The door slammed behind him as he stumbled in. Wincing at the noise, a little belated, George rested against it while his head stopped spinning. Apparating had been a bad idea. Standing up straight, he attempted to walk (not so straight). Stopping in the kitchen, he downed a glass of water.

His mind reeled with everything that he had been trying not to think about. DAMN Quinn and the thoughts she put in his head! His fist hit the counter before he started for the stairs. “Waker!”

George took the stairs quickly, jumping two at a time near the top. Nearly to his room, and he realized all that alcohol was really running through him. He took a detour to the bathroom.

While he stood there, one hand helping hold himself up, George thought about what he had to say. “Waker!” He frowned and glanced around. “Are...” Was she even home? After shaking it out, he washed his hands before digging into his trouser pocket. Holding up the new keys, he frowned at them.

Waker carefully pulled off her work robes, fastening them to a hanger on the outside of George’s closet door. She still felt a little weird about keeping her clothes and things around, but she supposed-- especially in the past several weeks-- that it was one step closer to properly sharing a home. You live where I live. The words made her smile, and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she bent to tidy her bag and papers.

She was straightening the clothes she’d been wearing beneath her robes when she heard his voice. Like a dear freezing in wonderment and enlightenment, she realized the greeting was not the usual. There was irritation in his voice. She dropped her hands, grabbed her wand, and headed into the hall.

She didn’t have to go far.

“George?” She asked, slightly uncertain, in the direction of the bathroom. She knocked, waiting until she heard the distinct silence that followed the turning off a faucet before poking her head in. She wouldn’t usually barge in on someone in the lavatory, but he’d called for her, and it had sounded... different.

Her eyes quickly evaluated the scene. He didn’t look hurt or particularly angry, just... upset or perplexed, or both. Then she found the key in his hand, and her eyes moved back to his face. She stepped further into the washroom, reaching out to touch his forearm. “What is it?” Obviously it was a key. But her question was directed as much at the tone in his voice and what might have been wrong as it was directed at the origin of the key. “Did Trent give you a spare copy of his key?” Now she was frowning. She supposed it was better than Trent having 24/7 access to George’s house (which he had anyway, really). Did this mean he didn’t want to spend so much time with Waker? Was he not sleeping properly since the news? Was this in the pregnancy books she’d checked out from the library? She’d thought he’d been sleeping fine... Her frown became a little smile, to hide her worry. “So you two have made it official, then?” She bit her lip a little and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Do I have to worry?” The key could be a million things. It could be... a bar key. If the scent of beer and whiskey were any indication.

“Yes.” He blinked at the keys, wondering about the many decisions he had made in what felt like a short amount of time. Why had he drunk so much? His hand with the key moved down to rest on the sink, and his other one rubbed at his head. He flinched at her touch, very slightly, before glancing towards her.

“Trent?” Making a face, he glanced down at the key. “Oh. No.” Letting out a loud breath, he raised an eyebrow. “It’s the key to our new apartment.” His words were only slightly slurred before he pocketed the key once more. That was something he could explain after he got out what was bothering him. What he could discuss once he was put at ease. Or it would end up being just his apartment, which was a bit depressing. Pushing that into his pocket with the key, he turned towards her.

“Is it mine?” He paused long enough to see her face before he launched into his irritated thought process. “Because I had lunch with Quinn and... maybe a few beers, but she made a point.” His knuckles rasped on the sink as he tried to think of a proper way to put it. Instead, it just kind of stumbled out. “You know, that I might just be a sucker. You cheated on me, and I just... I took you back with little hesitation. And now you’re pregnant. But-”

And then he shrugged. George put his hands behind his head, feeling rather uncomfortable. “It’s... mine, right? I don’t want to be the butt of some joke...” He wanted her back, loved her, and was willing to stand behind her. Or beside her. But Quinn was able to wiggle in his head and tap on his fears.

She’d been on the verge of saying, more seriously, ‘What’s wrong?’ when George answered.

