A/N: Another time-travel fest. As ever, thanks to PDXWiz, jtbwriter, Kyryn, Harry2 and Bishop T, and good reading to everybody. I still have a good dozen or more ideas waiting for development, but I welcome plot suggestions from anyone who might have a sudden brainstorm. Meantime, enjoy!
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§ § § -- January 16, 2004

It was Christian and Leslie's third wedding anniversary; and they woke up that morning to the noise of hammers pounding nails, power saws splitting lumber, and men's voices shouting, sometimes laughing. They looked at each other with a particular rue, and Leslie grinned. "Obviously we overslept. They wouldn't come here before nine and wake us up, that just isn't polite."

"But I thought they knew it's our anniversary," Christian grumbled, tongue-in-cheek. "After all, the entire island knows, don't they?" Leslie burst out laughing, and he grinned at her and swung out of bed. "So exactly what was it we were planning to do today, then? You have to see the doctor when, again?"

"Monday the 26th," Leslie said. "Another ten days. And in case you didn't notice, my love, that's at least the twelfth or thirteenth time you've asked me that since my appointment last month. For heaven's sake, you've really got to stop worrying so much!"

Christian sighed. "I've told you before, I always worry about you. I worried more when we learned you're pregnant…and now, ever since Dr. Hannaford showed us that we're having twins, I worry more than ever. I'm sorry, Leslie, but perhaps I love you too much, I don't know. Which is why I asked Mr. Roarke not to dispatch you on any missions in the past if he can help it."

Leslie sat up in bed and stared at him. "You did what?" she asked.

Christian stopped halfway to the bathroom and eyed her a little warily, as if he'd recognized the ominous undertone in her voice. "You heard me…" he began.

"Yes, I did…and I think that was a little presumptuous of you," she remarked, getting up. "Christian, it's part of my job. If Father gets any time-travel fantasies and needs help, then I'm it. I'm not even halfway through my pregnancy and you're already—"

"You may be fine now," Christian retorted, "but what happens when you're days from your due date and suddenly you find yourself in King Arthur's day, trying to convince Guinevere not to have that damned affair with Sir Lancelot or something, and you go into labor right there in medieval England? Imagine the incredibly unsanitary conditions that must have prevailed in those days! The babies could die, and fate save me, so could you!"

Leslie folded her arms over her chest and gave him a look. "You realize that what you're saying demonstrates a fantastic lack of faith in Father's judgment and intelligence, Christian, don't you?"

Christian groaned aloud, let his head fall back and addressed the ceiling with, "It's not so much that I have no faith in Mr. Roarke's judgment—more so in yours to heed his cautions." He lowered his head and met her gaze, and she instantly recognized the imperial look in his eyes. "With twins you're bound to deliver sooner than was originally estimated, and I absolutely won't take the chance of your giving birth in some filthy little Dark Ages village somewhere."

"Oh, I'm sure," said Leslie with a loud sarcastic sigh. "And of course, it would play utter havoc with the twins' birth certificates. I mean, what in heck would we put on the line that asks for the date of birth?" Christian glared at her and she rolled her eyes. "Cut it out, Christian Enstad, I mean it! You can worry if you really have to, but when you start trying to control every move I make—and even every move Father makes—that's it! Why under the sun does every man suddenly think that his wife's pregnancy entitles him to strap her into a wheelchair for the next nine months?" She suddenly felt her stomach roll, as she hadn't in several weeks, and her eyes widened unconsciously. "Get out of the way…" she blurted and darted past him, slamming the bathroom door on him.

Having lost whatever remained of the previous night's supper—which by now was primarily stomach acid, leaving a burning sensation in the back of her throat—she spat into the toilet a few times, then flushed and moved to the sink, vigorously rinsing out her mouth and then swishing a generous amount of mouthwash before straightening to her full height and eyeing her abdomen in the mirror. Leslie smoothed the fabric of her favorite old nightshirt over it and smiled; it was becoming clear that she was pregnant, rather than just gaining too much weight. "Your father thinks I'm taking too many chances," she told the twins, wondering if she was talking to boys or girls. "I don't think he realizes that your grandfather's already started lightening my duties as his assistant. He's overreacting, though. You guys are barely four months old in there, but I guess he thinks you're going to be born tomorrow morning."

There was a sharp knock on the door. "Leslie, will you kindly come out of there? It's becoming urgent that I get in," Christian hinted, sounding a little irritated.

