To Lyger 0: Some stories have been a lot longer, but sometimes it only needs 14 chapters plus prologue and epilogue! I tend to avoid tons of "filler."

Swallowing nervously, Francisco paused on the front stoop of the Moreno house, trying to suppress the flutter in his stomach and heart. He had called Marina the moment they got back to the hotel, even before they checked out; Marina had sounded stressed and distant on the phone. When they had returned to Paris, Pegasus had assured him that Marina had made it home safely the day before: she and Chloe had gone shopping together – according to him, Marina now had another dozen outfits for the baby! Everything had been fine while she was in Paris by herself, at least – the baby hadn't come while he had been in Greece. Once they were set, Pegasus had asked where Francisco wanted to go – his parents' home? Francisco had thought about that for a long moment… but then the strain in Marina's voice had come back to him.

He had to see her first.

But now that he stood, staring at the too-familiar front door where he had picked up Marina for so many dates over the last couple years, he suddenly regretted the decision to come here right away. What if she was stressed because of him? What if she had spent the last few days worrying about him? Would she be angry? He didn't think so… but there was still that quiet voice whispering in his mind. The last time he had felt this anxious, he had been returning home after spending almost four months on the road, running away from his problems. He had disappeared on Marina for half the pregnancy; if she was anxious and stressed now, at the very end of the pregnancy, whose fault could it be but his own? And yet, what else could he do? He was trying to take responsibility! He was trying to support Marina through the pregnancy. He would be a father to their child… or as much of one as Marina wanted him to be. But was it enough?

Perry stirred in his shirt pocket, his rustling wings fluttering against Francisco's chest through the thin fabric. Francisco drew in a breath, held it for a moment, and released it.

Slowly, he raised his hand and rapped on the door.

Through the door, he could hear the sound of soft voices probably coming from the living room. The voices died quickly, and after a minute, footsteps grew louder on the other side of the door. Francisco straightened his back and set his shoulders, bracing himself. Señor Moreno opened the door and looked out at Francisco, his arms folded, eyes narrowed, and mouth set in a thin line. "Hello, Francisco."

Francisco coughed to clear his throat, and forced himself to meet Señor Moreno's gaze. He had always been friendly to him… before. Francisco stifled an anxious gulp. "Good afternoon… Alonso," he began. "I, um, I came to talk with Marina? I… got the impression when we talked earlier that she wasn't happy – er, that she was, um, stressed out. So I came right over because I wanted to see–"

Señor Moreno sighed heavily and stepped aside, waving a hand to cut off Francisco's rambling. "Come in," he told him, frowning. "She's in her room. Trying to set up that playpen."

Pushing aside his trepidation, Francisco stepped into the entryway. In the living room, he caught a quick glimpse of Señora Moreno, sitting on the couch and watching him with an inscrutable expression. Señor Moreno raised an eyebrow at Francisco but made no move to follow as Francisco turned down the well-known route off the entryway, down the hallway, past Señor Moreno's office. Reaching the closed door to Marina's bedroom, he paused, shifting his weight back and forth nervously.

"She's been in there most of the day," called Señor Moreno, his arms still folded, staring at Francisco from the other end of the hallway.

For the second time, Francisco hesitated outside the door, leaning in a little closer to listen. Marina was moving around inside – probably on the far side of the small room. Something heavy shifted. Furniture scraped along the floor. Suddenly a loud thud reverberated through the floorboards, followed by a sudden intake of breath and muffled curse. Francisco froze, eyes wide, unsure whether to enter or announce himself. Perry quivered agitatedly in his pocket. Before Francisco could make up his mind, Marina sniffled, loudly, and a quiet sobbing reached him through the closed door. Without hesitating, Francisco pulled the door open and rushed inside, pushing the door most of the way closed behind him the moment he was through. "Marina? Babe?"

It was a modest-sized bedroom, only three or four meters on one side and a little longer on the other. When they had been dating, it had already been overcrowded with bed, dresser, vanity, and desk; with the addition of baby furniture, there was hardly any room to move around. All the furniture had been crammed up against the walls, with a changing table replacing the desk. Marina sat on the floor in the middle of the room, a meter or so away from the changing table, rubbing her head with one hand while cradling her belly with the other. Her legs crossed, she rocked back and forth, the pieces of the playpen scattered around in front of her, the cloth floor bunched up between her, the bed, and the changing table. Without looking up at him, she burst into tears, burying her face in her arms, her shoulders shaking with each sob.