“Our... apartment?” Our apartment? As in George’s? And Waker’s?! She couldn’t remember having made any appointments with real estate brokers or landlords, let alone having narrowed it down and picked a place. They both knew they had to move, but it was a big hurtle. Despite their budget and the time constraints, Waker wanted to be methodical about it, wanted to choose the best place for them. Them. Together. It was a joint decision. “When did you find an apartment?” She asked, trying not to sound accusatory. “Is this supposed to be a surprise?”

Waker Nolan was not, unfortunately, the sort of girl who always appreciated surprises. Least of all when it came to things like rent, utilities, and floor space. She didn’t even know in what city they’d be living.

Was that why he was upset? Had he picked a place in the middle of Knockturn Alley, or beneath a loud neighbor? No, no. She had faith in George. She would have to put more trust in that faith if they were going to make this work. She loved him. She knew he loved her, and his heart was always in the right place. They simply had very different ways of approaching things.

But it wasn’t about that, the edge to his voice. She would have preferred a leaky rough or no windows to what he asked next.

Waker stopped biting her lip. Her lips parted in mild confusion before her face became an expression of pain.

Was it his?

Had he really just asked that?

She felt her skin glow with humiliation, prickle with hurt.

Quinn.

What had she been saying to George. What point? He was supposed to be working, and instead he’d been out drinking with some girl who thought it was her business, their future together. Why did he even tell her? Why were they having lunch? Her stomach dropped a little.

This wasn’t happening. He wasn’t asking her this. But he was. Waker was ashamed of what she had done, but she had vowed to George, to herself, to their future that it was the past, and it was. It was not a hard decision to make. It wasn't even a decision. She had no interest in anyone else, wanted no part of that sort of thing. She wanted George. She wanted to be his family.
 
“How could you ask me that?” Her voice gave way. Her hand tightened on her wand, but she felt defenseless, staring at him. “Why would I do that to you? Do you think I would do that to you?” The pain in her face became mingled with confusion. And anger. “Have some scumbag’s baby... so I could play a joke?” Did he know her at all? Her voice was as demanding as it was hurt. “This is going to change the rest of my life, George. Not just yours. You’re the only person whose--” She shook her head, pointing her wand at him. “I wouldn’t have anyone else's baby.” It would have been a much easier choice, then. Even saying the word baby made her feel young. Too young.

“I slept with him once. No, it wasn’t ok. But it’s the past. You’re the only other person I’ve ever been with, and the only person I’ve been with in over eight months. Do I look like I’m eight months pregnant? Do you think if I didn’t know it was yours, that I would tell you it was?” She needed to know-- she needed to know if that was what he really thought of her. “Do you want to wait until it comes out with your hard head? Will that be enough for you? Maybe you should file for a paternity test. Quinn McAvoy can be your legal aid.”

The urge to cry was becoming a frequent nuisance of late. Her wand hand moved just a bit in an effort to stop from pawing at her eyes. “Why are you still talking to her?” She looked at him, searching his face, assuming the worst. “Why her? Why couldn’t you tell your coach or... god, Trent, even? Why someone you snogged when-- I have no contact with-- I don’t want contact with--” She wasn’t going to say the name; this wasn’t about him! It was clear to Waker, if Quinn was filling George’s head with these ideas, that she had a stake in the outcome. If George couldn’t see that, or if he didn’t care, they were going to be in trouble. Her seeming encouragement of George and Waker's reunion did little to deter these thoughts; it may as well have been a plan. “You think it’s fine to go to the pub with someone who wants in your pants and then come home and ask me if it’s yours?”

Perhaps he should have waited until later to bring up the key and what it meant. Poorly planned: it seemed to be their theme as of late. George felt a wince coming on and trying not to let it slip out. Where she thought of it as a joint decision, George thought he was saving her stress by doing it by himself. Kind of like getting the groceries, or trying to clean up. He might not do it right, but he though trying was enough.

