Parental Advisory Rating: L, N, AC

Break out those V-Chips, everyone!

Credits:

Created, Produced, Directed and Written:

Fanatic and TNovan

"Oh God, yes."

Kels reaches down and clasps my buttocks, pulling me tight into her body. I lean down and capture her lips in a breath-stealing kiss. I stay motionless for a moment, letting Kels feel me, then I pick up our rhythm once again.

Her right hand begins a slow stroking motion up and down my spinal column, her touch light. It’s distracting, but then so is the feel of her breasts under mine. Our bodies glide easily against one another. Months of being lovers have well-acquainted us with each other’s form and the sweat from our exertion makes movement near effortless now. Her breath is coming hard and I am pleased at her response to my touch.

She moves her leg and winds it around my waist. "Harper …" she exhales. My girl has her eyes shut and her head thrown back. This arches her body and I slide my arm underneath her, holding her tight, the other I use to keep my weight from fully resting on her. I love being this close to her.

Who knew married sex was this good?

Kels brings me back to the moment when she cries out. I stop all movement immediately and start to pull out. "Baby, did I hurt you?"

She takes a deep breath and opens hazy eyes. "No …" She reaches up and wipes the sweat off my brow. "Feels so good. Just intense."

"The babies?" I’m still not convinced.

"We’re all fine. But we won’t be if you stop now." Her hand cups my breast and she pinches my nipple unexpectedly, causing me to fall down on her. "Much better," she sighs as I slide back in.

I laugh against her skin, tasting the salt of her sweat. Peppering kisses on her chest and neck, I reach her mouth once more. "I love being married to you," I whisper before cutting off her reply. Her response is obvious, though, when her hips begin moving once more.

We start again. I am very conscious of the changes in her body. Her breasts are heavier and completely appetizing. I might have to fight our children for a taste in a few months. But no one is competing with me now.

Her hands move to bury themselves in my hair, keeping me in place, not that I had any intention of moving. "I waited," Kels pants, "so long for you."

I groan against her breast.

"Nothing mattered until you," she continues.

I pick up the pace, anxious to satisfy her desire. The flight here to Paris nearly did us both in with lust. When we finally checked onto La Vie en Rose, it was all we could do to make it to the bedroom. Now, the gentle sway of our boat-hotel, adds to our enjoyment of one another.

God, I’m glad her morning sickness is over and done with.

I start to chuckle, but this is no laughing matter. Her fingernails rake over my shoulder and I focus on the matter at hand. Moving fast and deep, listening to the changes in her breathing, all I want is to hear her cry out in pleasure. I love being with her this way, face to face, breast to breast, hip to hip. I love looking in her eyes and experiencing everything as she does.

She gives me that view into her heart. Her eyes wide and searching. She wants more. I can give it to her.

My hand slides from underneath her to her hip. I grasp it and begin guiding her movements, spreading her wider, lifting her up to meet my thrusts. Kels bites my neck in response. Yes, my baby is getting close. I swirl my hips. Once, twice and a third time.

"Harper! Please."

"What do you want, chér?" I husk, knowing the answer full well.

"God …" she gasps. "Please."

"What do you need?"

"You!"

I kiss her roughly. "You have me, chér." I move again. "Heart, soul and …" I groan when she reaches between our bodies and touches me. "And body." Two can play at that game. I grind down against her hand, causing her to gasp and bite her lower lip.

Like Kels, all of my attention is focused on a singular point in my body. I feel the sensation building, the overwhelming tide of release. It starts in my gut, a tightening and a tingling in my extremities and quickly overtaking all of my body.

I want to share this with her. I move forcefully against her and we both cry out at the same time. Her body tenses in my arms. Then trembling, she falls back against the mattress, bringing me down with her. I bury my face in her shoulder, breathing in the scent of her, of us.

Her arms wind around my neck and she holds me close. "I love you, Harper. So very much."

I draw in deep breaths to calm my racing heart. Concerned about our children, I roll off of her and with a few quick motions, toss aside my accessory. Wrapping myself around her, I splay my hand on her right breast and massage it gently, rolling the nipple between my fingers. "You are my life." I watch with interest as her body responds to me again.

She closes her eyes. "I like honeymoons."

