Jensen woke up to her phone ringing too loudly from her bedside table. A groan escaped her lips. It should've been a law that no one was allowed to wake a pregnant woman from her sleep. Scratch that. Don't wake women up at all. They're tired. They deserve sleep.

Jensen sighed and reached around until she found her phone. A face full of pregnancy pillow was better than opening her eyes and looking around. Her headache pounded in her temples, which meant it took too much out of her to actually answer the phone.

"Hello?" Jensen answered, voice slightly muffled from her pillow. Her headache pounded against her temples and she prayed the person that had called had butt-dialled her and she would be back in her merry world of not awake.

"Morning, Jensen." Scott was too chipper for that early in the morning. (So it wasn't that early.) (Early enough.) "How are you?"

"Barely alive," Jensen said, opening her eyes and staring at the ceiling. "And you?"

"Not bad."

"Can I help you with something?"

"Are you planning on picking up something for Rocky on this trip?"

"Um." Jensen ran a hand down her face. "Yeah. Eventually."

"Want to go shopping with me?" Scott asked. "Get out of your hotel for a little while?"

"What hour is it?"

"We can grab breakfast if you want."

"Breakfast?" Jensen let out a groan that was slightly too dramatic even for her. "Call me when it's lunch."

"Sooner you get it done, the sooner you can go back to bed."

Jensen made a face. "In doing so I leave my bed."

"That's generally the principle of getting it done."

"Are you... What time is it?"

"You don't want me to answer that."

"Where's your hotel?" Jensen pushed herself up from the pregnancy pillow. Which was more than she thought she'd be doing that day. Except going to the bathroom. Or eating. Jensen didn't have big plans for the day. She'd see Buckingham Palace another time. Maybe another trip entirely.

"Is this an interrogation?"

"Are you outside my hotel?"

"Maybe," Scott said. "Are you joining me?"

"Scott, I haven't... showered. Or anything." Did Jensen shower at night? Yes. Was she lying? Yes. Sleep was important—it brought out the worst in her. "Are you really outside?"

"Yeah," Scott said. "But I lied about breakfast. I already bought some."

"Scott."

"I have chocolate croissants," Scott sang. "Is that reason enough for you to come outside?"

Jensen sighed. Loudly. Through her nostrils. "Ten minutes?"

"Take your time."

"Ten minutes," Jensen said, getting up from her bed. She paused for a moment. "Thank you."

"If we get papped," Scott started, "we can go hide in a coffee shop or something."

"Because that'll make them stop."

"Yeah, but it's better to sit than run."

"You're..." Jensen sighed. Again. "You're right. Fine."

"See you soon."

Jensen put her phone down and let out, yet another, glorious groan that was far too immature for someone turning thirty-seven in a matter of weeks. She knew she was being immature. In fact, she was well aware of it.

The awareness stayed as she dragged herself out of bed. It stayed while she got dressed; pulled on her overalls over a white shirt because she despised the idea of wearing a dress when she wasn't doing press. It was even there while she slid her Converse on—Miles had bought her a pair that didn't have laces, so she wasn't going to have to ask Scott to tie them for her.

Electing to wrestle her curls into a bun rather than brush it, Jensen grabbed her phone, keys, sunglasses, and wallet and walked out the door. Elevator down. Hands in her pockets. Headache far too intense. Jensen winced when she walked out the door, too much sunlight hitting her at once. She pushed her sunglasses on with a scowl as she looked around for Scott.

"How's it hanging?" Scott leaned against the wall of a hotel and waved a paper bag.

"I feel like I'm outside and dressed," Jensen said, "when I should be asleep."

Scott pushed off the wall and handed her the paper bag. "Will this make your early wakeup call better?"

"Marginally." Jensen took the bag from him and took a bite of the croissant. The smell of freshly baked pastry was enough to make her mouth water, flaky croissant, icing sugar, and chocolate were exactly what the doctor had ordered. She pushed her bite to the side of her mouth. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Scott said, tilting his head in the direction he wanted to walk.

Jensen followed as she rubbed her temple. As she chewed and swallowed, she prayed eating would make her headache go away. "Where do you want to go?"

"Somewhere I've never been."

"Have you been to the UK before?"

Scott smiled. "Nope."

"Damn it, Scott."

Scott laughed. "How was I going to get you to come adventure with me by saying I didn't know where I was going?"

"I..." Jensen laughed. "Valid point."

"Thank you," Scott said. "I was thinking Carnaby Street."

"What's on Carnaby Street?" Jensen asked, taking another bite of croissant.

"No idea." Scott shot her a look, cheeky grin included. "Come on."

