The Interview • Chris Evans

The Call

"Moooooom, Theo won't let me play with the shield!"

You sighed, watching as Charlotte came bounding towards you, big round eyes brimming with tears. Kneeling down – slowly – you wrapped her in a hug, her pudgy little fists clinging to your shirt.

"Why don't you go find the hammer and play with that instead?" You suggested, wiping away her tiny toddler tears. "Uncle Chris left it here last time he visited. It's in daddy's office."

Her entire demeanour changed, her tears drying up and a smile blooming across her face. "Okay!"

She took off at a run, her feet slapping noisily against the ground.

"Does she have rocks in her feet?" You grumbled to yourself, groaning as you stood. This pregnancy was kicking your ass.

"Better than Theo with rocks in his hands," Chris said as he walked into the kitchen, chuckling as he wrapped his arms around your from behind, his fingers interlacing under your stomach and lifting to take the pressure off. "Do you know what he did today?"

You sighed, leaning back into the solid warmth of his body. "Do I even want to know?"

Chris huffed, rubbing soothing circles with his thumbs. "Probably not. I'm never letting Ruffalo over again. He's a terrible influence. I've been Hulk Smashed more times than I can count today. Theo's little fists pack a wallop."

"Well that's your fault, having superheroes as friends. It was bound to wear off on our very impressionable children."

"They're your friends too," he said, pressing a kiss to the side of your face. "We're both to blame."

"Mmm. But mostly you." You laughed, the sound rumbling along your belly and up Chris' arms.

"How are the babies today?" He asked, his lips trailing down your neck, along your shoulder. You were overheated, barely able to tolerate wearing more than a tank top and maternity leggings most days.

You tilted your head back, resting it on his chest as your eyes slipped closed. "Big. Crushing my bladder and my stomach and my lungs. I'm pretty sure one is doing gymnastics and the other is having a breakdance party."

"They can't be that big," he breathed, his lips stilling on the bare skin of your shoulder. "You're barely halfway there."

You groaned, both from the sensation of his mouth on you and the reminder that you still had a long way to go. "Four kids. Charlotte has rocks for feet, Theo's got rocks for hands and we've got rocks for brains. And these babies are just giant, heavy rocks. Nice to know it runs in the family."

"Just over a third of the way to that football team," he said, laughing as you shot your elbow back at him.

"No way buddy. Four is good. Four is great."

"You said that about two after Charlotte, then it's all don't you miss when they were babies."

You rolled your eyes at him. "Yeah, and so we agreed to have a third. And that clearly worked out according to plan."

Chris gently released your stomach, gliding his hands up your arms, running along your shoulders to your neck, his thumbs gently rubbing at your strained muscles. Your head dropped, giving him better access as he massaged your shoulders, his lips mouthing against the back of your neck.

"I'm just saying, never say never. Cause the twins will be toddlers one day and I can just see it now. The way we'll sit around looking at baby pictures, those rocks in our heads deciding to try for number five..."