* or both if you're me and can't make a choice

From the world of The Journalist [TJOURN] - an epilogue to the epilogue, of sorts

You're halfway through the article you'd agreed to do for Sam when your phone emits a trill to indicate the arrival of an email. Not wanting to break your momentum, you clear your throat to request that Tom pause his reading. With a few months until he'll need to be gearing up for work again he's currently reading for pleasure just to sit quietly in the same room with you.

Odd jobs when absolutely needed, that is the arrangement you have with Sam now. Working for a publishing house doesn't quite quiet that part of you that gets such a thrill from chasing the story. It's the claim you're telling yourself, though Tom enjoys the theory that you just like it when he calls you ma petite journaliste.

Whatever keeps the peace.

"You want me to get your mobile... that is sitting there on the table next to you."

You look up to find him peering at you over the rim of his glasses. "Yes, yes I do." When he doesn't shift to put his book down you wink at him, "You know, the sooner I finish this..."

That gets him in motion. Bracing himself on the back of the sofa he lifts himself up and leans to scoop up your phone, pausing before backtracking to reseat himself in order to wrangle a kiss from your lips.

After a brief series of tapping on the screen on your phone he speaks, "Do you want Thai for dinner?"

"What?" You blink and pull yourself from the work you're engrossed in on your tablet.

"Food, darling. We could go down to that place we like... Looks like there are a few new places we could try, too." He pauses to grin up at you, "Or order in..."

You're never getting this segment finished. Slowly you nod, "Yes, Monsieur. This is helping to get this article done faster. Scroll restaurant choices in a minute. The email?"

Tom wiggles his eyebrows and makes a show of switching apps. A small frown line appears between his eyes as soon as he focuses on what he's doing. "When did you go to the doctor?"

You respond as you continue to add text to the document open on your tablet. "Last week." Just before he'd come home again. Surely he remembers the phone call. "Remember I told you I wasn't feeling well? Nothing wrong that was easily spotted then so he decided to run some blood tests." You expect a followup question immediately on the heels of your answer but the room remains silent. "Are you looking at restaurants again?" Tom is staring at you, almost slack-jawed, when you look up from your work. "Babe?"

He shakes himself and nearly jumps up onto the seat of the sofa. "Exactly! Babe you were feeling off because... Well, look the blood work came back! Look at the results!" He's shoving your phone into your hands and talking a mile a minute.

Your hCG levels are elevated which indicates pregnancy. You are going to be having a baby. And would you please call the offices to schedule a follow up appointment.

The message doesn't change the third or fourth time you read it. Stunned, you push the warm fluffy blanket and both devices aside to look at the man quivering with excitement.

"We're pregnant!" There's no opportunity to talk until sometime later. "Oh," you say, turning in his lap to bury your face in the crook of his neck. As you speak your lips brush against his collar bone. "You're going to tell this story to everyone we know, aren't you? That you were able to surprise me with the pregnancy news."

Tom gives you a little squeeze, chuckling as he replies, "Absolutely."