His jaw clenched for a moment as he considered her questions. “I got it today... It’s really nice. Affordable... And it was supposed to be a surprise.” Or it was a surprise, still. She just had an idea of what it entailed. His hands moved to shake slightly. “Surprise...” It lacked the enthusiasm he would normally use.

It was a bad idea to bring Quinn up. George knew that, but he also felt like being honest. Painfully so.

“How could you ask me that?”

This time, he winced. Licking his lips, he shifted onto his other foot, eyeing her face, keeping note of her wand in his peripheral. He shook his head--he didn’t think she would do that to him. But he had also never thought she’d cheat on him. Mouth opened to respond, but she kept going, so he shut it, the grunt of words he would’ve used escaping him. Guilt started to set in as he shifted back to his other foot. It helped that she called him a scumbag (not George). He took a deep breath before looking up to her. It was all true: this was both of their lives that would be changing. George did have it easier, not being the one with the baby inside.

Another wince escaped him and he glanced down. George knew she had only been with him, scumbag aside. Or he assumed he knew. It helped to hear it straight, though. His head shook once again: she didn’t look eight months pregnant. He shook it again: he didn’t think she would lead him on like that. “No.” George felt like a child being scolded.

Making a face, he suddenly looked up at her. Hard head?! “Oh, now, Waker. I just... I was just... Just had to ask. Not that I think you would, it was... I just wanted to make sure.” He didn’t need a paternity test, and it was clearly a very bad time to mention Quinn.

Flinching as her wand hand moved, George rubbed his head. “Why?” Standing up straight. George could understand her feelings, now that he thought about it. Rubbing the back of his head, he gave her a half shrug. “She’s a friend, Lou’s best mate.” It was probably not a good time to mention he had told Trent. “Well, I hope you have no contact with him!” Huffing for a moment, George crossed his arms over his chest. Snogging and screwing were two different subjects, unless Waker was snogging some other guy. And then that was an entirely different conversation in itself.

His mouth dropped open, shocked and slight confused. “She doesn’t want in my pants!” Now Waker was just being ridiculous. Hormonal. Moody. Pregnant. It was probably a bad time to explain why, but George’s thought processes were slower than usual. “She had the opportunity, and opted out.” He felt the need to defend himself. “It was just something I had... been thinking about.” Glancing down, he felt the shame starting to seep back. “I didn’t... really think it...” Lack of self-confidence, especially in this area, was something George was not good at dealing with.

“I got it today... It’s really nice. Affordable... And it was supposed to be a surprise. Surprise...”

Waker opened her mouth and closed it, jaw the picture of confusion and unassured-ness. She frowned a bit, cheeks scrunching toward her eyes as if it were really a painful smile. “I’m not trying to be ungrateful or ruin this George-- I just... we have so much to do in nine month--” Less than that, now. “And we have to stick to some kind of plan or it’s going to be disaster.” Her arms moved to exemplify her point. And, of course, there was the small, selfish part of Waker that wanted things to be perfect: a perfect little home, a perfect little family, a perfect future with George. Surprises were nice in theory, but they made a wreck of her nerves in practice. If she was disappointed, how was she going to hide it? “I’m sure it’s lovely...” She added feebly when he not-so-excitedly proclaimed ‘Surprise.’

The answer she demanded, she got, and Waker would be lying if she said she wasn’t relieved to see the guilt creeping into George. She had been the one to mess up everything, initially, and she knew it was she who had to earn his trust, but it had been a joint (and very adult) decision to move forward with this family idea, and she didn’t know why he’d do it if he wasn’t sure. He still wanted it, didn’t he? His wanting it had convinced her to want it!

“Well why didn’t you make sure when we decided we shouldn’t... get rid of it?” She was upset, angry, but even saying the words made her feel a little shier, a little more like the Waker who wouldn’t hear of swapping a Potions project for a snogging session (so much for that). Like she was whispering. Loudly. “You’re the one... making bets about it... it being a boy and... and me being a mum...” Mum. The word made her want to shiver. She wanted it because George wanted it, or because they had to do it together, and it was ok because he was there with her. They were a family now. She’d thought. “You didn’t complain when we were in your bed for a month after exams.”

