note: This is...long, lmao. Longer than my usual longer chapters, but since I'll be off fulfilling other actual commitments for a while—or at least I should be, haha (damn this fic, seriously)—then I might as well lol.

Thank you again for all the new subscribers & comments! I'm glad that the last chapter had been sweet enough for some of you guys to like it haha!

+

"You're up, Jihyo-ssi," Dr. Byun tells her, only her head peeking through the jamb of her office door. "Come on in."

Jihyo nods, but not before looking guardedly around her, checking if anyone's heard her name be called. Dr. Byun really needed to be talked to about using her indoor voice when handling celebrity cases, because with decibel levels like that—Jihyo's really starting to believe in her initial hypothesis of Dr. Byun having a side-gig for Dispatch once the doctor's lab coat's been hung and dried.

"Vigilance is a great thing to have when pregnant," Dr. Byun says, a chuffed smile on her face, when Jihyo finally steps inside her office and takes a seat in front of her desk. "But there's no need to overdo it. I always book your appointment for last on my agenda, so everyone's cleared out by then besides myself and the receptionists."

"I'm just being careful," Jihyo says, narrowing her eyes slightly in scorn, but she's pleased with that knowledge. That's actually some good foresight on Dr. Byun's part, one she hasn't realized she's been valiantly executing, so she'll withdraw on her claws for now. That still doesn't dispute her Dispatch informant theory, though.

"So, how've you been?" Dr. Byun asks, linking her fingers together and setting both hands, wrists down, over the surface of her table. "I'm going to think positive and say that you took the whole two weeks off from work like I ordered, correct?"

"I did," Jihyo ripostes, maybe a little smugly, because she knows no one had seriously bet on her following through. Her manager had talked at length with the director and producers of her new drama to move their first filming schedule a week after the predetermined date—which, fine, okay, was a relatively short length, because it turned out that the production crew had been experiencing some setbacks, which meant shooting had to be postponed, so wasn't that just convenient, Jihyo-ssi's seriously as angelic as her reputation precedes—while the Running Man PDs had just granted her the leave of absence without the need for much fanfare or elucidation—after the backlash of those cast shake-ups over a year ago, they'd been treating her and Jongkook as if they were as notorious as Jaesuk, the nation's MC himself—so she's spent the last two weeks lounging about her house, catching up on correspondents, doing some reading that she wouldn't usually have had the time to do if not for the rest order that Dr. Byun's chicken-scratched across her doctor's notepad for her to comply to after her discharge.

And thinking. She's also done some thinking. A lot of thinking, about certain things she won't name. Certain people. A certain person. Possibly.

"Well, that's good," Dr. Byun says, nodding in satisfaction, "Were there any concerns that arose during your break? Anything you felt was odd or abnormal?"

"There's one thing," Jihyo says, part of her thinking process when it wasn't about—that, because it really has been coming up quite frequently over the past few weeks, and she just wants to be sure, "I've been having some palpitations recently? I noticed my pulse speeding up randomly a couple of times."

Dr. Byun's eyebrows raise inquiringly. "Your heart rate usually increases during pregnancy, as there's more blood required for the baby's oxygen demands and your own increased functional needs. I wouldn't think too much of it, unless you—

"It's different," Jihyo interrupts, before she can be completely dismissed as one of those moms who overthink—she's been thinking in just the right amount, actually, at least when it comes to this end, and not when it's about—whatever. "It's—I don't know. It's just different."

Dr. Byun scowls, the first time Jihyo's seen curve beyond the flat 180°, the reverse of its original parabola, "Any specific times of the day that you've found these palpitations to occur?"

Jihyo fidgets uncomfortably in her seat. "No," she says. Lie. "Just at random."

"Okay," Dr. Byun says, fingers tapping rhythmically on her keyboard as she types something in her file, "For now, I'll take a blood sample to test for any underlying causes that may be present. I'll also order an EKG for later, if need be, but let's focus on the blood test for today."

"Okay. Thank you," Jihyo says, wriggling around once more. These chair cushions were really worn out; Dr. Byun should probably get to using her funding to buy herself some new ones.

"Any other concerns?" Dr. Byun asks, glancing up from her computer screen to look at her, "Or was that the main one?"

"Just the one," Jihyo ascertains, and stands up from her chair, knowing the drill, "Should I—?"

"Yes, go right ahead," Dr. Byun says, gesturing a hand towards the examination bed behind her. "I'll do your ultrasound, and then I'll take your blood test."

