A/N: Hello, this is Forestwater. And I have now journeyed deep into the depths of the Repo! genre.

This-here's a little two-chapter ficlet about the day(s) before Marni's death and Shilo's birth. It's the first present-tense first-person story I've attempted, and it took me weeks (almost months) to get it to be presentable, so I hope you enjoy it. There is a lot of effort on these pages. A lot of effort (and whining. Did I mention the whining?).

She's going to the bathroom again. As the months have worn on and her stomach has grown almost beyond belief, she's had to go to the bathroom more and more. And every time she slides her legs out from under the covers and pads -- silently, she thinks -- to the bathroom, I lie awake; somehow I always manage to wake up the second her feet hit the carpet.

I lie awake, hoping that she'll make it back to bed without getting sick.

Her morning sickness doesn't come at any specific time, like most womens'. It comes sporadically -- because of her illness, I think. One moment she will be laughing, those brilliant eyes of hers squeezed closed. The next minute they fly open and she races off to the bathroom.

Sometimes she makes it. Sometimes she doesn't. Sometimes she collapses and can't get up, and I have to carry her, getting vomit all over my clothes and hers.

As she climbs back into bed, trying to be as gentle as possible, I roll over onto my side and pretend to be asleep.

There's a moment of silence, then, "Nathan? Are you awake?"

Shit. I can't pretend with her. It's funny -- I normally consider myself a pretty good liar, but either she can read my mind or all my lying skills disappear when our eyes meet. Probably both.

I roll back over, propping myself up on one elbow. "Hmm?"

"Were you waiting up for me?"

Shit. I nod.

"Oh, Nathan." She sighs and wriggles against her pillows, her hands splayed over her stomach. Still, her eyes don't leave mine. "I wish you wouldn't."

"I can't help it. It's a reflex."

She smiles a little at that, and I shift closer, resting my chin on the hollow between her shoulder and her breast.

"Did you get sick?"

She shakes her head. "Everything was fine."

"No dizziness? No pain? No fatigue?"

"It's the middle of the night and I weigh a million times as much as I used to. Of course there's fatigue."

"Marni."

"I'm okay, really. I just hate it when you wait up for me." She leans her head against mine. "It's so stupid."

"Stupid? But, Marni --"

"I know. I'm sick, I'm pregnant, and I'm probably sick because I'm pregnant. You feel guilty. You have to be protective." She kisses the top of my head and deepens her voice. "'It's for your own good, Marni. Don't do anything rash, Marni. Let me walk you to the bathroom, Marni.'" Her tone, though mocking, is still tender, and I can't help but grin at the impression; it really is uncanny.

"I'm sorry."

"It's all right." She shrugs her shoulders, making me lift my head, and kisses both of my cheeks. "Just don't do it again."

"I can't promise that." But I kiss her once, being careful not to hurt her. When I pull away, she puts one hand on the back of my head and drags me back.

"Marni," I say around her lips. "Marni."

"Mmm?"

"Go to sleep."

"Mmm." She licks my bottom lip and slides her left hand down my back . . . lower . . . lower . . . Whoa. I jerk backwards with a gasp and she laughs.

I sigh and shove her away -- carefully. "Sleep."

She studies me for a moment, then seems to realize she can't win this one. "Fine." She slumps down further, pulling her blankets up to her chin.

I put my arms around her, one hand resting lightly on her stomach and the other on her hip. I lie there and listen to her breathe. One breath . . . another . . . another. . . .

Eventually -- long after her breaths have grown deep and mingle with snores -- I fall asleep.

The next morning she's pale, with drops of sweat beading along her hairline and under her eyes. It's not going to be a good day. I sit with her and tell her stories to keep her entertained while she picks at her toast. Her smiles are wan and her laughter weak, but it's better than nothing. Still, I recognize the signs and spend the entire breakfast taut as a bowstring, eating even less than her.

When she turns white and claps a hand over her mouth, I'm ready. I hook one arm around her waist and steer her to the bathroom as fast as possible. She collapses over the toilet, throwing up everything in rhythmic heaves that first bring up a soupy mess, then bile, then sour-smelling spit. I hold her hair out of the way and rub her shuddering back until she quiets. She's trembling.

I pick her up and carry her into her room, then go back to the kitchen and call Mag. Marni won't be able to see anyone today, I tell her. She's not doing well.

Twenty minutes later the doorbell rings, and Mag comes in without waiting for me to get the door. "Is she awake?" she asks. She has a container under one arm.

"I think so, but she won't want to eat." Whatever Mag is carrying smells like Italian.

"I know. This is for you." I take it from her. The food inside is warm, and my stomach growls.

"You're an angel, Mag."

She smiles. "Thank you, Nathan, but it's nothing. I want to help you and Marni. She's my best friend, you know. And you're really taking care of her -- a lot of people probably wouldn't be able to keep it together as well as you have."

I scratch the back of my neck, embarrassed. "Thanks, Mag."