“Why? She’s a friend, Lou’s best mate.”

If there was one thing she was more certain about, it was Quinn McAvoy’s intentions. George was not that naive. Maybe. She narrowed her eyes, knuckles tingling. “Funny, it doesn’t sound like your cousin was there.”

“Well, I hope you have no contact with him!”

Her brows still knitted, she blinked. She had just told him she hadn’t. She supposed it was a fair comeback, though. “Outside of you, I haven’t seen anyone but the people I work with, and your mum, whom I’m pretty sure must want to hex me at this point. I don’t have time for lunch dates, and I certainly wouldn’t have them with him.” Waker had hardly had time to go out George-- hence his apparent surprise-- let alone her own mates or past mistakes.

“She doesn’t want in my pants!”

“I’m sure she was dressed like a nun,” she murmured darkly, now folding her arms, wands still clutched. “Whose idea was lunch, George?” Whose idea was drinks? Waker had never been quite as comfortable drinking as George, but they had done plenty of it together that summer... until recently. And now that there were months and months of sober dinners (and after-dinners) to look forward to, she was suddenly worried; drinking with his teammates was one thing, drinking with a fling was another.

“She had the opportunity, and opted out.”

Waker’s face went from angry to pained in the blink of an eye. He had told her everything-- she had even been grateful to Quinn for what sounded like encouragement of George and Waker’s rekindling-- but she didn’t need to hear this, not now. It wasn’t fair. Maybe that was a babyish feeling, but it was how she felt. “Oh, poor you. I’m sure some other thing in leather pants made your night.” Every night. For months. She didn’t want to think about it. George wasn’t the sort of boy girls routinely turned down. “And I must be overreacting, I mean, she didn’t sleep with you, so it definitely means she doesn’t want to or you don’t still want to,” she said darkly. “That’s why she’s getting smashed with you in the middle of the day and telling you I’m trying to make you raise someone else’s baby. Merlin knows it’s my life’s ambition to steal your money.”

She could see he was starting to feel worse, regret what he’d said, but she was still angry, and couldn’t help defending herself. It was a many-layered thing, their relationship and the wall of adulthood they’d smashed into at too many kilometers an hour, but Waker loved him, was in love with him, and wanted things to go back to how they’d been before she’d lost his trust. Or at least wanted him to trust to her enough to know that she was making a commitment to him, for life.

“It was just something I had... been thinking about. I didn’t... really think it...”

Waker wanted to feel justified by the words, and to some degree, did, but the way the way he backtracked and faltered made her heart and race. She turned around, wand hand feeling quick staticy (and shaky) now, and quietly left the bathroom. The rush of uncharged air in the hallway made her feel like she could breathe as much as it made her dizzy. She crossed quickly into George’s room, closing the door most of the way before heading for the window. She leaned against it, watching the garden to steady herself.

George didn’t like plans. Clearly, that was one reason he was in the current situation. Maybe it was time to grow up, start making lists! Start writing down dates and talking about plans! Still, he wasn’t too sure how she could be ungrateful. He’d taken the stress of looking and picking and narrowing it down from her. Though, to be fair, he hadn’t thought it had been all that tough. He saw two places, liked the second, and signed away.

Why couldn’t things be so simple all the time? Waker didn’t sound convinced, however, and George merely gave a half shrug: lovely was such a wishy-washy word, with the right connotation on it.

“I didn’t think that was a good time to bring it up.” His words were said cautiously, quietly, and he tried not to look at her face. In all honesty, he didn’t know when a proper time to get that sort of concern off his chest was. It wasn’t the best topic of conversation, and now seemed as sensible a time as any (in his fuzzy brain, anyway).

Mouth opened in protest. She shocked him, sometimes. Finally, he frowned. He hadn’t complained, she had him there. George would never complain about that. How was that even relevant?!

“Funny, it doesn’t sound like your cousin was there.”