Francisco dropped to his knees and slid across the floor to stop in front of her, placing his hands gently on her elbows. "Marina? Mi amor? Is everything–" He coughed awkwardly. "I mean, please. Tell me what's wrong." She raised her head slightly, showing him her eyes, red and puffy, her cheeks streaked with tears. He squeezed her elbows gently, as Perry poked his head out of Francisco's shirt. Glancing down and raising an eyebrow meaningfully at the Kwami, Francisco jerked his head toward the tissue box on Marina's dresser. As the Kwami flew in that direction, Francisco rubbed his hands up and down her arms. "Please," he whispered, keeping his voice low and soothing. "Tell me."

She scoffed humorlessly, averting her eyes to the playpen pieces strewn across the floor around her. "What isn't wrong?" she grumbled rhetorically. "I hit my head on that stupid bed. I can't get this stupid playpen to go together. And even if I could figure this thing out, there's no way for me to get it into this stupid bedroom since it's just too big and the room's too small – the only way to make it work and be able to get out without going through it is to put one of the changing table legs inside the playpen. And even then, I'll have to tiptoe around it and risk falling in on top of the baby! I thought this room was small growing up, but it's just become tiny now, and it will be even smaller when I have a baby living in here with me!" She huffed, folding her arms over her belly in a pout. "My feet are swollen, my head hurts, and I feel bloated like a – like a beached whale!"

Francisco shifted around sit next to her and placed an arm over her shoulders. Letting out a breath, she leaned into his touch, closing her eyes and resting her cheek against his shoulder. He wrapped his other arm around her shoulders and hugged her gently, carefully stroking her arm, and pressed a kiss to her temple. "For what it's worth, I think you're positively radiant – the absolute most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

She leaned away from him, arching an eyebrow dubiously. "Even like this?" she demanded, gesturing toward her tear-stained face, the knot forming on her forehead, the protruding belly.

He smiled, dropping his hand down to rest on her stomach. "Especially like this, carrying our baby. Although," he added, frowning and leaning to one side to examine her forehead more closely, "I don't like that bump. What happened?"

She shrugged, rubbing her forehead. "I was trying to get the playpen together, and I hit my head on the leg of the changing table."

"I'm sorry." He pressed a kiss to the spot, and she sighed, sniffling.

"It doesn't hurt too badly," she admitted, accepting one of the tissues Perry held out to her and wiping away her tears. "More my pride than anything."

He nodded in acceptance. "All the same…" Taking his arm away from her shoulders, he gestured for her to slide back and lean against the side of the bed. "Let me see what I can do about the other things." Giving him a curious look, she shifted to sit with her back against the bedroom wall, and he lifted her feet up into his lap, rubbing them carefully. She stifled a moan, resting her head back against the wall mattress, and closed her eyes, breathing slowly and deeply as he continued to rub the soles of her feet. After a long moment, he glanced up at her face and swallowed back his trepidation. "Have you thought anymore about my suggestion from before the wedding? You didn't really give me an answer then… but I… thought you would be a little more excited."

Opening her eyes and leaning forward to meet his gaze, she sighed. "I have. But… I'm still unsure." Francisco's stomach dropped. Quickly, she added, "It's not that I don't want to move in together. It's not that I don't trust you or anything like that. Please, don't think I'm saying I don't want you in my life – in the baby's life. I just… I don't know if it's really the way I want things to be – moving out like this. Without a job, still being in university, there's no way I'd be able to afford an apartment."

"But you don't have to afford it," Francisco pointed out earnestly, squeezing her toes. "Agreste pays more than well enough for me to pay all our bills."

"But that's just it," she insisted, worry in her eyes. "It would all be you. You would be paying for everything; I would just be a 'live-in servant' or 'nanny', staying home and caring for the baby for you. That…" She let out a breath and looked away "That's just… not what I want for my life." Swallowing, turned to stare steadily into his eyes. "I want to be an equal partner, not just a servant, some girl who lives with you."

Francisco's mouth opened slightly, and he nodded in realization. "That's not what I want, either," he assured her, sliding across the floor next to her, his eyes not leaving hers. "That's not what you are to me – just a 'servant' or just a 'nanny' or anything like that. You are so much more than that. I want us to have a life together. I want to raise our child together. I want to be partners." Taking her hands in his, he lifted them to his mouth, kissing her knuckles. Marina's breathing hitched; tears pooled in the corners of her eyes. Francisco gulped, rubbing the backs of her hands with his thumbs. "Marina Moreno. Mi amor. If you will have me… I want you to be my wife."

Sniffling, Marina lunged forward, wrapping her arms around his neck in a tight embrace. "Yes. That's what I want, too."