She gives me a stern look. "I mean it. You're good for her, and that's nice, because she's good for me." Her eyes, which are still newly enhanced, drop to her feet. "I don't know what I'd do without her. Or you."

"Yeah." I smile, letting my gaze drift past Mag and out the window behind her. "I know the feeling."

Marni's voice drifts down the stairs, sounding thin but cheerful. "Is that you, Mag?"

Mag beams and heads up the stairs. "I'm coming!" She waves to me without looking back. Her attention has shifted. It's her best friend that fills her mind now.

Once I can hear the sounds of conversation coming from upstairs, I put the food away without looking at it and slip down the hall, throwing glances behind me like a fugitive.

Time to work on the cure.

When I return, Mag has one arm through her coat and is heading toward the front door. She nearly runs into me, looking surprised.

"Nathan, where did you go? It's late." She's right -- the sky's darkening as we speak, and the streetlights are turning on.

"Just getting some work done. How's Marni?"

She shrugs. "She's doing better. She fell asleep right before I left."

"Wonderful." I'm bouncing on the balls of my feet and can't seem to stop. There's too much energy flowing through my body, and no way to release it. I have to see Marni. I have to tell her the news.

Mag looks at me through narrowed eyes. "Are you okay?"

I grin insanely at her, trying to keep the smile under control and failing. "I'm fantastic, Mag. I really think everyone's fine. Or going to be."

She bites her lip, like she wants to say something else but thinks better of it. She says something I don't hear -- for all I know, she's telling me to shove it, though her expression is friendly enough -- and leaves.

I take out the food and set it on the counter to warm up, but I can't even think about eating. I feel sick but exhilarated. It's all I can do to keep from racing upstairs and waking Marni up. I have to let her sleep . . . but I have to tell someone before I explode.

I run my hands through my hair, making it stick up, and sit down at the table. I manage to sit there for thirty seconds, my leg bouncing up and down like a pogo stick, then I climb to my feet and pace around the kitchen, hearing my heartbeat slow down a little.

The sky is blackish-purple, and brightly-colored billboards are lighting up. I stop for a moment, hypnotized by the beauty of the city. It's odd -- I've never seen the city as beautiful before, but now it looks like something magical and lovely . . . more alive, somehow. Even the monstrous GeneCo sign doesn't seem quite so huge and threatening. The world has been tinted rose.

A hand on my shoulder makes me turn with a gasp. Marni is standing behind me, her long hair a tangled mess around her face, which looks less sallow than this morning, though that might be my rose-colored perception adding color to her cheeks.

She laughs at my surprised expression. "Absorbed?" she asks, raising her eyebrows.

I shrug. "Just looking at the city. Pretty, isn't it?"

Now it's her turn to shrug. "I don't know. I guess." She stuffs her hands under her armpits and looks away. "It always makes me think of sickness."

"Mmm-hmm." Only part of me is listening. The other part is saying that I have to tell her now. I swallow. "M-Marni?" My voice is shaking, and so are my knees. All my nervous energy has fled, leaving me drained.

"Yeah?" She's watching me with her hands on her hips, her head cocked to the side so that her wild hair covers half of her face.

Suddenly I can't think of how to put it, how to say it. After a second or two, though, I brush the tangled, almost-black hair out of her eyes. "I did it. I finished the cure."

For a few seconds -- the longest seconds I've ever experienced -- she doesn't move. Her eyes are focused, wide and staring, on the GeneCo sign. She blinks slowly and turns to look at me, the dazed expression still on her face. "You did?"

I can't say anything, so I just nod, feeling that silly, insane smile spread across my face.

Suddenly it sinks in. Her eyes widen even more, and she beams; it seems like my stupid grin is mirrored on a face far more beautiful than mine. "Are you sure?" she asks, but I can tell from her face that she believes.

"Y-y-yes. I'm positive."

She lets out a strangled sound that is half-sob, half-laugh and flings her arms around my neck. "I knew you could do it, I just knew it, I never doubted you for a second! I can't believe . . . I . . . you . . ." Unable to finish, she puts her hands on either side of my face and kisses me violently, almost painfully. Her lips taste salty, and I realize she's crying.

So am I.

Eventually she lets me go and nestles against my chest, shifting to the side so that her stomach interferes as little as possible.

We hold each other like that for a long time, and I know we'll be okay. I know it with the absolute naked conviction of a man desperately in love and positive of his abilities.

She knows it, too. I can feel it in the tears soaking through my shirt, in the way her arms tighten around my neck and she kisses my chest every so often, in the rhythm of her heart, beating steadily though her breathing's ragged. She knows it, and I know it, and neither of us doubts it for a second.

We're both so fucking stupid.

A/N: Thanks for sticking through it this far. Also wanted to thank the ever-brilliant Gentern and scifigirl77 for reading this over at least once and helping me fix its problems. I couldn't have done it without you guys.