Happy birthday, Amy.

She's angry with him. He knows. It's his fault, really; he should know better than to bother her when she's having her mood swings. Not that there was really any point in avoiding her because one of moods she swung into was what he liked to call 'little baby'. That's his favorite: she just has to be in the same room with him. She has to be cuddled up next to him. Or have some part of her body against his. Otherwise, she would just die. At least, that's how she makes it seem.

But then, out of nowhere, something would annoy her: he breathes in too deeply, he clears his throat too loudly, he watches the television on a volume level that's just too damn low for her.

And then, there comes the inevitable fight. He takes it because she's taking everything else. She can't sleep in a comfortable position, or at all most nights. She can't have the sushi she's craving from her and Han's favorite Japanese spot in Venice Beach. She can't even crack open a cold one with the boys on Sunday like she's so used to.

And that's his fault as well. He knocked her up. So, now here they are, arguing about the spoon he leaves in the sink after using it to mix the creamer into his coffee.

"Let, baby, I'll wash it when I'm done. Give me a second to wake up before you start snapping."

"Snapping? Oh, you haven't seen snapping, Toretto."

He closes his eyes and stretches his neck to one side. He doesn't know what to say. There really is nothing he can say that will make the situation better. So he remains silent.

Except that pisses her off too. So she huffs and she puffs and she tells him that she's going into the garage. He puts the spoon into the dishwasher before heading out to the back porch. He hears her banging and clanging around in the garage. He downs half of his coffee before she groans gutturally.

She's frustrated.

A tool slams against the concrete ground and his brows raise slightly to see her wobbling out of garage, stomach before body. She's rubbing at her lower back and there are tears in her eyes.

He's immediately at attention, standing from his seat and running down the stairs to meet her halfway.

"What's wrong? Are you okay? Is the baby okay?" He checks for visible injuries before placing a hand on her stomach. Nope, little tiger is just rolling around in there, displacing his mother's organs.

"No! The stupid bolt won't come off and I can't bend down to get it properly and it's too hard and I'm just a girl!" She sobs into his chest.

"Tell me how to make it better, Let. Tell me how I can fix it."

That only makes her cry harder. Not because she's used to doing things herself, because she is, but because despite her being completely hormonal and borderline insane, he is still willing to do anything for her.

"I just want to take a nap and wake up and everything be all better."

"Okay." So get takes her hand, leads her inside and to their bedroom. He lays down with her, rubbing her feet, legs, and back until she is sound asleep.

Then he heads back to the garage to remove the bolts of the drive shaft so that when she wakes up, everything will be all better.