Alfred swore that Arthur was more beautiful than anything at moments like this. They were sitting side by side in front of the fire sharing a blanket that just covered their laps. Arthur had one arm draped over his belly and the look on his face nothing in the world could be better for once. At almost nine months, he was huge. Most of the time he wandered around the house, mostly naked except for his tunic. Now and then he'd wear underclothes, both rolled to make way for his massive belly, but he hadn't put on his hose in weeks. Alfred loved it. Even though he had started to get over Arthur having a large pregnant belly, he still felt a bit of a thrill when he would enter the room or start talking and see the well-defined imprint of a little foot or hand. The first time it had happened it freaked him out, but now he loved it. It just meant Peter was as eager for his birth as they were.

But, as fantastic and sexy as Arthur was while he was pregnant, it was time. They were all restless and anxious.

At least every other day Arthur would put on his boots and cloak and go out, just to roam the streets or the forests or something. He never let Alfred come. He said he just wanted to be left alone. Alfred, for his part, wasn't doing much better. Whenever Arthur was out he would pace, nervous. He found himself worrying about a million things: what if Arthur was attacked by a bear? What if he went into labor early? What if he was sick but, just like his own mother, decided to sacrifice himself for the baby? Most of the time if Arthur would leave after they had an argument (which was starting to happen more and more often the closer they got to Arthur's due date) Alfred would find himself worrying that Arthur had finally gotten sick of his incompetence and just found someone else.

"Someone who can actually do the job you're supposed to be doing," his mind supplied.

He shook his head. No, no that was just silly. All of that was just silly. Besides, at the moment everything was okay. Arthur was just sitting there, completely content and relaxed. There wasn't any movement across the taut skin of his belly, meaning that Peter was probably either napping or relaxing. Alfred wrapped his arm around Arthur's back, and Arthur scooted closer until he could rest his head on Alfred's shoulder.

Sometimes Alfred wondered about their choice to have the baby in the first place. He liked kids as much as the next guy, but was it really worth the toll the pregnancy was taking on his Artie?

"Not much longer," Arthur had said as he sat at the table, knitting, "Not much longer now, Alfred."

"Well duh," Alfred had thought, "I still go to church on Sunday so I know what week it is." He kept his mouth shut, though. According to Arthur it would be a good skill to have once Peter was born.

Alfred rested his head on Arthur's shoulder. He was tired too, dammit. He had to work long hours trying to come up with more stuff he could sell, cook, clean, and do lots of other little things to take care of Arthur. To make it all worse, he didn't even get sex as a payoff anymore. Arthur was so far along that he couldn't touch him for fear of him going into labor before he was ready.

Oh hey, from this position he could pet Arthur's side. He began moving his fingers up and down across Arthur's bare skin, but then quick as a flash Arthur caught his hand.

"Don't," Arthur whispered, "You'll wake him."

"Right," Alfred replied, "Sorry."

As soon as Alfred started talking, though, Arthur's belly had begun to ripple. "Oof, I don't know what that was but it hurt." He stroked his stomach, trying to get Peter to stop moving, "Dammit, Alfred, Why'd you have to say something and get him all excited? You know how much he likes your voice."

Alfred just looked down, knowing that any apology would just make it worse.

"Oh Hell, help me up. It's apparently 'play footie with mummy's bladder' time again."

Once Arthur was on his feet, Alfred sat back down. If he got involved he'd probably just get yelled at because Peter was obviously too young to understand his mother's complaints, and Arthur apparently had to take it out on somebody. That still didn't stop him from trying to reason with the kid, though.

"Now please, just stop kicking for long enough for me to piss. That's all I'm asking, love."

And apparently he did because Arthur didn't start swearing, which was good because a lot of times it also made him miss, which Alfred hated cleaning up. He knew that it was selfish and that he should be more sensitive and that he should get used to it anyway since Peter wouldn't be born potty trained, but he still felt that everyone had a right to hate cleaning up piss.

Still, he had to try to be a good husband. After all, he didn't want to start a fight because he always felt terrible afterwards, either because Arthur would run away and make him think he was a terrible person and it was all his fault or because he'd find Arthur crying a little bit later and because he'd made him cry it always made him think he was a terrible person and that it was all his fault. Either way, he couldn't win.

"Hey, Alfred," Arthur said, sitting back down, "I'm hungry."

Great. "Fine, what do you want?" Dammit, he shouldn't have used that tone because now Arthur looked offended.

"Something warm, I think."

Even better. Now he had to cook, and who knew what he would actually want? "Such as?"

"I don't know. Some warm broth or something."

"'Kay."

Thankfully, he was actually making soup for later in the evening. Hopefully his majesty wouldn't mind chicken. He tromped down stairs and found a mug, carefully filling it only with the liquid. He brought it up to Arthur, who took a sip and then looked disgusted.

"What's wrong?"

"Can you put salt in it?"

"Salt?"

"Yes, a whole lot. And honey, I think."

"Salt and honey."

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Well alright," Alfred took it back, went back downstairs, fixed it up and brought it back to Arthur.

"It could use some beer."

"Really?"

"Really."

With slight disgust, Alfred went all the way to the cellar, found some beer, and added it in. It smelled absolutely revolting, but so did most things that Arthur wanted those days.

"Do we have any mint?" Arthur asked, trying it again.

"You're kidding, right?"

Arthur just scowled and shoved it back into Alfred's hands.

This time he didn't even try to hide the fact that he was stomping around and probably "making a scene," as Arthur would put it. But when he brought it back and Arthur took a big swig of the vile concoction he actually smiled.

"Thank you so much," He said, taking another deep drink, "This is just what I needed."

And then came the guilt.

It wasn't fair! He'd given Arthur what he'd wanted, and he'd been right to be mad because it was ridiculous, and now he felt like shit for doing it. With a sigh he sat down on the sofa.

"What's wrong?" Arthur asked.

"Nothing, nothing."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Really."

Arthur shrugged and went back to gulping down his broth (if it could even be called that anymore)

"Hey, Alfred?"

"What?" Alfred snapped, looking up at him.

"N-nothing," Arthur said, swirling the cup in his hands.

"No, you can tell me. It's fine." He tried to sound more neutral, but he didn't think it was working.

"It wasn't important."

"Really, Arthur, it's perfectly okay."

"Alfred…"

He looked a little bit concerned, but Alfred just turned away to look out the window. It was silent for a few moments, but then Arthur stood and looked down at him.

"God in Heaven, Alfred, what is wrong with you?"

Suddenly, Alfred felt some part of him that had been slowly wound tighter and tighter over the past few weeks abruptly snap.

"Oh, I don't know," Alfred glared up at him, "It's couldn't be the fact that I'm living with a parasite."

"I'm the one who has to feed the baby, stupid."

"No, you're a goddamn parasite!" Alfred stood, "You just lie around the house the entire day and order me to do all sorts of stupid shit for you that it's not like you couldn't do any of it yourself if you didn't want to badly enough!"

"Alfred, I have a half-stone infant inside of me, do you have any idea how hard that makes things for me?"

"Well I've got a husband who makes me do everything for him short of chew his food, do you have any idea how hard that makes things for me?"

"It can't be too hard because until now you haven't complained!"

"You don't even know do you? Look, if I ever say one thing you don't like you just go and make me look like the bad guy, no matter how stupid you're being!"

"You're supposed to be taking care of me!"

"You're supposed to at least try to be reasonable!"

"I don't have to take this," He turned away.

Alfred grabbed his shoulder, "Yes you do!"

"No I don't!"

"You can't just keep running away, Arthur! You need to stay here!"

"Why should I?"

"Because you promised," Alfred swallowed. Oh God he was about to cry, "You promised me you'd stay."

Arthur just looked at him open-mouthed.

He couldn't take it anymore. He ran into the bedroom and slammed the door behind him. He crawled beneath the blanket and started to cry. It wasn't worth it to try to stop. He'd fucked up, hadn't he? Irrevocably, stupidly, terribly fucked up. He almost wished that he didn't have a reason for it so that he could go back and beg Arthur to forgive him. But he did have a reason, and he didn't feel sorry for what he did. He was just sad that it had probably ruined everything.

