Hello, again! Here's another installment (: I quite like this one! It came so naturally, so different from the others. And took significantly less time, too. Thank you for all the kind words so far, and hope you enjoy!

Three

"Good luck, my dear. And congratulations." Giovanna, a popular midwife among the gypsies, chimed as her client adjusted her clothing and stood up to leave.

Esmeralda had suspected it for days, now, but only just today, on this one late afternoon, decided to visit Giovanna for confirmation (or disproval). But, yes, now it was official. She was pregnant.

She sluggishly and silently shuffled to depart, seemingly hundreds of such perplexing emotions bubbling up that she didn't know which one to act upon. But before she passed through the threshold, the elder woman behind her called for her to halt.

"And, some advice before you go?" Giovanna started as she dabbed her weathered, brown hands dry with a cloth. She directed, a smile gradually broadening as she said: "Tell Phoebus soon. You'll be showing before you know it."

Esmeralda cast a brief, confounded glance at her own middle, her own body suddenly feeling alien to her. She nodded mutely at Giovanna, heaved a big sigh, and exited the premises. Fortunately, she'd taken the entire day off from work.

So many thoughts were buzzing about in her head; so many what ifs, doubts, wonderings, worries. They were all whirring in front of her in blurs as if on a high-speed conveyor belt. A baby, a child of her very own was on its way? What kind of mother would she be? Did they have enough money? Would she want to raise the child in Paris, in France, even? Did she want a boy or a girl, or did she even care? Who would be the godparents? What would pregnancy…what would birth be like? What if something went, dare she think it, wrong?

There were also a bunch of Phoebus-related thoughts.

How will they raise the child? What will this mean for their marriage? Though, the most protuberant question of all was: Did Phoebus even want children at all? They few times they'd discussed it, the conversation always concluded open-ended and uncertain. It was mostly vague opinions on the topic, and failed struggles to express their thoughts to one another. There was never a declaration, never an absolute "yes" or "no". The only thing they could gather was: they wanted to wait. Wait a few years. Wait until they had been married some time.

Well, hopefully four years was enough. It's not like they had a choice now, anyway.

But, regardless of all those, the first one to address was: how to tell him. She didn't want a big, grand gesture; they weren't those kinds of people. Should I let it slip out casually? Or should I come right out and say it boldly? She debated. The first option was most likely what she'd go with in the end. Maybe she'd just talk to him normally tonight, and slide it into the conversation nonchalantly.

Yeah. That sounded good.

The newly-expectant mother approached the center of town; Giovanna's abode had been on the outskirts. Dusk was approaching; Phoebus was to be getting off of work now. She hoped to find him around here, somewhere.

Arms crossed and travelling at an unhurried pace, she strolled past the buildings, leaning to look left and right down streets and shortcuts. With her torso twisted to the left to look down one avenue of a four-way crossing, a hand closed around her elbow. She needn't be startled or afraid; she knew exactly who it was.

"Looking for me?" Phoebus asked with a grin. He was clad in a nondescript, unbelted tunic and breeches; what he wore under his armor.

In an effective attempt to mask all that was on her mind, Esmeralda retorted with, "No, actually. I was looking for one of my other husbands. It's hard to keep track of all nine of you."

"You mean there's eight other men who can sympathize with me? Hmm. Maybe we can create a support group of some kind." (This earned an insulted scoff from his wife.)

He then stepped forward to greet his wife with a kiss. Esmeralda was, of course, pensive and didn't quite get involved in it, and Phoebus noticed, but didn't comment.

Small talk between the couple ensued as they sauntered to the end of the road, until they reached a café on the corner they frequented. Phoebus roped Achilles onto a neighboring post then turned to his awaiting spouse, curving an arm around her back and gesturing to the entrance.

Esmeralda was thinking, Well, this looks like where it'll happen. This is where and when I'll tell him. So she proposed a table distant from the other patrons; practically in a corner. Privacy, quiet, and seclusion: perfect.

As she served herself a cup of water with their table's preset tin pitcher, Phoebus spoke.

"You know, I've been thinking: I don't think we've ever been away. Together. Outside of France. I mean, I've gone away for work, as you know. But you've been stuck here." He explained. It was evident he'd been pondering this for a while. "We could use a vacation, don't you think, mon amour?" He enquired with a wink at his wife.

Vacation? What about the bab—wait a second… The gypsy thought. Now; just do it! She took what she hoped wasn't a long pause to plot a stealthy way to reveal her news.

"Mmm. Vacation sounds good." she eventually concurred. "But if we're going to go, we'd better go soon, while it's still just the two of us…"

"Soon is what I had in mind, yes." Phoebus said immediately after. But before continuing, her curious wording replayed in his mind. After a beat, he fumbled aloud, "Although…wait…why did you…what did you…what are you getting at, exactly?"