I nibble on her ear. "We’ve had two so far. I don’t know how many more we are going to be able to get away with." Though God knows making love to her for the rest of my life sounds really good to me.

Kels turns to me and gives me a very satisfied smile. I put that there. I kiss her shoulder. Stroking my hair, Kels says, "We’ll always have Paris."

I burst out laughing and gather her up in my arms. "You are insane."

* * *

The next morning we disembark from our little haven. La Vie en Rose is docked just below the Pont de la Tournelle, on the Left Bank. I take a deep breath and draw in the scent of freshly baked bread and coffee from the multitude of small cafes we encounter on our walk. I take Kels’ hand firmly in mine, grateful for our anonymity in France. No one cares who the hell we are here. In my jeans and leather jacket, hair pulled back in a ponytail, and sunglasses, we could be any straight couple in love. Lord knows, Paris is full of lovers.

"Where are we at?" Kels asks, leaning against my arm.

I kiss her hair. My Little Roo was not exactly thrilled when I surprised her with our honeymoon trip. First, the Concorde is a bit too small for her claustrophobic tastes, even though it shaves off half the flying time. Second, for some reason, my French-speaking spouse doesn’t care much for Paris.

Who could not love Paris?

Unfortunately, the tickets were paid for and so was our floating hotel. Kels, being the eternal good-trooper, agreed to my plans. I think it helped that it was only for three days.

Point to remember: in the future, ask wife about travel plans before pulling out the credit card.

I am determined that Kels will fall in love with the City of Lights, as I did on my first trip here. "This is the Left Bank and we’re in the Latin Quarter. It’s called that because it used to be the center of Paris’ university life and only Latin was spoken."

"I would have failed out."

"You and me both, baby."

"So," she reaches over to stroke my arm with her free hand, "what are our plans for today?"

They’re rapidly changing with her touch. "I thought we’d head over to the Ile de la Cite and see Notre Dame and Sainte Chapelle."

"I know Notre Dame, but what is Sainte Chapelle?"

"Beautiful, like you."

My answer causes her to blush and smile shyly. I may be married, but I still got it.

* * *

We cross the Seine and soon stand in front of Notre Dame. The edifice is gorgeous, a masterpiece of thirteenth century Gothic design. Stained glass, statuary, spiraling towers and gargoyles all combine to reflect the splendor of its craftsmen and the God they served. I admit to being a bit partial to the gargoyles, there to act as rain spouts and as symbols of souls trapped between heaven and hell.

"Amazing," Kels whispers, despite the fact we are standing outside the sanctuary.

I point to the statue to the left of the door. It depicts a man holding his head in his hands. "That’s Saint Denis. He was the Bishop of Paris and was beheaded by the Romans. Legend has it that after being beheaded, he got up and tucked his head under his arm. He stopped at a fountain to wash it off and then went to find a better place to meet his maker."

"People believed this?"

"So much so that Christianity gained ground. Notre Dame hasn’t always been a Christian cathedral, though. During the French Revolution it became the ‘Temple for the Cult of Reason’. A woman dressed like our Statue of Liberty sat on the altar as a symbol for the divinity of Man."

"How do you know so much about Paris?"

"Darlin’, I am from Louisiana, which we purchased from the French. I can trace my ancestors back to the French countryside in the early sixteen hundreds." I smile rakishly and put on an awful French accent, much like Pepe le Pew. "Besides, I wanted to be a fabulous lover when I grew up."

Kels laughs at my humor. "That you managed to accomplish."

"My little skunk of the fair sex," I continue, grasping her hips and pulling her close to me. "You have found me!" I kiss her forehead. "How sweet!" Her nose. "How clever!  We will never part again!" Even though we are both laughing now, I manage to kiss her lips.

"You," Kels replies, in an even worse accent, "are my favorite skunk."

* * *

We get sidetracked on our way to Sainte Chapelle. Harper insists on having ice cream, despite the fact we haven’t had lunch yet. I protest, only to make her feel she’s earned this indulgence, and she leads me over to a small storefront. We lean over the counter and look down at the many ice cream and sorbet flavors on display.

"Now, don’t just order chocolate or vanilla," Harper warns. "This stuff is amazing." She looks up at the server and gives her a huge smile. The girl mistakes it for flirting. I know what it is though. Harper is certainly excited about this ice cream.

Ah, the young. I look at the list of flavors and make my choice. "Framboise," I order. I’ve always loved raspberry.

Harper looks over and leers at me. "Mangue et fruits de la passion," she says.

Of course she wants mango passion. Harper is all about passion. Especially recently. Thank God women hit their sexual peak in their late-thirties and early-forties. I might not survive Harper otherwise. I don’t know what I’m going to do with her in fifteen years.

Hell, I know. I’m gonna lie back and enjoy it. And make sure the bedroom door is locked so the twins don’t accidentally wander in.

Harper watches me intently as I take my first taste of Bertillon ice cream.

Oh my God. That’s amazing. It is a culinary orgasm.

Harper must see and understand the expression on my face. She gives me an amazingly smug expression. "Later, I promise."

Paris is growing on me.

* * *

This is breathtaking. I am standing in the upper church of Sainte Chapelle, bathed in a rainbow of light. I hold out my hand and watch the bright colors dance across my skin. I may have to rethink my opinion of Paris.

The cathedral is built out of stone and glass. It was completed in an astonishing five years; it took nearly two centuries for Notre Dame to be finished. The room we’re in is magnificent. The wall opposite the altar has a huge rose stained glass window which, according to the guides they provide, depicts the end of the world. Starting to the left of the altar and winding around the other two walls are fifteen separate stained glass panels with over eleven hundred scenes, mostly from the Bible.

Harper points to one scene. "That’s Cain clubbing Abel. Cain’s in red." I nod. "Those panels depict the life of Moses. Those are Jesus’ arrest and crucifixion."

I glance down at the guide sheet I’m holding. "It says this is how illiterate people were taught the Bible."

"True. Though this upper sanctuary was for members of the royal family. The real reason this cathedral was built was to house the crown of thorns Jesus wore while being crucified."

"Can we see it?" I start looking at the altar area a bit more closely. That would be impressive, even if I doubt it’s the real McCoy.

"Afraid not, chér. It’s now housed in the Notre Dame treasury and it’s only brought out on Good Friday. We just missed it."

I decide to play with my girl a bit. "Why didn’t we come over here for Easter then?"

Harper starts to reply, stops, starts again. Finally, she lifts up my hand and waves my engagement ring in front of my eyes. "Maybe next year."

I recognize the look in Harper’s eyes. I saw it last night and this morning. Several times. And, hell, we are on our honeymoon. No one really expects us to even leave the room, much less do as much sightseeing as we already have today. "Sounds good, because I have plans for you right now."

"You do?" Harper replies, looking very hopeful.

"Absolutely. Take me home, Stud."

* * *

Kels isn’t thrilled but I do insist we stop for a late lunch on the way home. I plan on us not going out tonight. So we need to store up our energy.

Plus, I want my girl to see a little bit of the city. Otherwise Mama will pitch a fit if Kels can only describe the interior of our bedroom cabin when we get back.

We head into the Marais which also happens to be the gay part of Paris, much as the Village is in New York. Here I have no compunction about holding Kels’ hand and leaning over to drop a kiss on her cheek.

This district is one of the oldest in Paris and home to a significant portion of the Jewish population of the city. It also has one of my favorite food stores, Yahalom, that sells challah bread which melts in your mouth.

We’ll eat and then take a taxi back to our boat.

And settle in for the evening.

* * *

"Don’t move," I purr in her ear, stepping into the shower behind her. She freezes. She knows me well. I reach around, taking the soap from her hand. I begin a long, slow wash of her back which is more a wet massage than anything else. "Feel good?"

"Oh yeah," she replies without moving a muscle. She knows my rules. I tell her not to move, she doesn’t. She’s very obedient, all things considered.

I take my time, listening to her breathing, or, rather, listening to her try to control her breathing. I smile and slip my hands around her torso to continue bathing her. She has the most astounding muscle control. I can forgive the slight trembling. I am, after all, doing my best to torture her. In the best kind of way.

She hates it when I won’t let her touch me, but it always works out well for her. At least, she’s never complained. I bet if I move around to face her, her eyes will be closed. When they open, they’ll be this really incredible shade of blue. It’s the look she gets whenever she’s aroused. And it never fails to do the same for me.

I may as well test that theory.

