Heath sat outside the bathroom of their new house. Their new, empty house. While he waited, he counted the number of bathrooms in his head, even though he knew how many there were. There was the guest bath downstairs, the one off the kitchen, then there was Pappoús' private one in his suite. That covered downstairs. Then there was the guest bath upstairs, the one at the top of the back stairs, the jack-and-jill one connecting the two smaller bedrooms, and this one, where he spent most of his time sitting, the master suite bathroom.

That made seven. Seven bathrooms.

Jesus.

He, Heath Michael Spencer, lived in, no, was the owner and master of, a house with seven fucking bathrooms.

All of which needed decorating, or "doing up," as they said in England.

He reached up and tapped on the door, and heard something that sounded vaguely reassuring, so he sat back down, looking at his watch.

3:32 AM.

Why the bloody blue blazes did they call it "morning sickness" if it came at all fucking hours, whenever it fucking chose?

The door opened and MJ emerged, looking pale and apologetic.

"You don't have to get up with me every time," she said. "The bed's right there, you can be supportive while you're lying down."

"Don't be a goose," Heath said putting an arm around her as they walked back to the bed. "Besides, your dad's moving in within the next few weeks here, we can take turns getting up with you, can't we?"

MJ gave him a look as she climbed into their brand-new, wonderfully huge and fluffy bed. It was something called a "California King," and was the largest bed either one of them had ever slept in. They still spent most of their time cuddled together in the middle, but it still felt luxurious and amazing.

"If you dare call my dad to take turns watching me puke," I'm leaving you and going to live with your parents in Surrey," MJ threatened.

"I'm joking, I'm joking," he said, taking her in his arms as she snuggled in.

"I swear, MJ, there's definitely less of you than before," Heath murmured. "Have you lost weight?"

MJ shrugged. "I don't know. I always made a point of not weighing myself, so I don't know what I weighed before. The weight that that Dr. Gettleman took at my first check up is the first time I've actually known my weight in years."

"Okay, so that was three weeks ago, so what do you weigh now?" Heath asked. "That should be easy to check, innit?"

"I love when you talk street English," MJ laughed, hugging him tighter. "But yeah, about the other, uh, we don't own a scale, dude, haven't you noticed that?"

Heath thought about it. Other than their personal possessions, they'd really moved in with nothing at all.

"Fuck me, you're right," he finally said. "I guess that goes on the list, then. And since you go back to Dr. Gettleman tomorrow, we'll find out if you've lost anything then, hm?"

MJ nodded in his arms, but he felt her tense up, and he remembered how strained and terrible her expression had become when she'd stepped on the scale at the obstetrician's office. He'd never seen her look like that, ever, even the first time he'd asked her to come on stage with him in Buenos Aires in front of eight thousand people. Dr. Gettleman had asked if MJ would prefer that he, Heath, step outside, and for a moment he was sure she was going to say yes.

"Shh, don't think about it now, you need to go to sleep, please, darling," he said, keeping his voice light and cheerful. He placed a row of kisses across her forehead, then her nose, then her mouth, though she kept it resolutely closed.

"I just barfed, remember?" she explained.

"I don't care," he replied. "Besides, you haven't eaten anything, what came out, anyway?"

"What are you looking for, like a list?"

Heath laughed. "Oh, god, I love you, Meadow Rain. Even if there were no physical passion, which there's still a fuckton of, believe me, we could live together forever just on laughter alone, you know?"

"So I'm like your Charlie Chaplin?" She scooted closer. "Or am I more a Benny Hill type?" She lifted her leg over his hips. "Or would you say I'm more a Monty Python?"

"You're all three, and then some," Heath replied. "Now sleep, please, so the raspberry can grow, at least into a strawberry or a kiwi, okay?"

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"You've lost six pounds," Dr. Gettleman told MJ the next day as she stepped off the scale.

"What?" Heath spoke as he helped MJ up on the exam table, before MJ could say a word. "Oh my god, what should we do?" He looked from MJ to the doctor, his face a study in worry and concern. "I remember when the Duchess of Cambridge was pregnant, she had to be hospitalized for severe morning sickness and weight loss--"

"Oh god, Heath, stop," MJ said, putting a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry, she said to the doctor. "He's finished his album, he's kind of at loose ends right now, with nothing to do but worry, you know?"

Dr. Gettleman smiled. "No, I'm used to this," she assured MJ. "It's very common, and kind of cute," she added with a grin.

"The truth is that larger, curvier women, like MJ, could, theoretically have perfectly healthy babies without gaining a pound," she told an astonished Heath. "Now, I'm not encouraging or even suggesting that, all right?" She turned to include MJ in her words. "I mean, where's the fun in being pregnant if you can't indulge a little bit, right?

"My point, though, is that the focus should be on healthy eating and vitamins and exercise and sleep and good labs and all that, not just a number on a scale, get it?"