Esmeralda didn't reply; rather, she just let him work through it himself. When he finally met her gaze, she offered him a smile that didn't meet her eyes, but [she pleaded] could have passed off as a happy one.

For Phoebus, that grin eliminated many of the suggested implications he had conjured and left only one. Guiltily, he realized, he couldn't decide if it was his favorite one or not. But first: to affirm if it was true.

Before he queried, his eyes flitted up and down a few times from his wife's face to her stomach. If it was true, was it obvious yet? Had he missed it…?

"You're…you're…?" He left it at that, purposefully not finishing the sentence and simply opting to raise his eyebrows at her. (Hell, he was still scrambling to get his head wrapped around the idea in the first place.)

She nodded.

At which, Phoebus hummed an undemonstrative "Huh.", rubbing the back of his neck and readjusting his position in his seat.

With the time passing and the inability to read an opinion off of him, Esmeralda's trepidation abruptly returned. Not wanting to beat around the bush, she questioned quietly, "Do you…do you want it? If-"

"Yes!" he cut her off, his eyes wide and his hand flying to clutch her arm across the table for emphasis. "Absolutely! I would never…! Why would you…?!" Upon spotting that, with that answer, she looked only slightly better, he went on to elaborate steadily: "If you're asking because I don't seem…too keen, I'm sorry. I am, I promise. It's just unexpected, that's all. But, hey, you were unexpected, too. I didn't think I even wanted to get married. But when I met you, I warmed up to the idea." He smirked at his wife.

"And I'm glad you did." Esmeralda mirrored the smirk. Though, she soon turned pensive again. Phoebus' approval was only one worry checked off of her list. There were still hundreds more. She supposed stressing like this was certainly common and predictable, but couldn't help voicing her concern.

"Do you think we can do it?" She asked in a small voice, her head bowed.

"Hey." He said deliberately, but tenderly. He opened his hands for her to place her own in, for him to clasp. He didn't resume until her jade eyes regarded him. "We'll figure it out. I think we're pretty good at improvisation." They shared a light laugh, succeeded by a quick, but affectionate kiss.

Momentarily, servant brought the burgundy Phoebus ordered [sometime shortly after they arrived, though when exactly, the hell if he recollected…] and plopped it on the table along with a pair of glasses. The captain popped the cork, poured himself a serving, then went to follow suit with his wife's glass until she prevented him at the last second, lidding it with her hand and sliding it away from him.

Her husband looked at her bewilderingly before he perused the liquor's label and remembered, "Ahh, right. It's because it's 1490, right? Not your ideal year."

"No. Well, yes, because of that. And—"

"Because of that." He tilted his head in indication to her abdomen.

She snorted and shook her head in exasperation before defensively correcting him, "It's not a 'that'! It's a person! It's a baby. Ours."

"Oh, so it is mine?"

"Phoebus!" She cried, hastily perusing the room for any spectators before gaping at him.

"Well, how am I supposed to know with you?" He was joshing but able to keep a completely serious expression and loving it. "With those eight other husbands you've got, that makes the chance I knocked you up…eleven percent? Pretty slim." He eyed her as he took a gulp of his drink.

The subject of his poking fun crossed her arms and sat back in her chair, rotating to face away from her "bully". It wasn't until he gently prodded her foot with his under the table that she succumbed and let herself grin.

Phoebus jerked his head back to down the rest of his burgundy, then fished the appropriate coins out of his pants pocket to pay for it. He scooted his chair backwards to stand up and readied his arm for Esmeralda to take hold of. "Shall we head home, ma belle?"

She copied his actions, grasped his arm gently, and together they left the café. Paris had begun preparations to go to sleep, Notre Dame's bells acting as a lullaby all the while: shopkeepers were locking up, a couple of Phoebus' guards were lighting the streetlamps with their torches, weary workers were trudging to their homes after a laborious day, an elder gypsy man was crooning drowsily with a lute in an alleyway.

Since Phoebus didn't like to ride Achilles in the streets while off duty, the horse dutifully treaded alongside him as the trio travelled mutely to their house.

Although, the blonde captain soon ended the silence. He murmured, "Think it'll look like me?"

"I hope so." Esmeralda looked up at her husband, her eyes glistening with warmth.

"Even if it's a girl?"

She snickered. "She'd have a perfect little beard, just like her father." She reached up and playfully yanked on the facial hair in point. Phoebus chuckled earnestly.

Then, he added one last thing before resuming the quiet, uttering it in her ear before kissing her temple fondly:

"I'd much prefer it to look like you."

What other "episodes" would you like to see next? Feel free to offer suggestions or prompts or whatnot. I must warn you: I may not fulfill them! Just, if I need inspiration, and I like an idea I see, I'll write it. But there is no guarantee.

Anyway, thank you to the user (sorry for forgetting who exactly!) who said they'd love to see Esmeralda telling Phoebus play out. I was planning on writing it, anyway, but for some reason I got particularly motivated upon reading your comment! (: