The honeymoon was brief and spent in a villa on a private beach in Fiji. The newlyweds slept in separate beds and Haruhi threw up everything she ate. In September of that year, Saeka Otori was born. Anyone who could do math knew that the child was technically illegitimate. Anyone with eyes knew for a fact that she was. But it was a mark of respect to her late father's memory and a mark of deep fear of the Otori family that no one said a word.

Kyoya met, for the first time in his life, someone he couldn't read. He couldn't anticipate needs and reactions, couldn't have everything down to a science, running like clockwork. He'd think he found a pattern with her sleeping or feeding and the next day, he would be bleary eyed and half asleep at work as Saeka had stayed up til 5 am, screaming to wake up all of Tokyo. There was no shrewd calculation to a child, let alone a petulant infant. Born with her father's lungs and a head of blonde hair, Kyoya had never been more terrified of a seven pound, nine ounce object in his life.

He meant to keep his distance. It had been his intention from the day of the funeral on. An outsider would have said he was distant from the child as she wasn't his own and he resented her for it. Haruhi knew that Kyoya was vaguely annoyed but mostly scared. But, as he thought, Haruhi isn't stupid enough to suffer in silence. If she needs help, she'll ask. He spent hours in his study, basking in the soothing glow of his computer screen as he drew up charts and researched exactly how deeply ensconced the Otoris and Suous were – he was beginning to think his father had gone senile. Marrying Haruhi didn't seem to raise profits.

His sister had stepped in the night Saeka was born, calling him to try to explain his father's logic in the way only an overly emotional older sister who says things like "strong little soldier" could. He had long since re-perfected his cool, collected demeanor but felt his temper flaring at the words "little brother." She had rambled on for nearly an hour, during which Kyoya had been fantastically productive at listening to anything but her, thinking up ways to improve the hospital his family owned as he paced.

"He says that public opinion is on the line here, too," she had tried in a last stab at making her baby brother understand, as though he were denying that two and two made four. She sounded close to tears and Kyoya vaguely wondered if, as all the women around him sounded that way lately, it could be his mere presence that caused it. "It won't matter as much to our friends and business associates but you must understand that the general public will see you as a brave, stoic man! You're stepping up and taking…taking one for the team," she breathed, realizing from Kyoya's absolute silence that she was toeing a very fine line. "The public will mostly side with us and be impressed that you were just so righteous and wonderful for saving Haruhi from a horrible fate! You must have such a big heart to take a tragedy and-"

"The doctor said that it will only be a few more hours," he cut her off in a crisp, decisive voice; the conversation was over. "If you'd like to join us, you're more than welcome," he added in a voice that told her quite clearly she wasn't.

In that instant, she was struck at how much he sounded like their father. Kyoya ended the call and left to fetch Haruhi's nineteenth cup of ice chips.

Haruhi spent the time between the funeral and her wedding fighting the urge to curl up in a ball and hide under a table. She hadn't cried when her mother died and didn't see any reason to start now. She felt rather that the persistent storm outside were within her instead of without. Her old friends said comforting words, brought her flowers and photo albums and wedding gifts. It took some organizing but they all brought her the first gifts they'd bought (and Kyoya was conveniently absent when she received them), having chosen entirely different ones for the wedding that happened in April.

She laughed truly and genuinely for the first time in ages when she finally opened the gift from the twins that August. Kyoya had had the audacity to eat eggs earlier that morning and after a quick and routine puking session, a very annoyed and very pregnant Haruhi had taken vaguely malicious pleasure in her plans to open more secret wedding gifts.

She tottered down many halls and corridors of the Otori estate to the guest room where she had hidden the gifts. Inside was a delicate, lacy blue garter. She flipped open the card and couldn't help but smile at what she found. We nicked it from mother's store. So it's new, it's borrowed, and it's blue. In fact, it won't even be in stores for a year. For something old, we figured a fossil like Kyoya would qualify as he's best man. All our best, followed by two loopy, cursive signatures and an open invitation to come steal anything else from the store that she wanted.

She smiled ruefully, waddling over to the guest bed and laying down on it on her back. Kyoya had been nothing shy of wonderful to her these last few months. No matter how moody, how easily nauseated, how impatient she became, he was there to bring her what she wanted, make someone get her what she wanted, or give shoulder rubs and shoulders to cry on. Or, rather, shoulders to lean on as Haruhi didn't put much stock in crying. She closed her eyes, twisting the garter in her fingers as a scene from a few weeks past flitted across her mind.

"I would sell my soul to be able to lay on my stomach," she sighed.

"You can't sell your soul, one of us needs one." He didn't look up from his newspaper, but she knew all too well that he took a sip of coffee to disguise the hint of a smile threatening to betray him. She chose instead to glare at him, wondering why he insisted on a cup of decaf before bed. If the smell didn't make her vomit on thousand thread count sheets, it sent her in to a fit of rage as coffee was a contraband item for another month or so yet. Good coffee, at least.

"I hate you," she mumbled as she punched the pillows into a comfortable shape, trying to lie on her side and immediately regretting the choice. She huffed loudly, feeling the pinpricks in the corners of her eyes that meant she was in for a long night. Only I would cry over something so stupid, she thought savagely. Not my mother or my dead fiancée. I only deign to cry because expensive pillows don't do as I wish.

She felt a strong pair of hands on her shoulders, slowly massaging away the tension. To her horror, the urge to cry intensified. She closed her eyes tightly, willing the tears away. He eased the pain out of her shoulders and then her lower back, his hands moving in slow circles. They said nothing as sleep overtook her, rare and peaceful sleep, not fitful sleep that was interrupted by muscle spasms fourteen times a night. He eased her into a laying position and pulled the sheets up around her.

"Tomorrow, I will call every furniture manufacturer in Japan," he said softly, gazing at her half asleep face, looking restful and content for the first time in weeks. "I will award millions to the first one that can make a bed that you can sleep on." She smiled drowsily, placing her hand over his.

"You'll do no such thing," she murmured. "Go to sleep."

He sighed and removed his glasses, setting them on the table to his left as he hit a button on a remote on the nightstand. The lights went out and he joined her under the blankets. He lay awake on his side, facing her. I could go to the beach tomorrow, he thought. I could dig her a hole and she could lie on her stomach. I'll call the doctor in the morning and make sure it's okay, he thought with a yawn.

In the darkness under the covers, her hand found his once more and they slept that way all night, fingers intertwined.

The memory faded and she smiled to herself, absently twisting the ring on her left hand. She felt leaden and couldn't find the energy to swing her legs over the side of the bed to stand up. She'd definitely need a hand up, something she had taken a while to get used to but now it felt as though it was second nature to be completely dependent on someone else. She began to hum to herself and dug her phone out of the pocket of her dress, hitting the blank number one on her speed dial. The little number '1' had been rubbed off months earlier and the sight amused Kyoya to this day. She had a vague idea of where she was in the house (and "vague idea" usually means "I've managed to find it at least twice") but called him anyway, asking him to come. It was a familiar ritual, something she did often. "Find me?" she asked quietly.

He would find her soon. He always did.