It was simply time to face the facts. She wasn't sick. Well, not unless one counted morning sickness. And she was, unfortunately, quickly outgrowing most of her clothing. And unless Balthier was either a complete idiot or entirely oblivious (which he most certainly was not), he was soon going to discover her predicament, and then she would surely be in for it.

Unless she told him before he managed to figure it out for himself. But then, what, precisely, would be a graceful way to tell him she was pregnant?

There wasn't one. And as soon as he found out, he would no doubt redouble his efforts in enticing her to stay. For all that he might make a terrible husband (or boyfriend, or whatever he wanted to call their relationship, as she was fairly certain he had no desire to marry), he really was a wonderful father, and he would obviously wish to be involved in his children's lives.

Penelo wasn't at all sure that she could handle such a relationship. Maybe she could work something out with Mariette. Balthier could have alternate weekends with the children, and a few weeks in the summer, once school let out. Mariette would surely have no problems watching over the children for a few hours so that Penelo could safely escape before Balthier came to retrieve them.

She drew a quick breath, but the air sat heavily in her lungs, stagnant and stale. No matter how she might wish it otherwise, they were bound irrevocably through their child. She gulped. Children. Through their children. What would he do when he learned she was pregnant? Would he go back on his word? Keep her from leaving? He'd been so angry that she'd kept Ellie from him for so many years – would he insist upon seeing her through her current pregnancy? Would he ever honor his vow to leave them in peace?

She rubbed the slight swell of her belly anxiously. Of course she would love her child. How could she not? Still, her attitude regarding her impending blessed event was, decidedly, blah. She wasn't prepared; she wanted to put it from her mind, to ignore it for as long as possible. She didn't want to think about it. She didn't want to obsess over whether or not this one would be a boy or a girl, whether it might look like Balthier, talk like Balthier, or, gods forbid, act like Balthier. It was bad enough that she'd probably spend the rest of her life desperately in love with a man that she could not, in good conscience, allow herself to be involved with. She'd had her heart trampled too many times. Only a fool would offer her heart up again, expecting a different result. And Penelo was no fool.

---

Though the changes in her body were slow to manifest, she knew she could not expect to hide the truth overly long – and indeed, it wasn't long at all before they were noticed.

Balthier had noticed only that she'd made minor alterations to her wardrobe. Gone were the form-fitting shirts, gone the trousers that hugged her hips, molding themselves to her slender legs. In their place appeared loose blouses and drawstring pants, camouflaging the bourgeoning thickness of her waist, the slowly swelling bulge of her abdomen. He simply thought she was trying to hide away from him in the desperate hope that he would cease to desire what he could not see. He could have told her it was not the case, it would never be the case, but she was so intent upon putting as much emotional distance between them that he had not the heart to speak of it.

However, Ellie, with all the brutal honesty of a small child, made it clear what she thought.

"Mama," she said over dinner one night, "you're getting fat."

Penelo choked. Her fork clattered against her plate; she was shocked to find her fingers trembling. Attempting some degree of poise, she reached for her cup, gulping down her apple cider with fervor.

"Ellie," Balthier reprimanded immediately. "Don't be rude."

Ellie thrust out her chin stubbornly, looking so like Balthier that Penelo's heart wrenched.

"But it's true," she insisted. "My friend Elani's mama got fat once, too, but Elani said it was because she had a baby growing in her tummy."

Penelo felt the blood drain from her face. Aghast, she glanced at Balthier, seeing the very moment that comprehension dawned on his handsome face. Slowly, he turned to look at her. She dropped her eyes to her plate, lifting her fork to her lips mechanically, desperately hoping she was not as pale as she thought she was.

"Penelo?"

The gentle inquiry sent the blood rushing back to her cheeks – too fast. Her face burned with her flush. She willed herself to swallow past the lump in her throat, then carefully set her fork down beside her plate. She was trembling, and she prayed Balthier would not see. But, of course, his sharp eyes noticed everything. She knew he saw the truth she could no longer hide; her meager camouflage destroyed by a five-year-old.

She pushed back her chair and stood. "I…I'm not feeling very well," she blurted. And then, like the coward she was, she fled to her bedchamber, the harsh click of the lock burning her ears. In a haze of confusion and embarrassment, she changed into a soft cotton nightgown and slid between cool sheets, curling up into a little ball. Her throat ached with unshed tears, but the satisfaction crying might have brought eluded her.