For a few hours (he wasn't sure how long, but he could watch the shadows move across the room as the sun started to set), he simply lay in bed. He had stopped crying a long time ago and was just curled up into a ball, numb to emotion, knowing that he'd probably messed up the life he'd worked nineteen years to build but no longer having the energy to care. He didn't even have the will to sleep. He just stared at the wall.

There was a knock on the door and he heard it open just a crack.

"Alfred? Can I come in?"

He just grunted noncommittally, but Arthur seemed to take that as an invitation because he walked in and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Alfred, I'm s- I'm-" He sighed, "I love you. You do know that, right?"

Alfred grunted again and rolled away.

"Please, I- I didn't mean to- It was never my intention to-"

"Look, are you gonna say something or not?" He looked back at Arthur, for the first time, really. He saw the hurt in his eyes, but his heart was still to frozen to feel anything but the smallest twinge.

"I- I-"

Alfred rolled his eyes and curled up again.

Arthur sighed and, with a grunt, stood and left the room.

At some point Alfred fell asleep. He woke up to the sun on his face but an empty bed. That was enough to make him cry some more. Then the door opened again and he froze.

"I brought you breakfast. Thanks for leaving supper on last night, it was good. But when I woke up this morning I realized you hadn't eaten in a day, so I made you some porridge. I know it isn't much, but it's the best I can do."

This time, Alfred felt something. He rolled back over to look at Arthur, who looked sheepish and very, very sad. Alfred wanted more than anything just to pull him into a hug and tell him it was okay. But that would just be pushing things aside, wouldn't it? They couldn't do that anymore, not with a baby on the way.

"Please, just eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"Please, Alfred, please."

Alfred rolled onto his stomach, looking at Arthur just from the corner of his eye.

"Look, Alfred," he set the bowl he'd brought on the bedside table, "I'm sorry."

Alfred pushed himself onto his knees and looked at him. He didn't think he'd ever heard Arthur say those words before, not seriously. It was usually a way to brush him off or an excuse, and he'd learned to understand that. This time it was different, a real honest-to-God apology.

"I wasn't thinking, wasn't looking. I didn't realize that I was bothering you and I should have. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want you to get mad at me," Arthur looked back at him, "I just wanted everything to be perfect for us and I kept hoping that if I just didn't do anything it would pass. Dammit, we're having a baby. Shouldn't we be all happy and in love?"

Arthur smiled, "I don't know about what you think, but I love you. I wouldn't ask for so much if I didn't trust you, and I wouldn't get upset when you weren't perfect if I didn't have high expectations for you, but no rest for the wicked," he gently stroked Alfred's hair, "We always have to work."

"I know, I know. And I love you to. I just- I was scared."

"Of what?"

Alfred wrapped his arms around him, "I don't want you to leave me."

Arthur pulled away, "What on earth could make you think I'd want to leave?"

"Come on," Alfred said, looking away, "There are a million other people who could take better care of you and give you what you deserve better than me."

"Don't say that. Don't ever say that," This time Arthur grabbed him, "Alfred, I picked you for a reason. I love you, dammit. Even if you don't see it, you're special. No one could make me happy like you do."

"Arthur, I-" He didn't know what to say, so he just tugged Arthur close and started crying again.

"Now, now, love," he stroked Alfred's hair, "I'm supposed to by the crier, not you."

"Y-you're right." Alfred pulled away and wiped his eyes, "But I don't think I have the energy to do anything today."

"That's fine," He smiled, "Let me take care of you for once."

"Arthur, you're due a few days!"

"And I feel perfectly fine now that I know what's wrong with you."

"But-"

"No buts. I'm going to repay you for all you've done for me."

"Artie-"

"Good, then we're in agreement. Now eat your porridge."

Alfred took it and looked down. It was glopy and chunks of it were blackened. Still, when he first tasted it after Arthur went to do other chores he couldn't help but realize it was the most delicious thing he'd eaten in weeks.