Sliding around in front of her, the warm water massaging my back, I look at her face. Eyes closed tight. My hands crawl slowly up her stomach to her breasts. I gently knead them. She draws a deep, shuddering breath. Her eyes open and she looks at me, licking her lips. As predicted, her eyes are very blue, very sexy.

"Please," she whispers.

"Please what, Tabloid?" I continue at her chest, moving my own body closer to her. I can feel the heat radiating from her that is more than the water from the shower.

"Let me touch you."

God, that’s tempting, I do love her touch. But, not right now. "No," I draw out the word. "If I do that, you’ll take over. I want to be in the lead."

"I promise…"

I lean up and capture her mouth in a heated kiss. When I’m finished, I step back. "No," I repeat softly. I allow my right hand to travel down her body, nudging her thighs apart. She’s quick to move at my silent request. "Walls," I tell her.

She groans, finding a position in the shower that will allow her to brace her arms out at her side. This does two things. One, it gives her the extra support she will need. And, two, it gives her something to do with her hands besides debate whether to touch me or not. I know one of these days she’s gonna snap when I do this to her.

But I know she enjoys it. I can tell by simply watching her. Her skin flushes, her breathing increases and muscles twitch. If there was any doubt in my mind, it is totally gone when my hand slides between her legs. I watch the muscles ripple in her stomach as I explore to my heart’s content. Moans signal her pleasure at my touch.

"Oh, you like that, don’t you, Stud?" I wrap my free hand in her hair and rub my body against hers, continuing my investigation of her. Like I really need to investigate. I know every inch of her. I know every part of her body and how to make them all respond to me.

I know she’s probably had more talented lovers, but I always seem to satisfy her. In my heart, in my mind, and with my body, this is more than sex. This is making love. You can have sex with anyone. You can only make love with someone who holds your heart and soul. Just like she holds mine.

"Kels…" she groans, her head dropping forward. "Oh, baby, please." I watch her arms tremble as she braces against the wall.

My hand massages her neck, my lips find her ear. I leave a path of tiny kisses before giving her lobe a bite. "You want to go to bed, Tabloid?"

"Yes, please."

I turn, leaving her standing there. To look at her, you would think she was chained up and tortured for hours. Her head is bent forward, her breathing ragged. After shutting of the water, I grab a towel and dry her body, then I lift her chin so her eyes meet mine. "Go to bed and wait for me," I tell her gently. "You know how I want you. Right?"

"Yes."

She moves now, heading into our bedroom. I dry off, taking my time, using a light lavender scented body oil to my advantage. I am sure to give her time to stew in her own juices, as it were.

Entering our room, I find her stretched out on the bed. She’s on her back, already gripping the sheet. I laugh softly as I walk slowly around the bed. Her eyes track me. "I want to try something new tonight, Harper. Are you up to it?"

"Oh yeah." She nods. "Anything for you."

"Hmm, how sweet." I tell her as I lie down next to her. "Because what I had in mind is actually for you."

She swallows hard, eyes snapping shut. "God…"

I do love playing with her. "Not a word, Tabloid." I stretch out on my back and guide her without words until she is on her knees, above me.

I then begin a rather earnest oral exploration of the inside of her thighs, never going quite high enough to be where she really wants me. I hear her grunt, groan and moan her frustration, but she won’t say a word, because I told her not to. It’s her panting that distracts me from my quest. I stop, look up and offer as I bring my hands to her backside. "You might want to hold on to the headboard." Then I am where she wants and needs me. She’s already shuddering. Her hips moving in my hands in quick, jerking movements.

Finally, she can’t help herself and must speak. "Oh God, Kels, please. Please."

I love the way she begs.

I hear a hard groan, her breathing stops and all her muscles become rigid. As I take everything I am given and make it mine, I can only imagine that the back of that headboard is going to have permanent impressions of her fingers on it.

With her final release, she slumps forward, resting against the headboard. I move and come up behind her, massaging her back and wiping away a trickle of perspiration that creeps slowly down her spine. "Come on, baby. Lie down with me. Let me hold you."

Guiding her down, she falls into my arms, lying there quietly, trembling slightly. Her eyes open and she looks at me. They are nearly gray now. "I love you."

"Love you too. Very much."