"Just don't pay any attention to Daddy when he starts throwing around silly orders," she said in a soft, confidential voice to her pregnant middle. "He used to be a prince, and he sometimes forgets he isn't one anymore…although of course, your cousin Gabriella might change that if—"

"Leslie!" Christian barked from the other side of the door.

"Geeeeez," she moaned softly and threw the door open. "It's all yours, Your Highness." They shot each other exasperated looks as she marched out and he dodged in, slamming the door behind him with some urgency. Leslie heard him curse in jordiska after a couple of seconds, and snickered to herself, going to the dresser for something to wear.

Though Leslie herself didn't drink coffee, she had grown used to Christian's habit of a morning cupful; so she got his little coffeemaker started while she looked dubiously through cabinets, unsure as to whether she really wanted any breakfast. She took her daily dose of prenatal vitamins and washed down the somewhat unpalatable liquid with a glass of calcium-fortified orange juice while considering her choices and wondering why she'd been sick after over a month of feeling fine. Just an aberration, no doubt, she thought. I refuse to be like my husband and blow up every little thing into some earthshaking news story. She finally gave a little shrug and took two breakfast bars out of a box in a cabinet, putting her shoes on at the door and wandering outside to check on the progress of the addition to the house while absently munching on a bite. The workmen waved at her and she grinned.

"Looking good, you guys!" she called out after swallowing a mouthful. The exterior was nearly done and the interior was roughed out; there was already an access entrance to the ground floor from the living room, though it was currently sealed off with a sheet of translucent plastic. She and Christian were going to have to sleep elsewhere for a few nights while an entrance between the upper-floor sections was chopped out, smoothed over and painted. She had suggested walling off the spiral staircase on two sides so as to allow a little privacy, some years in the future when the twins were old enough to climb the stairs to their rooms on their own and their parents might want to close themselves off from view; Christian was still considering that, wondering if it was going to look odd in the spacious room.

"Won't be long before we can get going on the inside and you and Prince Christian can start decorating, Miss Leslie," the foreman assured her.

Leslie grinned. "Sounds great," she said. "I can't wait for that."

The men laughed and wished her and Christian a happy anniversary, and she waved at them and wandered back into the house. By the time Christian came down, she was in the middle of the second bar and had refilled her juice glass, and stood at the French doors to the back yard, gazing into the trees. "How do you feel?" he asked.

"Fine," she said. "Your coffee should be ready."

He didn't respond, and she stood watching birds battling one another for shares of the seed at the feeder that hung from a tree. Then Leslie felt Christian draw up beside her and lightly rest a hand on the small of her back. "The birds are hungry, aren't they?" he said a little diffidently, his gaze following hers.

"Looks that way," she agreed amiably. She turned curiously to him and asked, "Didn't you get some coffee?"

"Ach, in a moment," Christian said dismissively, sliding his arm around her waist and drawing her in close. "I thought it was more important to let you know I'm sorry if I seem to be overreacting to everything. But I'm old to be a first-timer for all these things—old to have fallen in love for the first time in my life, old to become a first-time father…"

"Oh, that's your excuse—old age," Leslie teased, and she laughed when he rolled his eyes. "I know, my love, and I realize you're a little scared. Listen, I'm scared too. Mostly I'm scared of going into labor. My friends have told some pretty hair-raising stories, and of course they've terrified Lauren practically beyond rationality. But I've wanted so much to be pregnant that I think the whole thing's an adventure."

Christian raised an eyebrow. "Even being sick as you just were?"

"Yup, even being sick," said Leslie and laughed again. "I'd prefer not to be, of course, but it's just part of being pregnant. It's too soon to go bonkers over what I should and shouldn't be doing in this condition. You can ask Dr. Hannaford week after next if you doubt me, but it's true. Anyway, Father already restricted some of the more unusual aspects of my job, so don't get the idea that I'll go into labor while they're signing the Magna Carta or Ivan the Terrible's having his nobles beheaded from his monastery."

Christian chuckled ruefully. "I think I'm crazier than you are right now. As I said, I don't distrust Mr. Roarke; but I know your stubborn nature. If there's a chance for you to travel back in time and the twins are due within five days, I'm afraid you'd want to go."

"No, I wouldn't do that," said Leslie. "But if something did happen unexpectedly, it'd be okay. Father'd know—he has a way of sensing things like that. Don't ask me how, he just does. If I went into labor in the middle of some Roman Empire fantasy, he'd have me back here in minutes."