“Uh-” He hadn’t thought that excuse all the way through, he supposed. George’s face must’ve looked picture perfect, screwed up in slight confusion, slightly caught off guard, part caught. It wasn’t like he was going to lie and say Lou showed up at the last moment. But Quinn was a friend of George’s as well, regardless of what may or may not have happened in the past. Look at Edmund and Waker, after all!

Head shook in disagreement. George was fairly certain his mum didn’t want to hex Waker. Or if she did, it was proportionate to her desire to do it to her son as well. Why she didn’t have time, though, was beyond George. She had days off from work. He saw her after practice as well. Merlin, he was seeing her now.

“I’m sure she was dressed like a nun.”

His mouth formed an ‘o’ before quickly shutting it. Quinn had been dressed... for a job interview. Or job hunting. If that happened to also double as her clubbing outfit, that just meant she was very versatile, right? Quinn had gotten into his trousers, but not his pants. She had been very anti-exploring-inside-his-pants. Or... well, hm.

Now he started to feel the cheeks warming up, the guilt settling into the muscles in his neck. Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned against the sink and contemplated that. “Mine.” He wasn’t going to lie. That would just get him in trouble later. George had learned that trick as a child.

“No one made-” Glaring a moment, he stood up off the sink, hands opening up in sudden helplessness. Jaw clenched before he crossed his arms once again over his chest. “What?!” Why did he get brought into this? Why would he sleep with Quinn? At least now. “We were just-” He couldn’t get a word in edgewise. A grunt of irritation escaped him as he stood up straighter. “What money?” Where did that come from?

Shaking his head, he finally responded. “I don’t know how she feels, but she knows how I feel about you.” And looking and doing were two separate things that were allowed in a relationship. George was a firm believer in that. It was probably not the smartest thing to mention that Quinn was probably up for getting smashed at any point in the day: George was on top of it enough (sobering up a bit) to keep that one locked away.

When she left him in the bathroom, leaving without another word, George stared dumbly after her before turning to stare at himself in the mirror. Frowning at what he saw, he leaned forward and ran fingers through his hair and over his face. “What are you doing?” He silently berated himself, words slurring as his other hand gripped the sink to keep things from spinning.

It was a bit longer before he felt ready to leave the comfortable space. He even splashed water on his face, drank a few handfuls, ran wet fingers through his hair. George wasn’t sure how long had passed.

Just that he’d stayed in there long enough.

Pushing his door open, hearing the hinges squeak as he tried to be quiet, George winced but stepped in anyway, door nudged back towards the previous position. “I’m sorry.” Hands dug into his trouser pockets before stepping slowly towards her, longer than normal steps, like a child in trouble not wanting his punishment. “It was a blow, you know, knowing you had fancied someone else.” That he wasn’t as invincible as he’d thought.

“I’m still dealing with that I guess, though we are back together.” Mindful of what she was no likely still clenching on to, George kept a little distance, stepping up behind her. “It was just an irrational fear.”

“So you thought it then, too?” Her voice went quiet as she asked.

That look he gave her when she mentioned the lack of complaints during sex (or about sex) was enough to make Waker feel a bit justified... and also a little more on edge. Was that the main reason he had gotten back with her? But it couldn’t have been; she knew him too well. Sure, it was part of the reason, but he loved her for her. She knew that much. But-- however logical a question it might have seemed from the outside-- she couldn’t help wondering how he could ask, why he was hurting her now, how he could think she’d do that to him.

She was cornering him fast, and wasn’t sure she wanted to be. It was obvious Emily hadn’t been there, but George’s single-syllable utterance was not reassuring. And they would have to agree to disagree about what their parents thought or felt. As for what Quinn had been wearing for this chummy lunch... Waker wanted to lose hers watching it revealed on his face.

“Mine.”

Waker blushed, too. She breathed out, her mouth closed, and stared at him before looking away, brows slightly knitted. His idea.

“Well, the baby’s yours, too.”