*

As it turned out, Jensen loved Carnaby Street. More than she ever thought she would given how awful she felt. Her sunglasses had been pushed up to take in everything Carnaby was. Shops galore lined the street. A local artist had made a whale in the middle of the street made from plastic bottles to show how much plastic was in the ocean. Jensen could've stared at it for hours. (Miles would have.) (Almost the moment Scott and her had turned the corner to see it, she asked him to take a picture of her in front of it to send to Miles, which he did without question.)

There was a little shop wedged between two others, a door small enough she might've missed it. With only a quick glance into the shop, Jensen's eyes lit up. There was art plastered across the walls and everything was bright and colourful and immediately lifted her mood.

Jensen looked at Scott. "Can we—" She pointed to the shop.

Scott waved his hand. "After you."

Jensen rushed into the store. She felt like her eyes couldn't land on one thing, everything drew her attention. There were framed prints on the wall to her right—tattooed royalty, caricaturized musicians, pop art of pop culture, and a neon sign that welcomed her to London more than anyone else had. Jensen had walked into her own Wonderland.

"This place is sick," Scott said as Jensen turned toward him. He nodded approvingly.

"I—" Jensen pulled her wallet from her pocket. "Can you hold this, please?"

Scott laughed and pocketed her wallet. "Under what circumstances are you getting this back?"

"When I've been talked down from buying everything I see—oh my God."

Jensen walked past Scott and stared at a print on the wall. Too many colours, it's lonely out in space in bold bubble letters, Elton John by Victoria Topping. The look she gave Scott when she turned back to him was the guiltiest of all guilty faces. Famous last words was practically written across her forehead.

"Can I have my wallet, please?"

"That was, like, ten seconds."

"I want to get it for Miles."

"That doesn't erase the fact that you lasted ten seconds."

Jensen pouted. Full-on. And she wondered where Rocky got it from. "Our song is an Elton John song. This is important."

"Is your song Your Song?"

Jensen smiled at the memory of Miles in his sequinned baseball outfit. "Don't Go Breaking My Heart."

"Are you serious?" Scott asked, amusement dressing his face. "That's your song? The cheesiest Elton song you could've picked."

"Technically," Jensen said. "But we also accept Take Me Or Leave Me."

"From Rent?"

Jensen held up a finger. "If you're going to diss Rent, get out of my sight."

Scott held his hands up in surrender. "No judgement."

"Wallet, please?"

"Are you sure?"

Jensen nodded. Too hard, her headache decided to remind her that it was very much there. "Positive."

"You're going to carry that around all day?"

Jensen raised an eyebrow. "We're going to be out all day?"

"Surprise." Scott smiled. "You're sure about this print?"

"I'm sold," Jensen said. "I can already see it in the living room. Or our bedroom."

"You want Elton John staring at you? In the bedroom? Potentially while you have—"

"Scott." Jensen's eyes widened.

Scott motioned to her stomach. Ever-growing. An amused grin dressed his lips as he whispered, "Is it supposed to be a secret how babies are made?"

"Shut up."

Scott laughed. "Still want your wallet?"

"I... yeah." Jensen managed a small laugh while nodding. "I'll ban it from our room."

Scott shook his head as he continued to laugh. He dug Jensen's wallet from his pocket and handed it to her. "Here."

Jensen took it from him. "Thank you."

Looking around the store, Jensen continued picking smaller pieces that she wanted to put up around the house. Or put into her too many photo albums of too many postcards and prints. She wouldn't have traded it for the world. There wasn't anything she wanted to get for Rocky in the store, but Jensen knew she would find something Rocky would like eventually. Scott said he'd meet her outside when she went to pay.

When Jensen walked up to the cash register, the cashier's face lit up. "Jensen Rhodes?"

Jensen put on the best smile she could muster. "Hi."

"Oh my gosh," the cashier said, "Can I get a picture? Please?"

"Of course." Jensen needed to stop nodding if she wanted her headache to leave her alone. "Can I pay for these first, please—" Jensen narrowed her eyes and tried to read the name tag. "—Dahlia?"

"Yes, of course, I—sorry."

"Oh, no, it's totally okay," Jensen said, "Don't worry about it."

Dahlia began scanning the prints for her. "I really, really, loved Legendary when it was still on air."

"You watched Legendary?" Jensen smiled softly.

"Oh, hell yeah," Dahlia said, "I love your work. Sparks Fly was the first thing I saw at the cinema the day it came out."

"Thank you so much," Jensen said. "That means a lot."

"I can't believe you're in front of me right now," Dahlia said, "This is so cool. Um, your total. Um." Dahlia looked at the register and read it out. "Cash or card?"

"Card," Jensen said, "Credit, please."