---

Though Balthier longed to go after her, other things required his attention at present, namely his daughter.

She shoved her peas around on her plate, her lips pursed into a frown. "Is Mama mad at me?" She asked finally.

He sighed. "No, darling. If anything, she's angry with me."

"I called her fat, though." Her chin trembled.

"You ought not have done," he acknowledged. "If you can't say something nice, you ought not say anything at all."

"I know, Papa." She sniffled. "I'm sorry."

"It's quite all right. You know your mama loves you very much. She'll always love you, even if you say things you ought not."

"Even if she has a new baby?" Ellie asked. "Elani said when the new baby came, nobody cared about her anymore." She pushed back her chair, moved to his side, and placed her small hands on his knee. "I don't want mama to have a new baby if she's not going to love me anymore."

"Oh, darling." He lifted her onto his lap, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face against his shoulder. "No matter what happens, your mama will always love you."

"And you, Papa?" She snuggled closer; he felt a seeping, wet warmth against his shirt and knew she was crying. "Even if you have to go away, will you still love me?"

He squeezed his eyes shut against the tears that threatened, stroking her soft blonde curls. "Always," he said. His heart wrenched in his chest, and he took a shuddering breath. "Always. Forever."

---

Only after Ellie had been safely tucked into bed did he approach Penelo's bedchamber.

He knocked softly. "Penelo?"

No sound came from within. He knocked again, and tried twisting the handle. It didn't budge. She'd locked the door against him. Predictable, but irritating. He sensed somehow that entreating her to open the door was unlikely to work, so instead he fetched his lock picks and got to work. The lock gave quickly and easily under his ministrations. The door swung open, and he stepped silently inside. She was there, on the bed, buried beneath a mound of blankets. She was curled up into a ball, as though she were protecting herself from the unpleasantness of the world.

Though his stomach was clenched with uncertainty, he forced himself to speak gently to her. He had already wounded her once – he would not willingly do so again. Especially were she truly in the delicate condition he strongly suspected she was.

"Penelo?"

"Please leave." Her muffled voice came from beneath the wadded covers. "I'd thought locking the door would've been a fairly good indicator that I don't really feel like talking."

Not two minutes into conversation, and he'd already put her on the defensive. He sighed heavily, but drew closer to the bed, taking a seat on the edge. She curled up tighter, hiding herself, shifting further away from him.

"Don't. Please." He stayed her motions, placing one hand on her hip…or, where he thought her hip was. "I'm not angry; I'm not going to shout or…" What else had she accused him of? "Or be condescending. I simply want to…talk. I want you to talk to me. I want you to tell me."

"Tell you what?" He heard the accusation in her tone; she knew he'd pieced together the puzzle himself.

"Anything. Whatever you think I ought to know." And if he didn't get the answers he was looking for…well, he already knew anyway. The most he could do was to let her tell him in her own good time, without casting anger or blame upon her. As soon as he'd figured it out, he'd known why she'd kept it from him. She feared a repetition of what she'd suffered not long ago. And giving her what she'd expected would guarantee her rapid departure from his life. If he handled his poorly, she'd truly run and never look back.

"What if I don't have anything to tell you?" This, suspiciously. He cleared his throat, striving to keep his tone even, neutral.

"That is your decision. However…I hope you understand that I am available whenever…if ever you decide you wish to talk." He forced himself to his feet, struggled against the burning desire to stay, to coerce her into confessing all. Fought against the knowledge that he could compel Penelo to do nothing, and that his attempts to do so would only strengthen her resentment.

His fingers brushed the doorknob.

"Wait." She struggled to free herself from the covers, and he expelled a silent sigh of relief.

She emerged victorious from her brief battle with the blankets, hair delightfully mussed, pale blue nightgown slipping off one shoulder. It was hardly a seductive garment – shapeless and clearly old, the soft fabric worn nearly sheer, but the sight of her so vulnerable, disheveled, and self-conscious stirred Balthier more than he cared to admit.

"Maybe you should stay for a minute," she offered tentatively.

He took the opening with good grace, reclaiming his previous position on the bed. She said nothing for several moments; merely she studied him as though judging whether or not she wanted to share her secret after all.

"Perhaps you should lie down," he suggested. "You look frightfully pale." Slowly he pulled the blankets away from her bare feet, smoothing them out. She eased herself down back and he drew the covers over her, smoothing her hair away from her face. She gave him her back, turning to face the wall, and for a moment he was afraid she would order him from the room again. But she didn't protest his fingers combing through her soft hair. After a few moments, he kicked off his boots, reclining back on the bed beside her.

