A/N:  It's a barely-written/half-written . . . thing.  The second half is, at the moment, barely readable.  Maybe I'll get enthused enough to polish it, maybe not.

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I hadn't seen Steve for months when I ran into him at the grocery store. I knew he was pregnant, and that his husband had moved out. I'd even heard he was having more than one kid, but I was shocked at the sight of him down at the end of the aisle. He'd always been very fit, but now he looked so skinny he was starving, except for the pregnant belly that looked like the heaviest thing on him. He was pressing both hands to his back, leaning back a little behind his wire cart as he stared at the flour, and the position emphasized just how massive he was. He looked unreasonably pregnant.

He began slowly waddling his way sideways, and grabbed the metal shelf next to him so he could lean down for something. He was wearing a button-up shirt the size of a circus tent, and it was still gapping badly at the buttons, his shirttails hanging free. I sprang towards him to help, and he straightened with visible pain as he became aware of me.

"Do not try to get something off the bottom shelf," I said. "I'll get it. What do you need?"

"You scared the crap out of me," he panted back. He kept leaning on the shelf, rubbing slowly at the bottom of that huge belly. He leaned back a little more so he could push it out, for balance. "Hey, Mike."

"Holy shit, Steve." I couldn't stop staring. "When are you due?"

"You mean when was I due," he said. He was smiling, but not very convincingly; there was strain on his face. "Two weeks ago. And yeah, I know, I look every inch of it."

"Why the hell are you even – okay, bud, I'm going to get you into a chair. You don't look so good."

"I'm okay," he protested, as I tugged at his arm.

"You're not," I scolded. "You're ridiculously pregnant and you look like you need to sit down. Like you need to lie down."

We abandoned our carts. He began having trouble even walking without his to hold on to for balance, grabbed my shoulder for guidance as his belly made him sway into a wide waddle with each step. I dragged him to customer service and held him to provide support as he lowered himself into a chair; he was visibly having trouble figuring out just how to move that big belly from standing to sitting. His pregnancy was so enormous that I had serious doubts about whether he was coping.

"Is it two?" I asked. "Twins in there?"

"Three," he replied, sprawling limply under the weight. He was panting, hard. "Three of 'em. Triplets. Okay, I did need to sit down. Ooooof."

"You should go home." He was so huge he looked like he shouldn't be able to walk. I couldn't believe his doctor hadn't induced labor yet. "You should be home. You should be home packing a bag for the hospital."

"I really need the groceries," he said, rubbing at his huge mound. He was panting as though he'd been running. "I'm sort of out of food."

"Okay," I said. "I will get you food. What do you need? Do you feel okay?"

"I feel big," he groaned at me, still rubbing. "It's all right, I can do the shopping myself. I just need to sit here for a minute." He spread his hands wide under the lower round curve of that huge pregnancy. "Uggggggggggh. Sorry, they're moving a little. It – ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. It hurts a little when they move. I just need to sit."

"You just need to have those babies out, is what you just need. I'll punch you if you try to get up. Seriously, do you have a shopping list or something?"

He hesitated, then handed me a scrap of paper. "I really owe you."

"Yeah, you do. Jesus. Do you want to put your feet up?"

"I don't think I can," he admitted. "I don't think I can even bend that much. I sort of just want to go home and get back in bed." He moaned, then yanked his shirt straight up. His naked belly bulged out obscenely. His bellybutton was poking straight out, and his pants were so undersized they were nearly falling off. "Sorry, it's just so big. They're so big. I'm so big." He started rubbing his enormous belly. "So big that it hurts. Ooooogh." He let his thighs droop apart to give his bulging belly more room. He looked so overwhelmed by his weight that I wasn't sure he was even going to be able to stand up again. 

"All right, buddy. Just hang tight. Give me like ten minutes and I'll help you get back home."

I ran through his shopping list. It took a little longer than ten minutes, but I got it all. Steve wheezed pretty hard as I helped him back up to get out to the parking lot.

"Seventy pounds" he puffed at me on the way there. "Seventy whole fucking pounds, can you believe it?"

"You're so big that looks like a low estimate. You're huge."

"You're making it worse," he groaned. "God, I'm so tired already that I need to sit."

It was hard to even get him to fit into the driver's seat of his car; we both had to help him squeeze. I wondered how he'd managed it himself on the way there.

"Two weeks is pretty overdue," I said. He was puffing behind the wheel now, with his legs spread. "I don't think you're even supposed to get overdue when you've got more than one. Shouldn't you get induced or something?"

"Want it to be all natural," he responded, and rubbed again under his front. It was like he couldn't keep his hands off it. "Oooooooo. They'll come out when they're ready."

"Yeah? Your doctor okay with that plan?"

He shrugged. "I don't really have one. Dave had the health insurance, and after he left – well. I've been in pretty good shape, felt pretty good for nine months. I'm just going to call an ambulance when labor starts."

"This is sounding less and less like a good plan, Steve."

He shrugged at me. "Women have been giving birth for a while now."

"Yeah, and women have been dying during it for a while now, too. And men have only been doing it for about ten years."

He was looking increasingly worn out. "Thanks for the cheery thought."

". . . I kind of want to follow you home. You're not being very smart about this. You got anyone who could come stay with you?"

"Go to hell," he groaned at me. "I'm just going to go home and lie down right away, I really am. I think I want to eat some pepperoni. Did you get me pepperoni?"

"I got everything on the list. So yes, you have pepperoni. At least lying down sounds reasonable. Jesus, maybe I'll just come with you anyway. You can barely handle yourself, much less grocery bags."

But he was shaking his head at me, still rubbing his hands in those big circles. "Don't make me fight with you, I'm tired enough as it is."

"Okay. You've got my number if there's something I can do to help. I'll give you a ride to the hospital, if you want."

I watched him drive off. His attitude was worrying, but there's only so much you can help someone who doesn't want to be helped, you know?