Jensen paid as Dahlia gently wrapped the prints and put them in a paper bag. She was careful with each print, which Jensen appreciated immensely. She smiled for the photo that Dahlia took of the two of them and thanked her again for being a fan. Jensen took a business card for the shop—We Built This City—and gave Dahlia a hug before leaving the store. She could've spent all day in there.

"All good?" Scott asked.

Jensen nodded. And groaned. The headache was unrelenting. And her baby had shifted, playing hacky sack with her insides. "Do we have to go shopping for the rest of the day?"

Scott shook his head. "I found what I was looking for. Did you?"

"Um," Jensen said, "Yeah. For now."

"Up for walking?"

Jensen took a deep breath. "How far?"

"Saint James's Park is right near Buckingham Palace, I looked it up while you were paying," Scott said. "About twenty minutes."

"I can't go that fast," Jensen said, "and I have to pee. Really bad. Baby against the bladder kind of bad."

"Bathroom first," Scott said, leading her in the direction of where, Jensen hoped, a bathroom was. "We'll grab some lunch while we're there. And we can go as slow as you want ti the park after."

"Are you sure?"

Scott nodded. "I'm positive."

"I'm not joking, Scott," Jensen said. "Opt-out now if you want to, I won't be offended."

"Believe it or not," Scott said, scrunching his eyes. "There are worse things in life than spending time with someone and stopping to smell the roses."

"I won't walk that slow."

"You walk as slow as you need and I'll match pace. Cool?"

"God," Jensen said, "can you believe I had a six pack eight months ago?"

"Still got the gun show, Jensen Rhodes. You got this."

*

Jensen was getting suspicious of Scott saying he had never been to London before. St. James's Park was stunning. A still blue lake surrounded by trees that reached to the perfectly blue sky. Ducks bigger than any Jensen had seen in Vancouver that came in enormous numbers. Couples sat on benches together, families walked hand in hand, some pushed strollers. Jensen wanted to do that. One day. Bring Rocky and whoever came into their world to London. Show them all there was to offer with Miles. The world was less scary when she knew she'd be headed home after. It was glorious to see the wonders new places had to offer. She'd come to love visits around the world. Mostly. When she was less pregnant and had less of a pounding headache.

"Can I ask you something?"

Scott had kept to his word about letting Jensen go as slow as she needed. After a meal, she was only slightly more energized than she thought she'd be. Her headache still pounded against her skull. Enough that she almost didn't hear Scott ask the question. Jensen tried her best to rub her temple nonchalantly with her prints in her other hand.

"Go for it," Jensen said.

"How do you feel after press the other day?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean."

"It's..." Jensen sighed. "I'm over it now."

"You're sure they're not getting to you?"

"Of course they're getting to me. But if I let every shit bag reporter—" Jensen flinched at the thought of Dante Juarez, Cami and Gio's podcast. "—take up every waking thought I have... I'll go nuts. I already have."

"Here I thought Jensen Rhodes wasn't an optimist."

Jensen scoffed. "She's not. Ask anyone."

"I can text your husband right now."

"Go for it, he'll agree with me."

Scott shot Jensen a questioning look. "Really?"

"He loves me in spite of it." Jensen laughed and looked forward. "Hey, do you think Buckingham Palace has a gift shop?"

"I don't kn—"

Jensen grabbed Scott's shoulder as a wave of pain moved through her stomach. Scott held her arm steady as Jensen placed her other hand on her stomach.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Scott said, "what's going on?"

"I—" Jensen drew a sharp breath in. "I don't know."

"Talk to me, sister. What's it feel like?"

"It feels. Tight. Um. Ow. I don't know."

"Okay, okay." Scott carefully led her to an empty bench where she could sit down, but never let go of her arm. "Braxton hicks?"

Jensen shook her head. "I've had those. This isn't that."

"Talk it out. Does anything else hurt?"

"No. I mean." Jensen took Scott's hand and squeezed it tightly. She wished she had the focus to thank him for not complaining. "I have a headache but—"

"You have a headache?"

"I've had it for days." Jensen couldn't tell if the hotness in her chest was a panic attack coming on or another symptom of whatever the hell she was feeling. She tried to focus on her breathing, which was speeding up too quickly.

"Jensen," Scott said, "don't panic when I say this."

Jensen let out a weak laugh. "Too late."

"My ex-wife had something happen during her pregnancy," Scott said, "and there were a lot of feelings like this."

            Jensen squeezed Scott's hand again as another wave of pain washed over her. Her eyes clamped shut. "And?"

"How far along are you?"

"I—" Jensen drew in another sharp breath. "Thirty-two weeks."

Scott grimaced. "We should get you to a hospital."