She lies right down, staring at the posters tacked up along the walls of the room as she waits for Dr. Byun to set up her instruments. It ranges from generic, lukewarm messages like, What To Eat When You're Expecting, to more argumentative, controversial—at least in her opinion—propaganda, specifically, How Your Husband Can Help: A Father's Role During Pregnancy.

She chooses not to read that one, because that probably wouldn't be...productive, in her current mental disposition. "Is it too early to know the gender?"

"Definitively, yes," Dr. Byun says, holding the Doppler in one hand and the gel in the other, walks closer towards her as the monitor loads. "The ia's already started to form by this time, but we usually wait a few more weeks to proclaim it just so we don't make any mistakes."

Jihyo hikes her shirt up, and Dr. Byun wastes no time, squirts some gel over her stomach and spreads it with the toolhead, asks, "Do you have a preference of what gender you want the baby to be?"

When she'd wanted twins all those light years before, the ideal would've been a girl and a boy, so she never really had to make a choice. A smart plan, really, because now she's having a difficult time answering, her tongue stuck on either pronoun as she imagines how it'd be like, to have either one of them; how she'd braid her daughter's hair, coif it, if it's a son; how much Gary and the rest of the Running Man cast would spoil their girl for being the first and only in the next generation, how Gary'd probably want to teach their boy how to box as early as he had.

And now she's back to thinking about him. She needed that blood test stat, because what the hell is wrong with her. "I don't really know."

"That's alright," Dr. Byun says, no pressure, circling the toolhead slowly around the soft hill of her stomach—she hadn't realized how much the bump's grown until now, "Most moms don't really lean towards one or the other, just as long as the baby's healthy—and there it is," she says brightly, pointing to the monitor screen with a flick of her finger, "A perfectly healthy looking baby, with a perfectly healthy sounding heartbeat."

She hears before she sees, a wing-like flap of a pulse, but then she turns her head to look at the picture, and it's there. The baby's there. Not just the shapeless blob she'd seen the first time she did this, but an actual person, with a little head and some little arms and a pair of little feet. Her baby has feet. Her baby has eyebrows, even, and that's just so surreal. She's going to be a mom. This is going to be her baby.

The sting of tears aren't unexpected—she understands hormone rushes down pat by now—but it's still a little embarrassing, hates it when people see her cry. "God—it's not even that big and I'm already—"

"It's okay to cry, Jihyo-ssi," Dr. Byun says, tone soothing, smile just as, "Pregnancy's a very emotional time for anyone involved, especially for the mother. It's normal to feel it for what it is."

Jihyo nods, but still, she wants to look away, finds that she can't, not from the screen, no matter how vulnerable she feels. "Can I—can you print a photo of it for me?"

"Of course," Dr. Byun says, smile widening genuinely. She's past middle age, has practiced obstetrics and gynecology for over twenty years according to the certificates littering the walls of her clinic, so she's probably had extensive experience with soon-to-be moms blubbering all over her. Jihyo'd like to think she'd been one of her milder patients. "How many would you like?"

"Two," she says, automatic, with no need for thought, and then she clacks shut. That's one for her, and the other for...Kwangsoo. Or the Running Man cast. Definitely not him, because he's not a subconscious thought in her brain. "Or just the one, if you don't allow more than that."

"Two is perfectly allowed," Dr. Byun says, pressing a button on the monitor frame, and then takes the toolhead away from her stomach, the last shot of her baby frozen as a still image. "I'll get them printed for you to take home for later. Let's take your blood test, then?"

As much as she's used to getting it, it's still an unpleasant thing, to be pricked by a two inch long, centimeter wide needle, but she barely even feels the pain for this one, too anesthetized by the surge of unalloyed euphoria she feels, staring at the vision of the baby—her baby—on the monitor screen.

+

"Wow, noona," Kwangsoo breathes out, mouth parted open in reverence, when she brandishes the picture to him at filming the next morning. "This is—wow. Wow. You're, like, actually pregnant."

"So you thought I was just pretending before this?" she asks tonelessly, but she's smiling, can't help it, the jubilance of last night not wearing off with her sleep. Barely into her second trimester, and she's already showing her kid off like an overinvested PTA mom, god.

"No," Kwangsoo says, still gaping, eyes alternating between looking at the printed photo and staring openly at her stomach. "I believed you were pregnant, but I didn't actually see how that could be? But this—this is so real. Just, really—wow."