* * *

I turn the corner and feel my breath taken from me. Further down the hallway, highlighted by the afternoon sun, is the Venus de Milo. It is exquisite and utterly beyond what I had imagined. I tug on Harper’s hand and pull her down the corridor, mindless of the others in our way.

We stand at the ropes and look up at the sculpture. "My God, she’s beautiful," I whisper.

"She was crafted in 150 BC. Can you imagine what it must have been like to see her made? And to know how many generations have looked upon her and felt the same way?"

This is a different side of Harper than the one I’ve known before. "You’re a romantic," I accuse, tugging on her leather jacket. "Not a closet one, but a dyed-in-the-wool one."

She kisses the top of my ear, brushing away my hair. "Only around you, chér."

"Good." I don’t like the thought of anyone else seeing this side of her. My thumb rubs against my wedding band. "I want you all to myself."

We wander through the Louvre until we come into the room which houses the world’s most famous and heavily insured piece of art – the Mona Lisa. The first thing I notice is how crowded the gallery is. The second thing is how small the portrait is. It is secure behind a thick pane of glass, having once been stolen from the museum. Despite warnings not to, many people are taking flash photographs of Leonardo’s masterpiece.

Harper sniffs and makes a face.

"What is it?"

She leans down to whisper her answer. "I think some of our fellow tourists need to take a shower. Either that, or we need better air conditioning in this room."

I clamp my lips tightly to keep from bursting out laughing. It’s true. It’s ripe in here.

"Can you see it?" she asks.

I strain up to my tip-toes and look over the head of the tourist in front of me. "Yeah, pretty much."

Suddenly, large hands are around my waist and boosting me up. I feel like a kid again, small and light and carefree. She holds me up high enough to see over everyone else. It occurs to me that soon she’ll be doing this with our children. A wave of affection for my mate wells up within me and I choke back unexpected tears.

She brings me back down and looks at me quizzically. "You all right?"

I nod, sliding my arms around her, not caring that we’re in a public place. I rest my ear over her heart and listen to it for long moments while she gently strokes my hair.

"Time to go back to our hotel?"

"No, you promised me dinner and a ride on the ferris wheel in La Concorde. You have to feed me to keep up my strength, you know?"

She laughs, her seductive laugh. "All right, I certainly want you to remain strong. I know the plans I have for you."

* * *

It’s still several hours before dawn when I wake up. I stretch and hear my shoulders pop. Wonder what woke me up?

"Harper, honey." She taps my back gently. I can tell she wants to wake me up but she feels a little guilty about it.

I roll over and gather her up in my arms. "Yes, chér? Something I can help you with?" I love honeymoons. I begin tracing light patterns across her back. Her skin is so soft. And tasty. I lean in and nibble on her neck.

"Harper," she groans, moving against me.

"Yes, darlin’, what can I do for you?"

She puts her hands up on my shoulders and pushes me back slightly. "Can you get me some Chinese food?"

What in the hell?

I shake my head, sure I’ve heard her wrong. "Chinese food?"

"Chicken and snow peas."

"Snow peas?"

"And hot and sour soup, a spring roll and," I can see her blush even in the darkness of the cabin, "a Twinkie."

Honey, I have a Twinkie you can eat. Kingsley, stop it. Right now. You certainly ain’t getting any right now. Don’t make this errand more painful than need be. "Cravings?"

She nods.

Well, I knew this day would come. I slide out of the sheets, instantly missing the warmth and comfort of her body. I begin pulling on clothes. Checking my watch, I groan. Where in the hell am I going to find Chinese food at three in the morning in Paris?

When I’m ready to go, I lean down and give my wife a lingering kiss. "I’ll be back as soon as possible."

She fingers my jacket. "Thanks, darling. Oh," she calls out when I reach the bedroom door, "can you make sure it’s in a brown sauce, not white?"

"Of course," I reply. I mean, hell, it’s already an impossible task, why not make it more so?

* * *

Hmm. Paris was wonderful. It was beautiful and very romantic, and the sex was incredible, but it is good to be back in New York. Today is checkup day so we can probably look forward to more baby pictures. I think Kevin has pretty much clued in to the fact Harper expects them every time we come in. He now makes it a regular part of my exam. As long as it doesn’t hurt the babies, I have no problem with it. I love the way it makes Harper smile. It also provides her with another connection to our children.