"I'm not sick," she said finally, hesitantly.

"Hmm?"

"I'm not sick," she repeated. "Before…when you were teaching Ellie to fly, and I was nauseous all the time…I thought I was just airsick. I thought it would go away." She shrugged, a tiny, nervous movement. He settled a hand on her shoulder, urging her silently to continue.

"But it didn't. And then Mariette said something, and none of my pants were fitting, and then…and then I knew I wasn't sick." She ducked her head a little, and his heart wrenched when he thought he heard a muffled sob.

"I see." He ran a comforting hand down the graceful slope of her back. "How long have you known that you…weren't sick?"

Another shrug. "A week or so. Earlier, I only thought I might…might not be sick. But I didn't know for sure." A short hesitation. "Are you angry?"

"Why would I be angry?"

"Because I didn't tell you. Because…because you'd probably rather I just be sick."

He slipped an arm beneath her, pulling her into the cradle of his arms, tucking her head beneath his chin. "Darling, if you felt you couldn't tell me, then I have no one to blame but myself. I know I have treated you unfairly in the past. I cannot hold you accountable for my own mistakes. I merely regret making you feel as though you could not share this with me."

To his surprise, she turned towards him, her fingernails latching onto his shirtfront, burying her face in his throat. He felt the telltale wetness seeping through his collar, and one hand came up to hold her against him. The other slipped down her body to the small of her back, drawing her into the curve of his body. She released a shuddering breath as the slight swell of her belly pressed against him.

"Don't. I'm…I'm…"

"Lovely. Intensely desirable. But right now, in need of comfort." He shifted so that he, too, was beneath the covers and she was wrapped completely in his embrace, surrounded by his warmth.

"I was going to say fat."

He made a disapproving sound in the back of his throat. "Pregnant is hardly a synonym for fat."

She stilled, a little shocked to hear it spoken aloud between them. "I just…I didn't expect…I didn't think. I didn't even think about it, which is stupid, after Ellie. I should have. I should have…"

His fingers slipped into her unbound hair, rubbing soothing circles at the base of her neck. "Don't, darling. A child is hardly the end of the world." He was a little surprised to find that he actually meant the comment. Though he had no experience with infants, he found himself wondering what it would be like to watch Penelo grow big with his child, to be present at its birth, to cradle his newborn child in his arms. He had missed that with Ellie. And, unless he was very, very lucky, there was a very real possibility that he might miss it again.

She made a little sniffling sound, her blonde head all but buried in his throat.

"I'm really scared," she whispered. "The first time, I didn't really know what to expect, but now I do, and I remember how terrified I was and how much it hurt and I'm just not sure how I'll get through it again."

He laced their fingers together, bringing her cold hand to his lips, brushing a gentle kiss over her knuckles. "Let me help you. Let me be there with you."

Her eyes widened briefly as she realized what he was saying. She shoved away from him, jerking upright. Her fingers slipped from his, and she pulled her hands through her tousled hair, tossing it over one shoulder. "No. Balthier, you made me a promise. You gave Larsa your word that you'd let us go. Just…no. Don't press for more. Don't take any more from me than you already have."

He suppressed a flinch at her hard tone, wounded more than he could express. He forced himself to recall that she, too, was wounded in her own way. That her injuries had hardened her against him, that he alone was responsible for her cool attitude. He had reaped only that which he had sown, and though her harsh words wounded, he knew that she needed him more than she cared to admit.

He caught her arm when she made to stand, gently tugging her back down.

"Then let me be here now." His hand slid caressingly up the rigid line of her spine. "I'll say nothing of the future. I'll ask for no promises." His fingers touched her throat, and she unconsciously turned her face into his palm. "Give me what I missed with Ellie. I'll ask for no more. Give me just this."

He sensed her hesitation, her reluctance to allow him back into her life in any capacity. She wavered uncertainly, caught between her desire for the comfort he could provide and her desire to avoid the pain that he could cause her.

"Please." He pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist. "Even should you do nothing but use me for whatever reassurance I can provide, I shall be satisfied."

He held his breath awaiting her answer. If she refused, he didn't know what he would do. He had nothing else to offer her, nothing she desired.

"Give me time to think it over," she said. "A day."