"Alright, already," she laughs, grabbing the picture from out of his hands, inserting it back inside the envelope Dr. Byun had given her with it. "This isn't your first time seeing an ultrasound picture, so I don't know why you're so amazed."

"Yeah, but this picture's coming from you," he says, and she looks up at him for an elaboration, but he doesn't give it to her. "How's Gary-hyung been about all of this?"

Of course he'd ask that. It's inevitable that he would, but she knows what Kwangsoo's playing at. "He's alright," she says, ultra casual, putting the envelope back in her bag. "But since apparently you talk to him more about it, I just thought you'd already know how he is."

Kwangsoo doesn't even look the least bit sorry or found out. "Hey, don't shoot the messenger. You're the one who asked me for help, and since I couldn't do it myself and he is the father—"

"What did I say about keeping your voice down?" she hisses, because why does Kwangsoo always have to be so goddamn loud, "And whatever. Thank you. But if you're just trying to matchmake again—"

"I'm trying to get you two to get along," he says seriously, pulling at the drawstrings of the hood of his vest so that the only thing to be seen are his eyes. "Don't take this personally, noona, but really—I'm just worried. I don't want things to be harder on you two. Dealing with the media's gonna be hard enough, isn't it?" He looks straight at her from under his hood. "As future godfather of your child, I just don't want it to be stuck in a broken family."

"You're presumptuous if you think you're first in line for godfather," she says, even as a twinge of hurt settles in her chest, does take it personally despite his disclaimer. Is that what they all think of their situation? That they won't be good parents, won't be mature enough to put everything behind them to put their kid first?

"Better disappointed than surprised," he says, and then smiles kindly, with a hint of an apology, "I'm not saying you won't be a good mom, you know that, right? I know you'll be the best mom. You're practically the mom of the group here," he waves at a PD arriving at the end of the hall, nodding in a perfunctory greeting, and for a moment, he looks so grown up, which is ultimately a silly thought—he should be grown up, considering that he's already thirty-two—but the older sister in her who's always thought of Kwangsoo as an additional sibling to dote on besides the ones she has in kin feels gratified, resplendent, that he's got a few nuggets of wisdom to impart on his own. "I'm just saying that it'd be nice if you guys were actually friends, and not just pretending to be because of forced circumstances. You two have been doing that for too long."

Or maybe that's just the mom-to-be in her. Either way, she's disproportionately proud, but also a little bit castigated, hearing the truth in everything he's saying, even if he doesn't know what that friendship he's asking for really entails. The two of them—she's not going to think about it. She's already thought about it enough. "When did you become so preachy?"

"I've always been preachy," he says, pulling his phone out of his pocket, sermon ended, "Not my fault you had to get pregnant for you to start listening. Come to think of it, I've kind of noticed your ears gaining a little bit of weight. Is that part of the pregnancy, too, or were they always just that big?"

Scratch that—Kwangsoo will always be that knucklehead of a little brother to her. "And here I thought it'd be a challenge to think up of roles for me to play once I tell the PDs that I'm pregnant," she says, tranquil, and curls her lip to flash a sharp tooth at Kwangsoo. "I could think of a lot just from this conversation alone, Kwangsoo-yah." The terrorized look on his face, right after, is perfectly in line with the ones her siblings used to make when they used to "forget" doing the chores she's delegated to them when they were younger.

That's about right, she thinks contentedly, and walks off to put her threat into effect. 

+

Talk—and blackmail, for that matter—is cheap, she acknowledges, when you're faced with half a pack of producers that have probably been salivating for the news she's about to give for years, ratings-hungry animals that they are, while the other half claws for another excuse to ax her from the program, waiting patiently for her to offer herself willingly as a sacrificial lamb.

Which is kind of what she's doing. Or what her manager's doing, seeing as she's the one officiating the offering ritual in her stead.

"Song Jihyo is pregnant," her manager declares, and there's a tablewide breath taken around the room, a jungle silenced, "I'd like to discuss options for how Running Man can be modified to accommodate for her pregnancy from this point on."

"...congratulations," the head PD says, the first to talk, resting at the top of the food chain, "I'm sure I speak for everyone when I say we're happy for you."

She's sure some of them are, can see the ones she's on good terms with smiling ardently at her from across the table, but she's also sure some of them aren't. Format changes were always a touchy subject with the production crew—which she understands, because how much more innovative can you really get when you already had 400 episodes on your outdoor variety show's roster—so she knows, even if none of them were innately malicious, that she's probably made a bunch of them despise her a bit for making their jobs a little bit harder than it already is.