"So," I offer to get my dear spouse’s attention which been captured by a chart on the wall.

"Kels, you should see this. It’s very cool. We need one of these at home. It has all the facts about the babies week by week."

"And so do the thirty or forty baby books you’ve bought and the plethora of internet sites you have bookmarked. You do not need a wall chart."

"For my office."

"Tabloid, bring your butt over here and sit down with me." I reach out a very determined hand. "We have things to start thinking about."

"Such as?" She swings her leg over a stool next to the table and takes my hand as she sits.

"A nanny and names."

"Yeah, a nanny with a name would be good," she teases. "Otherwise we’d just be going ‘hey you’ all the time."

"Why did I marry you?" I give her a playful shove.

She leans over, growling in my ear. "Because I got you pregnant. I had to make an honest woman out of you."

"You just keep believing that."

"I will, thanks." She gives me a kiss.

Kevin enters and finds us smooching still. "Do you two ever stop?" He tosses my file down on the counter and opens it up, glancing at the nurse’s notes.

"We just wait ‘til we get here. Exam rooms make her horny," Harper pipes up.

This gets her a real smack on the leg.

Kevin takes his seat next to me across from Harper. "So how are you feeling?"

"I feel great. I felt the babies move last week."

"Ah, a little quickening." He takes out his tape and takes the measurements I’ve become accustomed to. "That’s to be expected, especially with twins. You have two little ones competing for space. Wait until you feel that first real kick. It shouldn’t be too long in coming either." He nods, seemingly pleased with the size of my stomach. I am not. Even though I know it’s good for the babies. It’s bad for my vanity.

"I see you’ve put on some good weight." Gee, ouch. "I wish all my mothers carrying multiples took as good care of themselves as you do."

"I have great incentive and a good support system in this one." I nudge Harper. "She won’t let me do anything she thinks might be bad for us."

"Excellent." He winks at Harper. "These are two very lucky babies." He turns, making a note in the chart. "Kelsey, what position do you normally sleep in?"

"On my side, curled up next to Harper."

"Right or left side?" He asks, never looking away from the chart.

"Left."

"Good. Perfect, as a matter of fact."

"This is important?" Harper seems a tad annoyed he’s asking about our sleeping habits.

"Yeah, it is, actually. Sleeping on the left side increases the blood flow to Kelsey’s uterus. It’s better for the babies. If she had been sleeping on her right, I was going to ask her to try to adjust, but there’s no need." He faces us again and gives us an encouraging smile. "It’s no wonder these babies are developing so well. You guys are too good," he teases. "We can’t even trick you into making a mistake."

He does the medical exam as quickly and efficiently as always. He is very pleased with our babies’ progress. He makes a few more notes in my chart before returning to get Harper her baby pictures.

God, I hate that gel. I’m never quite expecting it and I always flinch.

Harper watches the screen intently waiting for Kevin to show her the babies and all their new little features. I lie here with my eyes closed and listen to those wonderful little heartbeats.

Amazing.

* * *

There is a downside to being married to a pregnant woman: I am now obligated to go shopping. And I have to like every damn thing I see. As if I’m gonna argue with her now. I want to live to see my kids. She’s extremely sensitive to the fact she’s shopping for maternity clothes. Because of the twins, she’s showing earlier than most women at her stage. I keep telling her she’s beautiful, but it doesn’t seem to pacify her much.

"We really do need to consider hiring a nanny," she tells me again needlessly as I shift the packages I’m carrying. Wonder how she’d feel if I hired a pack mule to carry these for me? That’s probably a really bad idea. Scratch that.

"I know. How would you like to do that? From an agency or through an ad?"

"We could try both, I guess," she sighs, looking at another top. It looks exactly like the last one she showed me, but when it’s held up for my approval, I nod. At this rate I’m never going to be able to shake my head ‘no’ again.

"Do you have a preference?"

I think she’s talking about how to hired the nanny. "I want to make sure we have a good interview sheet set up for them and we need to do background checks of our own. Most agencies only do a half hearted one at best. And, no one, but no one, is getting near our kids without me knowing what she ate for breakfast as a fourth grader. I don’t take chances with you three."

This earns me a bright smile. "Bet Dad could suggest someone to do that for us."

