Before anything else, I'd like to believe that two people who are in love are capable of falling in love with each other again and again as they go on through their lives, or as their relationship progresses. These may be in the form of little gestures, actions and words. This fic will be just one-shots of Andrew and Margaret's life together, describing those 'moments' of them. Enjoy!

CHAPTER 1

Margaret slumped back against the cold and hard tile. She took a deep, steadying breath. She could feel the cold beads of sweat on her forehead. She wearily wiped them away and closed her eyes. "God I hate this. I hate this. I hate this." She repeated these words over and over again in her head like a mantra. No more than a minute passed and she felt the now familiar quenching of her stomach again, the queasy watering of her mouth, that feeling of nausea like she's gonna throw her guts out. "Not again!" She lifted herself gingerly and dove for the toilet bowl, and once again retched and vomited of what was left of her dinner, if there was any left at all.

After a couple of moments, she wiped her mouth and brushed the stray hairs that fell to her face, and once again leaned on the bathroom wall. She's too weak to stand up and rinse her mouth so she decided to just lean her forehead on the cold wall and wrap her arms around her knees. She's 6 weeks pregnant. Pregnant. Never before in her life had she thought of herself being pregnant. But she is. She was impregnated by that tall and handsome bastard who she loved and hated deeply. She sometimes couldn't decide which of the two feelings are more dominant, but she just couldn't feel so helpless especially if this particular moment happens. It's bad enough in the mornings – whenever she would wake Andrew up by the commotion she causes as she rushes to the bathroom; the feeling of nausea is so overpowering that sometimes she couldn't even reach the sink before retching. Andrew would follow her and soothe her back and hold her hair and whisper sweet words to her until she's done. But tonight, he's not here. "God I miss him." He's in a meeting with an author; he even called earlier this evening to tell her that he would be coming home late. She closed her eyes once again, and a few drops of tears fell out of her eyes. "Goddammit Margaret! Why are you crying?" She angrily wiped the tears away. She couldn't help but think about Andrew. She needed him here but the rational and proud side of her doesn't want him to come home yet. She hated it whenever Andrew sees her like this. She felt so vulnerable and weak. But thoughts of Andrew taking care of her are all she could think of right now. She's just so tired; she'd never been tired like this before in her whole life. She's longing for him. "When is he coming home?"

Margaret tried to stand up but her wobbly knees wouldn't allow her to. So she remained sitting there, enjoying the cool feeling of the bathroom tile against her face. Without realizing it, she fell asleep.

She didn't know how long she dozed off, but when she woke up she could only feel soft, warm hands caressing her face, brushing the strands of hair that had once again fallen across her forehead. She opened her eyes wearily, and she saw Andrew kneeling in front of her - worried brown eyes staring concernedly at hers.

Andrew kissed her lips softly, "Pregnancy sickness again?"

She was about to come up with a sarcastic reply when another wave of nausea flooded through her stomach. She roused herself quickly and vomited on the toilet, feeling Andrew's hand holding her hair behind her while caressing her back. "I hate this. I hate you. Do you know that? I hate you," she mumbled. Andrew kissed the top of her head and said, "Sssh. I know I know," she could just imagine the smirk playing on his lips while he said that. He pulled her back into his chest and reached around her to put a cool, wet washcloth he got from the towel rack on her forehead, and despite of herself, she leaned into his embrace as he rubbed her arms repeatedly. It was like he's trying to remove the goose bumps that have risen on her skin.

"I'll take you to bed," he whispered, and with what looked like a painless effort, he lifted her into his arms and laid her gently down on the bed. He arranged the pillows and covered her with their blanket, and then he lay down beside her and gathered her in his arms. Margaret craved this kind of contact. Andrew knew perfectly well that even though she's this crappy most of the time, at the end of the day she would always, always cuddle with him.

Andrew brushed his fingers through her hair. "How are you feeling?" he asked - a trace of concern still evident in his voice.

"Better," she mumbled sleepily. After a few moments, she added, "Tell me a story,"

"What kind of story?" he replied, rubbing Margaret's back. He knew how much she liked it whenever he does that.

"I don't know. Anything will do. Just keep talking," she answered, her head pressing firmer on his chest.

"Okay, but promise me you'll go to sleep after. You want to do 'I love it when'?" he took a glimpse on Margaret's face and found that her eyes are closed. She nodded and urged him to go on. 'I love it when" is one of their favorite games whenever one of them does not feel well, or if one of them is having a really bad day. Margaret always gets to be the recipient of this game, especially now that she experiences pregnancy sickness almost every day.

"Okay," he replied, stroking her cheek lightly with his fingertips. "I love it when you kick me out of bed during mornings, because I get to see your guilty face after that, and because you would say that you're sorry and you would proceed to tell me what nightmare you've had. I love it when you just woke up and you would go into the kitchen with your hair really messy, and you wouldn't talk to me until you've had your first sip of coffee. I love it when you smile at me across from your office – it makes me want to barge in your room and just kiss you and have my way with you. I love it when you straighten my neck tie. I love it whenever I hear you laugh. I love it whenever I see you wearing eyeglasses. I love it when you sing in the bathroom. I love it so much whenever you wear my favorite white t-shirts during the weekends. But most especially, I love it whenever I see you trying really hard to stay composed while you're having morning sickness. I want to take all of your pain away during those times; I wish that I were the one experiencing it instead of you. But I love it, because I know that inside of you, is our future son or daughter, growing bigger and stronger each day, waiting for the day when he or she would meet his mummy and daddy. Nothing makes me love you more than the thought of you carrying our child, Margaret."

Margaret lifted her eyes on him, and he touched her cheek, her nose, and her smiling lips, enjoying the fact that only he could touch her this way. And then he leaned down and kissed her softly. "I love you," she whispered against his lips.

"I love you more," he kissed her forehead. "Now go to sleep, okay. You need to rest," he hugged her tighter and continued stroking her hair with his fingers. He didn't know how and when his world stopped revolving around himself and everything else, and when it started revolving around Margaret. All he knows is he's done for. Ever since he agreed to be her ticket to avoid deportation, he also signed himself for a crazy and gorgeous woman who he longed to spend his whole life with, who he can't stop thinking about wherever he went, who caused him both agony and bliss. This is the same woman who made him want to punch a nearby wall in frustration and who made his heart flutter like crazy during stolen kisses at the office. He looked at her face once more, he touched her face gently, and if anyone was looking at him – at the way he's looking at Margaret right now – they would think that he's gone completely bonkers.

But he is in love – so in love. And he has never been this happy and in love in his whole life.