"In terms of options," the head PD resumes, once the rest of them had democratically chimed along with the salutations, "It depends on whether or not you plan to announce the pregnancy."

"We'd like to keep it unknown for as long as we can," her manager says, and Jihyo nods in her support. "We understand that once she's showing, she's probably going to have to take her maternity leave and come back after she's settled with the baby."

Jihyo knows the come back part is said surely and deliberately—she's a manager, after all, wants as permanent of a gig as possible for her clients for the steady flow of cash, so she'd been the one to come out of the whole firing debacle less trusting of the Running Man PDs than Jihyo ever had been. Jihyo likes her autonomy, but she's also grateful for the dichotomy between management and the celebrity: she does the pretty smiling and the subpar acting and the endless marketing photoshoots, and they do all the lunging for throats and battles for power that she wasn't inflammatory enough to do herself behind the scenes.

"Alright," the head PD says, "We could probably get away with making a couple of episodes entirely non-physical, and then some of them you can just opt out of participating. But fair warning," he pauses, lips twitching downwards, betraying his displeasure, "The audience will catch on. They'll either figure it out entirely, or complain that we keep on cutting you out from the final edit."

"I'll work harder to be funny," she speaks up, and her manager gives her a tempered look sidelong, as if telling her, I thought you said I was going to do the talking, "And I don't always need to be sitting. I just can't do anything strenuous."

"We can try working with that," the head PD nods, but the set of jaw remains unconvinced. "There's still a lot of work to be done around it, though, like how we edit clips once you start showing, or how—"

"We're not asking you for much," her manager reclaims the reins seamlessly, eyeing them all down with authority. "We just want assurance that she won't be expected to bend backwards and risk endangering her pregnancy for the sake of the show, and that she'll still have a spot in the cast after she leaves to give birth."

The head PD out-and-out frowns at that. "You have your contract to fulfill—"

"Then we'll negotiate the clauses, or sign a new one," her manager says sagaciously. "After what happened two years ago, all we ask is that everyone stay transparent and upfront about their intentions rather than going behind our backs to deal with the issue."

The PD behind her and Jongkook's firing is long gone, blacklisted by the fans and then the company, but the older PDs who'd been there during that time look away guiltily, bearing the sin as if it were theirs to have made.

"We also don't want anything like that to happen again," the head PD says expressively—he hadn't been there then, so it's a tad risible for him to say that, "But if we're being realistic, I don't think it's conducive for the long haul of either the show or your pregnancy to have to hide it."

You wouldn't be saying that if you knew the father was Kang Gary, she thinks bitterly, but she's harbored enough anger about that throughout the years to take on any more, so she leaves that for her manager to handle, too.

"We're willing to work around it as long as you are," her manager says. "Just a little consideration can go a long way."

There's a stare-off between the two of them, no one yielding for a while, but then the head PD sighs, says, "We really are happy for you, Jihyo," and smiles at her benevolently. It's as close to an acquiescence as it gets.

The PDs file out of the room, a couple of them wholeheartedly congratulating her on their way out, and her manager shrugs at her neutrally through the makeshift crowd.

"It's better than nothing," her manager says, once it's only the two of them left in the room. She chugs at the rest of her coffee cup, probably gone tepid from being left out in the open during their discussion, and her face twists into something like disgust, "You'd think being a big TV company would get you some premium roast—but whatever. I'll talk to them a little bit more, see if they can give us a solid guarantee. You just go and do your winning best as always, Madam Song Jihyo."

There's still the second half of filming to complete, and Jihyo's already tired, discouraged, her feet feeling like they've been smashed into five inch heels that were two sizes too small, but she drags them on heavily anyways, all the while thinking that she's cuffing herself back in with a predator that she doesn't know—doesn't want to know, sometimes—how to escape.

+

where are you right now? she types, biting at the inside of her cheek until it hurts, and then presses send.

She doesn't wait long for a response. at a studio in hongdae. why?

That wasn't far off from the company building. can i come? to talk? She hits delete on the last part, too...close, to what she's trying to evade, and decides to replace it with, i have an ultrasound picture, if you want to see it...?

you didn't call me to come? he replies, and she can read his disappointment in every single character. alright. there are other people here since were recording, if you dont mind that

She thinks it over, and it's with residue despondence—not desperation, no—that she texts, i dont mind.

He sends her the address of