"Oh, no doubt."

"I’ll give him a call later."

I smile at that comment. I’m really glad Kels and her dad are getting along so well. I don’t know if she has even noticed it, but she seems much happier now that they’ve started to mend that fence.

"So," she moves on to the next display of clothes. "We’ll start working on the interview sheet and get an ad placed, I guess."

I nod again. I need to get back to work so I can find someone to disagree and argue with.

* * *

I take the seat behind my desk. I’m ready to go back to work. I fire up the computer and wait for Brian to finish gathering the files he said he has for me. I saw Harper a few minutes ago. She was chewing someone out and seemed quite pleased with herself.

The door opens. Brian brings in a small stack of files, giving me a wary look as he hands them to me.

"What’s wrong?"

"Memo on top from Langston."

"Am I in trouble?" I smirk a bit, taking my letter opener to the sealed envelope. I slit it, kinda the way I’d like to slit Langston’s …

"I’ve never seen good news arrive in a sealed envelope. You want some herbal tea?"

"Please." I remove the memo as Brian leaves my office. Leaning back in my chair, I take the time to carefully read the memo addressed to both Harper and I.

Oh yeah, I’m in hot water.

My stories have been reassigned to the other correspondents and I’ve been relegated to every shitty little story he could find, segments that will be handled by lowly segment producers. The more important stories have been handed off and Harper will be working with Kendra, Sam and the others on those.

I sigh, continuing to read. All of my personal appearances, both public and on other shows, have been canceled. And my airtime has been cut back.

A year ago I would have gotten upset and had a real fit. Now, however, I am content to look at this as a lighter workload and relax. It’s better for my babies. Lousy for my career, but better for my babies.

I place the letter on my desk and close my eyes. Running my hand over my stomach, I can still feel them moving around. They move around a lot and I enjoy every minute of it. I try not to mention it or make too much of it right now because Harper can’t share in it with me and I know that really bothers her.

"Kels?" I open my eyes, Brian hands me my tea. "You okay?"

"Oh, I’m fine."

"Bad news?"

"Normally, yes. Right now, no." I smile, take my tea and sip.

"Okay, who are you and what have you done with Kelsey Stanton?" He bends down as if to inspect me for personality implants.

I wave him off. "Brian, sometimes you get to a point in your life where your priorities start to shift. Mine are shifting. Every day that I experience something new in my pregnancy, my focus changes. You know what I mean?" I lean forward, gesturing for him to have a seat. "I want my family. I want my family more than I want my career, I think. I’ve seen firsthand what putting career above all else can do to a family and I won’t let that happen."

"Makes perfect sense to me."

Just as I’m about to comment, Harper comes through my door holding her copy of the memo. Or, I should say, an incredibly crumpled copy of the memo in her hand. "The son of a bitch bastard mother fu-"

I take my pen and start checking them off. I’ll have her sign her paycheck over to the twins’ savings. It’ll be easier than trying to stop her at this point. Oh well, I gotta try. "Harper, honey, calm down."

Brian makes a quick exit, closing my door behind him. Smart boy.

"I’ll go have a little heart to heart with the fucker, if he has a heart."

I get up from behind my desk and move to her. Stroking her arms slowly, I try to get her to look at me. "Will you calm down and listen to me for a minute? This is all okay with me."

"Bullshit! You’ve worked your entire career to get to this point. And now some jackass is pulling this shit because of our children. No! I won’t stand by and let this happen. He’s pissed off the wrong person." She tries to twist away and go do something incredibly stupid. I hold on to her tighter.

When she stops struggling, I lead her over to the couch and get her to sit. I place myself rather strategically in front of her and lay her hands on my stomach. "It’s okay, Harper. It’s better for me right now. Better for them. A lighter workload is a good thing."

"It’s not fucking fair."

"Fair? In this business when is anything fair? No, it’s not. But, right now, it’s best. And if you do anything, you’ll pay for my mistake too. So, I want you to behave and do as the boss says." I slide her hands under my top so she has direct contact with the babies. "We’re gonna enjoy this time and maybe start shopping for baby furniture."

"You’re not saying this because you think I would push you too hard?" Her voice holds, for the first time I can recall, a tone of insecurity. "You know I like the big stories, but, Kels, I would never hurt you or our babies. Ever."

