James never really thought about having kids. Not seriously, anyway. He was happy, content in a way he hadn't been in years. Maybe ever. It just hadn't crossed his mind. He wasn't that guy anymore. Or so he thought.

That lasted right up until the moment he saw the baby at work.

Tiny. Swaddled in soft yellow blankets. Wide, curious eyes staring up at him from the crook of their mother's arm. He'd smiled politely, said all the right things. But something... stuck. The thought of it lingered long after he left the room. Followed him back to his office. Back home. And in his mind, it shifted—became more than just an idle thought. He pictured his partner, their stomach round, full with their child. Maybe the baby would have their eyes. Maybe his smile.

He couldn't stop imagining it. He couldn't stop talking about it, either. Even House noticed. Teased him relentlessly, of course. Called him "fertile Myrtle" for two days straight. He let it happen. He didn't care.

By the time he came home that evening and found his partner standing in the kitchen, humming softly as they stirred something on the stove, he was a little dizzy with the idea of it.

Quiet footsteps. A hand slipping around their waist. His lips pressed to the warm skin at the curve of their neck. He felt them exhale softly in surprise, but they didn't pull away. They never did.

"My love," he murmured, his voice low, almost careful. His hand slid over their stomach, fingers splaying gently as if he could will it into something more. "What do you think about... a baby?"

He smiled against their skin, his heart beating faster than it probably should have. But he meant it. Every word.