He had just over a month left, and then they would be gone from his life forever. He didn't want to waste any of it. But he acknowledged her request with a nod. "Tomorrow, then," he said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "If you should have need of anything…"

"I'm not an invalid. I'm capable of taking care of myself," she retorted, a little too sharply.

He hid a smile at her spark of temper. He'd set her emotions off-kilter, which meant he still affected her to some degree. Better her anger than her indifference.

"I meant no offense. It was simply an offer I would make to anyone who has recently been under the weather." He collected his boots, pulling them on.

She rubbed her forehead, sighing. "You're right. I'm sorry. That was uncalled for."

"No need to apologize, darling. I'm well aware that many pregnant women experience mood swings," he said casually.

She gasped, affronted. "Out! Now!"

"As you wish." He bent to kiss her forehead, smiling. "Do call if you require my assistance."

---

Her morning sickness flared up in the early hours just before dawn. She rocketed out of bed, slamming her knee on the corner of the dresser on her mad dash for the bathroom.

"Ouch!" She winced, hobbling into the bathroom and dropping her knees, bringing tears to her eyes as she hit her injured knee a little too hard, just in time to be violently ill. She gripped the sides of the toilet as her stomach emptied itself, vaguely aware of Balthier's sudden appearance. He held her hair back from her face, murmuring soothing words as one hand rubbed her back and massaged her shoulders. His thumb dug into the knotted muscle between her shoulder blades, and she nearly sighed in relief as the gentle pressure released the tension.

When she'd finished the last of her retching, he helped her gently to her feet, guiding her to the sink to rinse out her mouth. She brushed her teeth with shaking fingers, and had no sooner replaced her toothbrush than he swept her into his arms and returned her to her bed.

Light flared in the room, and he fished her leg out from under the covers, examining the wounded appendage briefly, before returning to the bathroom for a bandage and some antiseptic ointment. He cleansed the small area of broken skin, carefully positioned the bandage, and smoothed the covers back over her.

"There, now. Try to go back to sleep, it's still quite early." He smoothed her hair away from her face and back over her pillow, leaning down to kiss her cheek.

He would have left; she knew he would. He had heard her, helped her, and would have left her in peace because she had no further need of him. But it had been nice to be taken care of, to be fussed over as if she were precious to him. To not have to suffer the early stages of pregnancy alone – that sounded wonderful to her in that moment.

"Don't leave. Please."

He stopped. Twisted around, stared at her as if bewildered.

And she didn't feel ashamed of accepting his offer, she realized. She wasn't nervous or confused or shy about it. He had offered himself, his assistance. She would accept it with a clear conscience.

"I've decided I'd like you to stay. As long as I'm here, I don't want to be alone." She shifted to the side, making room for him on the bed.

"I can sleep in my own room if you would prefer it. I need not share yours." He forced the words out as if they hurt to say.

She shook her head. "No, I want you here."

"If I sleep in your bed, I'm going to make love to you."

"But how can you even want…I'm pregnant. I'm just going to get fatter and fatter." She didn't understand. Didn't he have any idea of how unattractive she was getting? And it was only going to get worse. He'd just watched her vomit, after all!

"You're beautiful. You're always beautiful to me." He dropped to his knees beside the bed, slipping his arm beneath the pillow to draw her closer to him. "I'll do nothing you don't desire, but you cannot expect me to sleep in your bed and not touch you. Not even a dead man possesses that kind of restraint, darling."

"I'll probably throw up on you if you try anything," she muttered. "My stomach's still sort of touchy."

He laughed, a strained, husky sound. "That, my dear, is a chance I am willing to take. Are you still inviting me in?"

In answer, she moved over again, providing enough space for him on the mattress. He slipped beneath the covers, and the mattress dipped with his added weight. She rolled a couple of inches toward him, right into the waiting circle of his arms. She settled there easily, his body warm and hard against her back, his arms closing around her. One of his hands rested on the slight curve of her stomach, where their child was cradled inside her. He stilled, reverently silent for a moment as he felt, for the first time, the proof of life within her.

Then he tucked her more firmly against him, his legs tangling with hers. She hadn't realized how much she had missed being held until this moment, with his warm breath fanning her cheek and the strength of his body at her back.

"Go to sleep," he murmured. His fingers absently stroked the mound of her belly. The reassuring weight of his arm over her waist soothed her. And the rhythmic thud of his heartbeat lulled her to sleep.