I promise I'm working on Hold Onto The Nights, I just hit a small snag. Teenage Mal and Natara have minds of their own and don't want to cooperate, so I thought writing a little bit of other stuff might help.

Also I don't know when this became so centered around Mal and Natara as parents. I didn't mean for it to be, it just sort of happened.

The tile of the bathroom floor is soothingly cold against Mal's cheek, even if it is uncomfortable to lie on. It doesn't matter. He can deal with that discomfort. He only wishes he didn't have to deal with the discomfort of his churning stomach any longer. The lights of the bathroom flick on suddenly.

"Nooo," he moans, throwing an arm over his eyes. He tries to roll on his side, away from the light, but the bathtub prevents it.

"Sorry."

He can hear the smirk in her voice. A second later her warm hand is rubbing small circles on his back. The gesture is supposed to be soothing, but the circular motion does nothing to quell the overwhelming nausea. He moans again as his stomach clenches painfully and he bolts upright, just in time. He empties the contents of his stomach into the toilet, which by this point is just Gatorade and saltine crackers. When he's done, he flops uselessly to the floor.

"Gross," Natara comments as she leans up to flush the toilet for him.

"Agreed," he groans, cracking one eye open. "I though you were supposed to be the one having morning sickness."

"Only in the first trimester," she says as she sets a glass of water by his head. "I haven't had any morning sickness for weeks."

"Guess it's your turn to take care of me." He closes his eyes again and tries to find a more comfortable position on the floor. Natara prods him in the back with her stupid, pokey fingers and he grunts.

"Nuh uh," she says, and he can hear her slide the glass of water closer to him. "You gotta drink something."

"Please don't make me," he begs. She pokes him again just as his stomach cramps especially hard.

"It's either water or Gatorade," she informs him in a matter-of-fact voice. "Pick your poison."

"I already did," he scowls. "It was that stupid chicken at that stupid fancy restaurant you wanted to go to."

"Don't pretend you didn't want to go to it, too." He can hear her kneel down next to him and he cracks his eyes open again. She smiles down at him, then motions to the glass of water on the floor. He heaves a sigh, then reluctantly raises the glass to his mouth. Taking a cautious sip, he watches Natara smile. The water soothes his throat a little bit, and it does make him feel a little cooler. But the feeling of it hitting his empty stomach isn't entirely pleasant.

"Ugh," he groans, leaning over the toilet again. He tries his hardest to force his stomach to keep the water down, but it seems it doesn't want to listen to him. The water comes back up, along with a fair amount of bile that burns his nose.

"I'm sorry," Natara whispers to him. She begins running her fingers through his hair, and he can't help but lean into her touch. "I'm sorry you're feeling sick."

"'S not your fault," he mumbles. She helps guide him so he can slump against her shoulder, and he can feel the small swell of her stomach pressing into his side. He has to admit that while he's much warmer than he'd like to be, he's also much more comfortable. They sit like that in silence for a while. Mal's just beginning to feel himself start to drift off when Natara give his shoulder a small shake.

"Mal," she says, and he can hear the urgency in her voice. "Mal."

"Please don't make me drink any more," he says.

"I won't as long as you feel this," she says, smiling at him.

"Huh?" he asks a bit stupidly.

In response, Natara takes his hand in hers and presses it lightly to the side of her stomach. They wait together for a moment, and then he feels it. A tiny push against his palm followed by a second, stronger one. It only lasts for a second, but he's suddenly much more awake than he had been just moments ago and feeling better than he has for hours. They wait together for a few more seconds, but the baby seems to have settled.

"Was that a foot?" he asks reverently, looking up at Natara. She's absolutely beaming, and she rubs absentmindedly at the spot where they felt the baby move.

"An elbow, I think," she says.

"How can you tell the difference?"

"Well, his feet usually aren't that sharp," she says. "And he likes to use them a lot more. He stretches them out a lot and then leaves them there for a while." Mal's smile grows as he feels another small jab against his hand, this time under his finger.

"You know, our kid is gonna have a pretty great mom," he says. Natara smiles more and shakes her head.

"Thanks," she says, "but he's gonna have a pretty great dad, too, you know."

He wants nothing more than to lean up and kiss her right now, but he knows his breath probably doesn't smell so great. So instead, he rubs little circles on her stomach with his thumb, and they sit in silence as their son kicks again.