"Oh sweetheart, I know that. Harper, he’s doing this because I embarrassed him and pissed him off. It’s me he’s slapping down. Not you. You’re staying on the big stories. I’m getting pulled back. I’m being reminded who the boss is, who has the power."

"It sucks. I don’t like the idea of not working with you."

"I know, but you still have creative control over my pieces. And you still get to go out on the big stories. Let me tell you, Kendra has real fire. I think you’re gonna like working with her."

"I miss you already. I don’t give a rat’s ass about Kendra’s fire or anything else."

Okay, I can tell Mom Mode is about to kick in here. "Harper, listen to me. Don’t take this personally. I’m not. I’m looking for the up-side here. I have less work and more time to prepare for the babies. This is good. You need to stay focused and keep giving him the hot stories he’s used to getting from you. And I won’t settle for any less from you. Do you understand?"

She finally smiles; I think she caught on. I feel her rubbing my tummy. "Okay, boss. God, I love you. And I think I owe a ton of money to the twins’ tuition fund."

"Yeah, I’m afraid you do, Tabloid." I lean over, giving her a kiss on the forehead. "We’ll try to get a tally at dinner tonight, which, by the way, you are taking me out for and picking up the tab too. Okay?"

"You got it, chér."

"Good. We should start thinking bout what we’re going to name these two, too. I’m thinking it’ll be easier to get their attention later on if they have names."

She laughs at my joke. "True. Let’s see …" She frowns as she thinks. It could be trouble. "Carol and Coral? Susan and Suzanne?"

I wrinkle my nose at those names. I wonder if Tabloid realizes she suggested naming one of our babies after an ex-lover of mine. Somehow I doubt it. "You trying to add more money to the college fund? And what makes you think they’re both girls? Could be boys. Could be one of each."

"Jonah and Johan? Patrick and Patricia?" She finally stops, mercifully. "I’m only trying to be helpful, dear. I can’t wait until Dr. McGuire can tell us the sex of the babies. You do want to find out, don’t you?"

"Hmm, you know, I hadn’t thought about it, to be honest." I settle down on the couch next to her and rest in the crook of her arm, picking imaginary lint off the front of her shirt. "I guess. It would make picking out names and stuff easier. But, Harper, if he can’t tell us by ultrasound, I don’t want to do an amnio. They’re too damn risky. Okay?"

"Of course, sweetheart. Besides, I’d pass out if I saw that needle, I bet." She then grins triumphantly. "And I’ll add your buck to my tab."

"Deal. See, we don’t need that kind of stress," I tease and take a deep breath, glad this storm had passed. "Six feet of passed out producer, in my opinion, is not a good thing."

"Nope, not at all." I feel her lips kiss the top of my head and I cuddle in closer for a moment, knowing she’s got to get back to work soon. "Thanks, baby."

"My pleasure. That’s what I’m here for."

<fade out>

© 2000 Exposure Productions. All rights reserved. The Content is protected in the U.S. and internationally by a variety of laws, including but not limited to, copyright laws and treaty provisions, and other proprietary rights laws.

You are hereby granted permission to receive a copy of the Content from the mailing list or web site in whole or in part, (and, except where otherwise specified or provided by Exposure Productions, print a single copy of the Content for your own personal use) but only for purposes of viewing and browsing through the Content. You are also hereby granted permission to store the files on your computer for your own personal use. All other use of Content from the mailing list or web site, including, but not limited to modification, publication, transmission, participation in the transfer or sale of, reproduction, creation of derivative works from, distribution, performance, display, incorporation into another web site, reproducing the Content (whether by linking, framing or any other method), or in any other way exploiting any of the Content, in whole or in part, for uses other than those expressly permitted may not be made without Exposure Productions’ prior express written consent.

Though this series is inspired by certain actual incidents, it is a work of fiction and references to real people and organizations are included only to lend a sense of authenticity. All of the characters, whether central or peripheral, are wholly the product of the authors’ imagination, as are their actions, motivations, thoughts and conversations, and neither the characters nor the situations which were invented for them are intended to depict real people or real events. In particular, the depictions of CBS and NBC are not meant to portray the corporations, or any individual within the corporations, but are only used to lend a sense of authenticity to this work of fiction.