told her she could try to stop us, but that she'll probably fail," he laughs, picking Josie up off his shoulders again to place her at his hip. He's too good at it, fatherhood, running around the whole farm with Josie to show her the horses, the dog— Jesse St. James, she still can't believe it— and the goats, Lea having expressly forbidden him from telling her that there's one named after her mother.

"Daddy, can we feed the goats?"

"Okay, but only one more time, Pookie," he grins as he lowers her to the ground to take her hand.

"You and I have a date tonight in that hayloft," he beams at Lea, leaning in to kiss her just before Josie drags him off, still unable to wipe the smile off his face.

fin