Heath nodded, though he didn't look convinced. "But losing six pounds can't be good, right?" he asked, rubbing MJ's shoulder.

"At this early stage it happens, if the sickness is severe enough."

"But that just means the placenta's strong, right?" MJ asked. "Adhered well, producing lots of hCG and everything?"

"What's that?" Heath asked. "Where did you learn that? I thought we were reading together?" His tone was equal parts confused and accusing.

"You've been in negotiations," MJ explained. "I can't look at fabric swatches all day, you know?"

Heath just gave her a wide-eyed look before looking back at the doctor. "So the weight loss is a good thing?"

"No, not a good thing, just not necessarily a bad thing," Dr. Gettleman clarified.

MJ gave the doctor a look of apology over Heath's head, along with a little smile..

The doctor shook her head. No apologies necessary.

A nurse came in and handed the doctor some papers. The doctor thanked him and looked through them.

"Well, everything actually looks very good. The only thing that's even remotely unusual is that your hCG is quite high. That would explain why you're having such severe nausea." She smiled at MJ. "As you said, that just means the placenta is nice and big, well adhered and all that." She gestured at the table.

"Why don't you lie down and lift your shirt, MJ, let's have a look. You're at about ten weeks now, so we should be able to see and hear a nice heartbeat."

MJ lay down and lifted her blue shirt, exposing the belly button that Heath still found so alluring. He held her hand, and MJ could feel how tense he was.

How cute.

Dr. Gettleman put some gel on the transducer and placed it on MJ's abdomen, and almost immediately the exam room was filled with the sound of liquid whooshing through a hose.

"Well, that was fast," the doctor exclaimed, looking at the monitor and smiling. "That's an incredibly healthy heartbeat you guys."

Heath smiled at MJ and pressed a kiss to her temple while squeezing her hand.

"Oh ho, what's this?" Dr. Gettleman continued, looking at the monitor.

Heath froze, continuing to squeeze MJ's hand. Both looked intently at the doctor, who was turning the monitor so they could see it.

"Look, you guys, you're getting a bonus baby," she declared while pointing. "See? There's one head, and right there, there's another one.

"You're having twins."

You're having twins.

The words echoed in Heath's head as he continued to squeeze MJ's hand.

"Heath? Please let go of my hand," MJ finally asked.

He did as she requested and pulled a chair up so he could sit next to her.

"Oh my god, Heath, can you see that?" MJ squealed, nearly taking his ear off. "Look! Two babies!"

"Yes," Dr. Gettleman agreed. "That would explain why your levels are so high, and why you've been so sick, as well."

"Let's see what else I can tell," the doctor said, more to herself than anyone else. "Obviously there's no way to see the sex at this point, but I can see some other stuff--okay, the placenta's one hundred percent adhered, across the upper right quadrant, so that's good, and it looks like there's only one--"

"So identical?" MJ asked. "That means identical, right?"

"Hold on, hold on, don't rush me," Dr. Gettleman continued. "Still checking--hmm, let me get in and see if I can check right here--yup," she declared. "One sac, definitely, they're identical for sure." She turned to Heath and MJ.

"Boys or girls, I don't know yet, but they're going to look just like each other," she said with a huge smile.

She wiped MJ's stomach and helped her sit up.

Heath just sat back, looking astonished. He had yet to say a word.

"Heath?" MJ leaned forward. "Heath Michael Spencer?"

She looked at the doctor. "Should I slap him?" she asked with a grin.

"Only if you want to." Dr. Gettleman grinned.

"So I'm going to get you going on a bunch of vitamins, and extra folic acid, okay? And you need to really try to eat, whenever you can. Once you can keep stuff down, try, really hard, to be as healthy as you can?" She gave MJ a look. "And let's see you back in two weeks to see how that's going. I'd hate to see you lose any more, if we can help it."

As they were leaving, MJ asked, "So how big are they now?"

"Oh, about the size of strawberries, I guess?" the doctor replied.

MJ smiled her thanks.

Heath finally came to life as they were walking to their car.  It was an absolutely perfect, flawless, Southern California summer day.

"I was right!" he nearly shouted.

"About what?" MJ shouted back with a smile.

"Strawberries!" he answered, putting his large hand, fingers spread, on her belly.

He picked her up and swung her around, both of them laughing like crazy.

"Stop, stop," MJ begged. "I'm going to barf on you!"

"I don't care!" Heath responded. "You've got two strawberries growing inside you, oh my god!"

"I do, I do," MJ answered, laughing. "Now, how about we go pick out some bathroom rugs, then eat some lunch that I can barf up later?"

Heath hugged her, hard, in front of their car.

"Sounds like a plan, petal," he answered, opening the door for her.

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AN: Fuck me, this is turning into a whole other book about the pregnancy and birth...I blame all you sneaky readers who keep asking me stuff about future events, leading me forward without me realizing it...bad readers!