Her mother doesn't like him.

10 months married now, nearly a year, and he's family, so they rub along, but Lynne still thinks that he's too old.

Since the day he joined Backstreet, people have been saying that, and Kevin could give a shit, especially now. Now, when Britney's in pain and there's not a damned thing he can do about it.

Jamie, at least, waits outside, and Anne, to give them space. Not Lynne Spears, though. Her baby's hurt, and that's enough for her, and Kevin seethes in silence.

"First trimester miscarriages are very common," the doctor says. "Often, women don't even know they're pregnant. If she weren't so in tune with her body, she probably wouldn't have felt it at all."

It's all very well and good, but she *is* in tune, is a dancer, and now she's lying in a hospital bed, telling him she's fine so he'll stop looking at her like she's broken, and Lynne is shooting him arrows with her eyes.

He wants to throttle her.

Instead, he sits on the edge of the bed and traces idle patterns in the palm of Britney's hand.

"They said you could go home tomorrow."

The words sound pathetic in his ears, and he winces. When Nick was frightened, or AJ hurt, when Brian was sick and Howie grieving, he said so much. Comfort poured from his mouth like water, and now. Now, when he needs it the most, his mouth is dry, empty. Barren. He squeezes her hand, and longs to hold her.

"See, darling?" Lynne smiles brightly. "We'll have you back on your feet in no time, Kevin and I."

"Actually, Mama," she says. "I think. I. We should."

This, Kevin can help with, and he turns on his charm. "Britney isn't really up to visitors," he says, "and Dr. Paxton said the first few days are a good time for a couple to grieve alone. It's easier to heal that way."

"If you think so, Britney." Lynne frowns at him."

Even with this, this pain, Britney is nobody's fool. "If the doctor said that it's important... and I am tired, Mama."

"I'll let you rest then." Lynne kisses her forehead. "They'll be other children, baby, don't you worry."

"Yes Mama," Britney says, "but not this one, never again."

As soon as Lynne is gone, he crawls up the bed, pulling her flush against his chest. She tucks her head under his chin, sighing, and she sounds so much older than 25.

"I'm sorry," he whispers into her hair.

"Me too," Britney says, and Kevin holds her close. When the nurses wake her up for dinner, he's still there, arms around her stomach, snoring gently.

Britney lets him sleep.