"All right, all right," Christian conceded with mostly good grace. "I'd still rather you didn't go, but I guess I'm being a bit too paranoid. And it looks as if your appetite's back."

Leslie grinned and agreed, "Good thing! I've started getting really hungry lately. Mariki's going to love that. I just hope she doesn't try again with those so-called family recipes she was throwing in front of me a couple of months ago. I have no idea what she was putting into them, but they really tasted awful—and that's not just because I'm having food cravings either. You'd have loathed them too if you'd tried them."

Laughing, Christian hugged her gently, mindful of the breakfast she was still holding. "I can believe that. They didn't smell very good from where I was sitting. Now, before I forget and really upset you, let me just say this…happy anniversary, my darling Rose." He kissed her, and for several minutes they forgot the rest of the world; then the phone rang and they broke apart, laughing again.

The caller was Tabitha. "Leslie, I hope you didn't forget that maternity-clothing exchange we put together for this evening! I know it's yours and Christian's anniversary, but it gives us a chance to give you some cards as well as trading clothes."

"No, I remember, don't worry," Leslie assured her. "I'll be there at the time we settled on. Actually, Christian and I took the day off, so we don't have any other concerns going on today, and I won't forget. Anybody hear from Lauren?" Lauren was due in another month or so, and by now she was in a constant state of panic, fretting over going into labor too soon or too late, meticulously watching her diet, moaning that she looked as if she were fifteen months pregnant with quintuplets, being energetically kicked by the fetus, and driving Brian to distraction. The other girls found her very funny, though they were careful not to laugh right at her; she had become incredibly sensitive, and Lauren wasn't the only one who couldn't wait for her baby to be born.

"Not yet," Tabitha said, "fortunately. It's too early to go through the litany again." They laughed. "So are you still working?"

"As long as I can," Leslie said. "Christian's up in arms in case we get time-travel fantasies, but otherwise he hasn't objected. I tell you what, I can't wait for that party. None of my clothes fit anymore, and I can't even wear any of my usual work outfits. Father told me it's all right to wear maternity clothes, and they don't have to be white, but I'd sort of like to keep the continuity, you know. I'm probably going shopping today."

"Oh, that party," Christian said when she'd hung up. "I did forget. Do you think you'll need to look for anything other than something suitable for work, then?"

"I don't know," said Leslie, "but I'm not going to get anything extra till after we've had the party. I know Myeko and Camille and Tabitha and Katsumi will be thrilled to get their stuff out of their closets finally, and I imagine Lauren'll have contributions, since she's much farther along than Maureen and I are. And they had some really cute stuff, too."

"And how long are you planning to take?" Christian inquired with a suggestive little smile. "I have some plans of my own for today, you know."

Leslie grinned. "I bet you do! Don't worry, my love, we'll have plenty of time for that. In fact I'll probably come back that much quicker so I can find out what you have in mind." They both laughed and settled down to breakfast.

§ § § -- January 17, 2004

"That's a very stylish dress, Leslie," Roarke remarked, taking in the white sheath in a sturdy, stretchy fabric, lined with black at the collar, sleeve holes and hem and accompanied by a matching short jacket and Leslie's usual flats. "You made a good choice."

"This should serve for at least three months," said Leslie, "that's what they told me at the boutique in town. It's nice and cool too, which is great because there are days when I'd swear I was running a fever, I'm so hot. Dr. Hannaford said that's normal."

Roarke teased gently, "We'll try to keep you in air-conditioned environments when we can. Ah yes…here comes our first guest: a fisherman from Halifax, Nova Scotia, Mr. Benjamin Hulden. You'll find his fantasy intriguing, I believe."

"Why's that?" Leslie inquired.

"He is descended from fishermen who originally emigrated from Lilla Jordsö, and he has always had a particular fascination for the country. He's studied its history in all aspects and seems to have a particular interest in the early generations of the royal family, when legends proliferated and speculation persists. Specifically, he would like to resolve the question of whatever happened to young Prince Ulf Magnusson, the younger of King Magnus Ormssvärd's two sons."

"Don't tell me," said Leslie, "we're sending him back to Lilla Jordsö in those days."

"Precisely," said Roarke. "And it has occurred to me that he may have need of a…shall we say, a technical advisor." He smiled, and Leslie had to grin as their next guests began to disembark; she wondered what Christian was going to say about this one.