She wanted to grasp at it, cling to it, hug it, the fact that no one had made his night. No besides Waker. But she couldn’t. She was feeling flustered now, and trapped as much as she was tripping him with her words. But George’s answers didn’t make her feel better, because now all she could picture was him sharing the news, their news, in some bar with some girl he’d took to lunch. Even if it was only his ‘mate,’ even if Waker had them, too, and had pasts with hers, too.

I don’t know how she feels, but she knows how I feel about you.”

Her heart beat a little harder at that, moved as if it were straining from her chest. It was a reminder, and it caught her off guard. George could always say things as plainly as he pleased, to whomever he pleased. Waker was more guarded-- though less so with George-- but when she heard them, they always made her stagger a little under their weight. And the way he said it, it made her love him more, reminded her how much she loved him. But there was also grappling with the fact that it was someone else he trusted, someone else he confided in. She was jealous.

Once made it to George’s room, it was a little bit easier to breathe, to reflect. She remembered being here last winter, and wondered what it would be like go back to that, before she’d made a massive mess of things, before they’d needed patching, and before this new surprise that had come with Waker’s painstaking wish to be an adult.

She heard the door before she heard him. The apology made her move instinctively, just a fraction. Her shoulders seemed to tense in acknowledgement, another static-y reaction.

“It was a blow, you know, knowing you had fancied someone else.”
The words broke her heart.

“I didn’t--” She stopped, lips parted, still staring out at the garden. It was indefensible. She didn’t know that she’d fancied the barkeep, but she supposed it was as good a description as any for the sort of hazardous attraction, the curious, rebellious pull that had lead her to do what she’d done. It was funny, because George had had it, too, but in a different way. But it wasn’t funny.

If her heart was broken hearing it, his had to have been demolished. She turned around, looking at him quite seriously. “I never wanted to break your heart, George. It’s the last thing in the world I’d want now. I’d rather disappear.” She needed him to understand that it wasn’t something she would do ever again-- wasn’t something she wanted to do, or could do, or would think about doing. “I never meant to fancy anyone else.” Her voice went soft, quiet as she said it.

“It wasn’t an irrational fear...” She frowned, brows defeated. “I mean, now, yes, but-- I understand it. I did what I did. I just wish you didn’t think I would lie to you about this. I don’t know how you could think that.” She lifted a hand as she spoke, trying to demonstrate in her exasperation the hugeness of it. She was repeating herself, perhaps. George had already told her that he didn’t really think that, but Waker had been struck by it. “I’ll never do that to you again. If it takes my whole life to make you trust me, that’s what it takes. But if you aren’t sure about this, about starting a family, being with me, tell me now. I’m not going to go another two months or half a year or a year and then have you decide it’s not yours just because you aren’t the one who’s pregnant. That’s not fair.” And if she weren’t pregnant, what then? Would things be how they were a few weeks ago, before they knew? She selfishly wanted that ignorant bliss back. “This is your baby. It’s our baby. I’m not going to have it to swindle you into staying with me or some stupid thing like that. I’m not going to have you second guess it after it’s born, either. I won’t bring it into an unstable relationship. We have to be committed to each other before we can be committed to a child. I’m not asking you to trust me about everything, because I haven’t earned it, but you have to trust me about this, and I have to be able to trust you... if you don’t see anything wrong with throwing back drinks and taking relationship advice from some girl you rebounded with, that’s a problem.”

Licking his lips, George could only let out a soft sigh. “Yes, but only for a moment.” Hence why it had built up to where they were now. Maybe it would’ve been a quick argument then, and it wouldn’t have bothered him. Regardless, they were where they were. And he was asking a question he shouldn’t have, but couldn’t stop himself from doing.

“Well, the baby’s yours, too.”

George looked at her, eyebrows rose slightly. Why couldn’t she be so literal all the time? That just helped justify what he was sure he had known all along. There was still a pit in his stomach, though he was pretty certain it had more to do with the fact that she was so hurt over his question than the answer. After the past month and some odd days, he’d started looking towards the future. Well, maybe more in the past month. It had taken him a few weeks to get settled enough to really lose himself in the changes they would have to start making.

