a/n: inspired by the weird urge I had to write a fic with a baby, a little Mishpokhe nostalgia, and a little nudge from my friend, McKenize. Note: this is absolutely NOT related to Mishpokhe in ANY WAY.

it's a two-parter, with (once again) a little different take on the many ways we can explore 'paris possibilities' in fanfiction.

Paris, 1999

He had thought something might be wrong for a couple of weeks, but the feeling in his gut intensified these past few days. As their mission in Europe drew to a close, she seemed on edge—tense, sick, apprehensive—and he was wary of bringing it up. He kept waiting—silently, patiently—for her to tell him about the promotion she had been offered, and slowly he realized she wasn't aware he knew about it, and she wasn't going to discuss it with him—which left him in the dark, wondering if he was about to lose her.

He waited until the last possible moment, and then he had an inkling of what was plaguing her—his intuition was a little more finely tuned than she thought it was, because he'd been there before—and one night, in the middle of the night, he lay awake on his back listening to her feign sleep and wrestled with what to say.

He finally—rolled over, and reached for her, shaking her shoulder gently. He went along with her pretending to sleep and whispered her name, acting as if he had to wake her up. His hand was light and soothing on her arm, and she opened her eyes bluntly, blinking a little in the dark.

He recognized the anxiety in her eyes; it had been there all week—and he confronted it.

"Jen," he murmured quietly, shifting closer to her. He propped himself up on one arm, playing with her hair slightly with his other hand.

She raised her eyebrows slowly, waiting expectantly.

He got straight to the point.

"Are you pregnant?" he asked abruptly.

Her eyebrows fell, and she closed her eyes heavily. She became incredibly still under his hand, and then she took a shallow breath and moved her head slightly, drawing her bottom lip into her mouth tensely.

"Yeah," she said hoarsely, her tone defeated. "I think so."

He moved his thumb in circles on her arm, applying comforting pressure to her. He shifted towards her again and cleared his throat, his jaw tightening apprehensively. She took a deep breath and it caught against her lips. He lunged forward confidently and pushed her hair back, lowering his head to kiss her lips.

"I," she began, mumbling into his kiss. "I—" she pushed at his chest slightly, gasping. "How-?"

He shrugged.

"Had a feeling," he muttered vaguely—the memory of her obsessively-compulsively checking her date book for the past few days stuck out most importantly in his mind.

She pushed him away and sat up. She reached over and turned on a light, shoving her knotted hair back out of her face and leaning heavily against the headboard of the hotel bed. Her knuckles clenched tightly, and turned white, and she hugged onto her knees. He reached out and touched her hand, running a thumb over those white knuckles.

"You were restless," he told her gruffly. "Knew it had to be more'n you takin' off on me."

She looked at him sharply.

"You knew?" she asked warily, her voice hoarse.

He looked at her a moment, and then shrugged.

"'M the senior agent, Jen," he said hollowly. "You think they don't tell me what your potential orders are?"

Her cheeks flushed. She bit her lip, and her eyes sparkled suddenly—not with amusement or happiness, but with tears, and he enveloped her whole hand in his firmly.

"You took the promotion," he guessed curtly.

"Yes," she said, choking on the world.

Her eyes closed tightly.

"You didn't know," he added, still piecing together her thoughts. "That you were—"

"No, I didn't," she interrupted sharply. "I'm not even sure I just," she trailed off. Her eyes fluttered again. "No, I am. I—I can sense it."

He nodded. He stared silently at her hands for a while, still holding hers in his. His chest felt tight—they were due to leave Europe tomorrow; he should have approached her the minute he suspected—he should have shown some sort of support.

"You better postpone that flight, Jen," he advised.

"Why?" she demanded, her tone panicked.

He sat up slowly, shifting so he was sitting next to her. He turned his head and leaned forward, studying her face intently. He didn't say the first accusatory, angry thing that came to mind; instead he bit it back, and tried to look at her supportively—he may not be at all ready for something like this, but he—this last chance to keep her from going, it made him realize he wanted Jenny, and he wanted her to know that.

"I thought we might need to talk," he said gruffly, struggling to get the words out.

She turned to him sharply.

"You want me to stay?" she asked harshly.

"Asked you to move in with me," he reminded a little tersely—and it had been after that conversation that she'd started shutting herself down around him.

Her jaw muscle tightened painfully.

"This promotion looks more stable than you, at the moment," she said flatly.

He took it hard, but he tried to blink it off.

"Give me a day," he asked, silently begging her to delay that flight, to let him convince her.

Her face fell and she parted her lips.

"I don't know if I can. I'm scared," she said rapidly, the words in the confession slamming together and stumbling over each other.

Her voice cracked, and she closed her eyes tightly, leaning forward.

"It's okay, Jenny," he muttered, mimicking her movement and turning his head to look at her.

She shook her head.

"No," she said aggressively. "No, I—I—I didn't ever want kids, and I expected to know exactly what I'd do if this happened, but when I suspected—I can't cope with how conflicted I—" she broke off, mumbling to herself almost.

He was silent, and she shook her head back and forth, rubbing her jaw roughly.

"I never thought the man would matter," she said hoarsely, looking over at him. She was trying to tell him—it did. It didn't matter that she hadn't ever wanted children, and she still wasn't sure she wanted them, but she had fallen in love with him, and maybe she wanted his children.

He lifted his arm and slipped it behind her, hugging her into his side. He tilted his head back against the headboard, blinking in the dim lamplight, and turned his lips against her ear.

"What do you want?" he asked huskily.

She turned into him and buried her face in his chest, her hand shaking as she grasped onto his shirt.

"I haven't decided yet."

Paris, 1999

famous last words, eh, Jen? ;)
-Alexandra
story #166