There was a comfort in being with Mohinder that Claire was reminded of every time he smiled, a reminder she never got tired of. It gave her a certain kind of hope, knowing that the craziness that was most of her life could end up in this delicious bliss. The warmth of his hand on her stomach made her smile in turn, and she let her eyes flutter shut again; that heat spread through her in a sort of happy fever she couldn’t quite explain even to herself. It was like a bubbly joy ran through her veins, only barely contained by her skin. The sensation was more than pleasant.
"He won’t chase you out with a shotgun,” she laughed, “that would hardly be practical. A handgun is much more likely.” Claire managed that sentence deadpan before breaking into a tiny grin. “In all seriousness, he’ll be armed. Both of us always are. But William is not dumb enough to draw a weapon on someone I care about, especially without reason, doubly so when I’m actually present.” Though her smile was still in place, there was a certain sadness behind it. Claire didn’t know if she’d ever tell Mohinder that story; it was painful and largely irrelevant. They were building a life together and there was no need to use rotten, old bricks for that process.
Following his gaze to her still-flat abdomen, she shook her head and snapped playfully back at him for nibbling at her fingers. “I can’t be any more than two months along, mon amour. For all the effect the tiny thing has had on me, I may as well not be pregnant at all. And if my calculations are correct, yes…that was the night.” She pressed her lips together at the memories and traced a finger down Mohinder’s arm, leaning in to gently kiss his cheek again. She lingered there for a few moments, laying her head on his shoulder and wrapping one arm around his waist and letting out a long breath.
“He’s going to be all hugs and smiles, just to spite me,” she said slowly, thinking aloud more than actually talking to Mohinder, though she spoke the words regardless. “He’s like that, you know. Capricious, either murderous or your best friend. Not to the point that I can’t trust him–no matter what mood he’s in, he is still my William–but I swear, he does it to prove me wrong when I finally tell someone about him.” One hand went to the back of Mohinder’s neck where it toyed absently with the curls there, an action Claire had long found soothing.