An imagined mini-George gave him a slap in his head. Of course it was his. It was a wake-up call to grow up. Maybe if he thought it enough, it would happen.

Staring at her back, it was easier for George to confide in her things he hadn’t wanted to. Vulnerabilities that he’d thought he was incapable of having. He took a sharp breath in when she tried to deny it. Unless the bloke forced her (and if he did, George would willingly go to Azkaban to show him a thing or two), then she would have had to fancy him at least a bit.

When she turned around, he was caught staring before he quickly looked down. He cleared his throat and crossed his arms over his chest, trying not to think about it. Broke his heart, sure, what a laughable subject. His heart was made of steel! Iron! Something more unbendable! And yet, for all his desire to be cold hearted about it, he couldn’t deny it with words. Instead, he stood up straight, looked past her for a moment to compose himself, and shrugged. It was fine.

“I never meant to fancy anyone else.”

A hand moved to his mouth, rubbing over it while he took a slow breath in. His throat felt constricted.

He couldn’t even argue with her interpretation of ‘irrational fear.’ Shaking his head, he took a slow, somewhat steady breath. George could make it through this conversation. “That’s not what-” But he couldn’t stop her flow, so he pursed his lips and waited impatiently to get his own thoughts in. “I didn’t-” Why would he second guess it then? His head was going to start throbbing soon.

To exemplify that point, his fingers ran through his hair to hold on to the back of his head. “You can trust me.” The next sentence that stumbled over his words stopped him dead, though.

Quinn wouldn’t like to be called the ‘rebound girl.’ Finally he let his breath out and stood up straighter, taking a step towards Waker. Hands came out in front of him, somewhat defensively. “Questioning the baby was my irrational fear. And all of it together.” His hands went together like they were mashing something up. “I just wanted you to say it was mine. I just wanted that certainty, that clarification, but I didn’t want to ask for it straight out.” Except he had.

“If you tell me it’s mine, Waker, I trust you. I do. I just had that worry, and the alcohol...” He was getting off subject. “It just... made it worse. Made that irrational fear seem real.” Sitting on the edge of his bed, he rested his head in his hands, hoping that would help the room not tilt so much. “I shouldn’t have had lunch with Quinn alone.” Hands clasped loosely between his knees before he looked back up at her. “I didn’t expect to drink so much. I’m sorry. I wasn’t taking relationship advice from her, it just... forced things up that I had been worried about.”

He quickly added, “That I’m not worried about anymore.” Finally, he lifted a hand, beckoning her over, taking hers when it got close. “I wanted to tell someone, thought she might be happy for me.” His free hand fished in his trouser pocket and pulled out the keys, offering them to her. “It’s our baby.”

Each was in turns attempting to stand up to the other, to yield, speak, listen, look, look away. George was better at it than she, but he also a lion’s pride; it bruised in different ways than Waker’s.

She felt a little bad-- but not really-- about not letting him get a word in while she spoke. If she didn’t get her words out now, she mightn’t ever. Then again, perhaps it was the same for George, who had been prompted by a little liquid courage despite his usual candidness. This was a mountain of a topic.

“You can trust me.”

With his hands up, she knew he was treading carefully. She kept her wand down, relaxed her hand, tried to listen without being too offended. She could trust him. She knew that. Her own irrational fears-- his being more than friends with the girl in whom he’d just confided, with whom he’d just shared their news-- were much the same: irrational. At least George had a precedent. Waker only had tales of his rebound flirting... and that had been, though nausea-inducing, completely fair. She wanted to say that she knew, but she didn’t say it, couldn’t, though she felt it.

“Questioning the baby was my irrational fear. And all of it together.”

Her eyes left his face and focused on his hands, his animated, Keeper’s hands, which had always been a relieving (and sometimes inconvenient) distraction.

The word clarification made her face tighten a bit, and then loosen as she frowned a little more, cheeks broad with anxiety.

