A/N: This takes place a month or so before Terra turns three.

Clara wasn't exactly certain as to why she didn't very well that particular day. She already felt like vomiting twice and was sore in odd places despite the fact it was only lunchtime. After firing off a text to Ian to check in (he and Terra both ended up being fine, despite the fact she had run off and hid in the garden on him again), she proceeded to ignore her sandwich and crisps in favor of only having some tea. She was able to make it through the remainder of the workday without slipping up, though she did happen to vomit in a hedge on her way home.

"Mummy!" Terra gasped the moment Clara entered the house. The preschooler barreled into her mother, nearly knocking her over onto the floor. "Are you okay?"

"Mummy's fine, dear—go back to playing now, yeah?" Terra rushed back to the sitting room at that, freeing Clara to head towards the kitchen, where Ian was sitting with some scribbled notes and a fresh cuppa, leaning over the latter so that the steam hit his face. "Feeling any better yourself?"

"Not entirely," he sniffed. "I think this cold is nearly gone though; it'll be good when I'm not constantly cold all the time. Do humans normally have colds that last this long?"

"Not really, but you're probably a special exception given the circumstances," she replied. Clara poured herself some tea and sat down as well, glancing over the papers on the table. "I thought you weren't going to get back to work until after you felt better."

"I've been down for over two months—I can't afford to put this off any longer," he said sourly. "This paper will end up being a decent supplement to your paycheck, and then we can put that addition on that you wanted plus put away for a family holiday." The selkie then glanced over at his wife and narrowed his eyes. "What's the matter?"

"I don't feel good myself," Clara admitted. "It's probably just that fermented fish we brought into class yesterday for the kids to try finally getting to me."

"Whatever it is, I'd like us both to get better soon so we can get back to… you know…" His hand found her knee and he gave her a bashful smile. "Terra's going to be a good sister, don't you think?"

"About that, Ian…" She exhaled heavily, discomfort apparent in her voice. "I'm not sure about that anymore. Terra would be fine, it's not about that, but I don't know if I can handle it right now. Maybe again in October, but not this very moment."

"Why October?"

"So I can have the baby in the summer holiday, that's why. I don't want to be off work for very long—they're talking about giving me three grade levels next term."

"Can they do that?"

"If they want to keep the school open, then yeah." Clara clutched her mug tightly, staring down at the milky tea. "I do want one more, don't get me wrong, but since I'm not pregnant from before you caught the bloody cold of the decade…"

"I understand," Ian relented. "One day… just not today… because you can't afford it with work, and we need to be able to afford things along with the child we already have, right?"

"That's a good way to sum it up, yeah," she nodded. She took hold of his hand and they continued on with their tea. They'd get there, eventually, and they were fine with that.

She was ill again the following day.

Actually, Clara took notice of the fact that she did not feel well the entire rest of the week. It was only that weekend, after missing a menstrual cycle, did she suspect that anything was going on. She took a test kit with her to the loo (thank God, Sjeh Mither, or whatever, for discreet packaging when ordering off the internet), coming out completely baffled.

She wasn't ill—she was pregnant.

Frankly, it shouldn't've been possible. She and Ian had stopped trying completely when he caught that ridiculous cold that had been making its way around the island (impacting the human inhabitants much less severely), and she knew she hadn't been pregnant thanks to a doctor's visit she went to in the meantime. Everything had come back negative except for the little stick in her hand—how…?

Ian found Clara that night in a completely flustered panic in their bedroom. He had just put Terra to bed, meaning they were alone.

"Is everything alright?" he wondered cautiously.

"Ian, I… oh, screw it: I'm pregnant," she replied, cutting to the gist of things. "I'm pregnant and I shouldn't be and—"

"Oh Clara, that's wonderful news," he beamed. He picked her up in a hug that spun halfway around before putting her down. Taking a good whiff of his wife, the selkie grinned, "Yes, you definitely are. I wouldn't have known had you not said so for about another week or so; this dumb cold, you know…"

"This is serious!" she snapped. "We haven't had sex in months!"

"The baby just waited until it sensed I was beginning to get healthy again to implant itself, which must mean that it can sense both parents, and…"

"Wait, it what…?!"

"You mean… humans don't… do… that… when… um… breeding…?"

"We do no such thing!"

"Huh, that's odd, because that's what seals do all the time, and I—" Ian was cut off by his tiny human wife emitting such an annoyed sound that it sent a chill down his fae spine. "Is this one for the notecards?"

"Definitely one for the notecards," she hissed, pointing towards the writing desk in the corner of the room. He went over and took a fresh card from one of the drawers, printing "Do not confuse seal and human physiology and/or natural processes" on it, stuffing it in with a small pile of other cards sitting on the desk, bound by a rubber band. He returned to her side, holding his arm out wide.

"Done," he said. "I promise I'll try not to delay-impregnate you again."

"Fine," she mumbled, headbutting his chest as he hugged her. There was no denying how warm he was; warm and comfortable and smelling of the sea. He was more than just the father of her child—no, children—but he was her best friend and the one person she couldn't stay cross at, not for a million, billion years. "Can we go to bed now? I really should get to bed, if I really am pregnant with your mutant seal-fae child… again."

"We most certainly can, and you most certainly are," Ian grinned. He picked up Clara and carried her to bed, climbing in afterwards to use her shoulder as a pillow while he laid there with his hand up her shirt, touching the bare skin of her stomach. "Now instead of trying in October, we'll be changing nappies."

"Don't sound too happy about that," she teased. She gently tapped the back of his head as he craned his neck to kiss her throat—what an idiot. "Hey, Ian?"

"Yeah?"

"If this baby, um, behaved like a seal when it came to coming into existence, does this mean that they will be a selkie like you?"

"Possibly, but nothing is for certain," he said. "I must have changed my mind over a dozen times when you were carrying Terra."

"Now that I remember clearly."

"At least one thing is for certain: they will be a little bit of you and a little bit of me." The door then creaked open and the mattress shifted slightly. "Speaking of… how's our precious pup?"

"Daddy, under the bed," Terra whined. She clung to her father, who held her as he got out of bed.

"Let's see what we can do to banish that wee imp once and for all," he said. He kissed his wife before bringing their daughter back to her room, determined to make the imaginary spirit vanish in the lass's eyes. Clara laid alone in her room, putting a hand to the warm skin her husband had just touched.

It was earlier than expected, but she would take it.