She let him talk, say everything he had to say. It wasn’t as if she could escape again. She knew, deep down, that she didn’t want to. (Least of all because ending up in George’s parents’ attic or the spare room that had been his brother’s would be vaguely embarrassing.)

She parted her lips just barely, and sighed inaudibly. “You can drink here with me, George. I mean, not with me--” Her eyes shot downward and back to his, and she suppressed a blush, a little more expertly now. “But you can tell me what’s on your mind, whether you need a drink to do it or not... I just wish you’d tell me first.” Her brows knitted in concentration or consternation or some mix of the two, a sort of mild, confused deciphering.

She didn’t add to what he’d already said about Quinn. It was a touchy subject still, and she knew she didn’t need to tell him what she thought-- she just had. A part of her didn’t want to make him feel too guilty because she was feeling it herself about the past eight months of being apart. A part of her wanted to continue to give him a piece of her mind.

“If you aren’t sure about this, don’t tell me you are,” she added, not cruelly, but honest. “Don’t do it for my benefit. I’d rather you take your time deciding and come to the right conclusion than shut up and continue thinking that I might be lying to you.”

She felt a new tinge of pain as she watched him there with his head in hands like that; she knew, too, that that was because she loved him. If it were anyone else, Waker might have lost it and hexed him by now, or left the room again. George had tapped in to some emotional river that always caught Waker off guard, or forced her to yield a bit.

Still, she hesitated a moment before taking his hand. As she stepped closer, she continued to look down at him with searching eyes. “I want to tell people, too,” she confided. And then, despite herself, she laughed a little-- a touch manically perhaps. Want was the wrong word. “Or I’ll have to soon, won’t I?” She smiled, half-sad, half-nostalgic for something that hadn’t even happened. And then, pouting a little, she tangled her arms around George’s neck, leaning against him, standing as he sat on the bed. She was glad and terrified. She leaned back a little head cast down, and reached for the key, cupping it over his hand.

“Does it have windows?” She asked, somewhat seriously, blinking.

“You can drink here with me, George-”

Of course he knew he could. The point of going out for a drink with a mate, though, was to give some alone time. He hadn’t wanted that before, though. Not really. Then again, they had been in different houses, their own rooms, had time where they were apart and pursued other hobbies.

He was learning about cohabitation and real commitment and how little mistakes can make big ones--all in the span of a couple of months. George had wanted to escape all the sudden and big responsibilities he had looming over him. He wanted to be an irresponsible teenager again. It was selfish, because Waker couldn’t do that, but he hadn’t thought that deep into it.

How to explain all of that, though, was beyond him. Instead, he bit his lip and hung his head slightly, eyes glancing back to her face as he nodded that he knew all of it. “I know...” George wanted to tell her everything, and at the same time, he wanted to keep stupid worries to himself.

He wet his lips as he listened to her, fingers brushing through his hair as he took it all in. He shook his head--he didn’t think she was lying, per say. George was just dealing with self-esteem issues that he didn’t expect to have.

It was overwhelming in its vastness, all these new steps that seemed unreachable.

Some part of him just yearned to be told it would work itself out. That there wasn’t anything to worry about. Even if they had everything to worry about. He couldn’t be weak, though. He had to hold strong. He had to be the someone Waker could lean on, especially now that he had the fear that she might go find someone else to cling to. So he squeezed her hand and held on to it, finally looking up towards her face.

A half smile slipped on his lips before he gave a shrug. She would start showing eventually, that was true. Slower than usual, he reciprocated the loose hug, clinging to her back with the empty hand as he pressed his face lightly into her stomach, allowing a breath of fresh air when she leaned away.

“Windows?” It took him another moment to realize she was playing with him. Laughing, his head moved back to her stomach, muffling against her shirt fabric before pulling her down on top of him, leaning back onto the bed. “That seems like a luxury we can't afford.” Now his lips were closer to hers, and so he took that moment to busy them with something other than talking.