A/N: I swear, you guys are amazing, I love you all :3

...

Marcurio woke, just barely, when his chest got cold. He opened his eyes, just barely, and confirmed his suspicions when there was no white hair in his vision.

"Dal," he growled, voice low and rough with sleep, and rolled over in bed with a groan. He really hoped the elf hadn't run off adventuring or anything, he's pregnant, for gods' sakes! Who was he kidding, of course he did, it's Dal. With a huff he got up out of bed and started to dress.

This is ridiculous, it's stupid o'clock in the morning and I'm going off to drag him back home, I'm going to murder him, this is stupid, he better not be in trouble, the ass. He cast Clairvoyance and left the house, slamming the door shut behind him.

...

Dalamus grinned as another of his arrows buried itself in a Falmer's face. This place was amazing, he loved it, especially since it was so close to Whiterun. He hadn't even taken the horse with him; Shimmermist Cave was only a bit of a walk away. It was full of Falmer, and their stuff, and charus eggs, and spiders (which make for excellent target practice). So far he hadn't seen any machines, thank the Gods; there were always Dwemer creatures in Falmer caves. It was turning out to be a pretty good night.

It probably took him a few hours to get all the way through, he couldn't tell, but eventually he found himself crouching in the corner of a large room, his arrow notched and aimed at the crowned head of the Falmer den leader, or queen, or whatever the hell it was. He held his breath, stilling his bow to immaculate aim, and only let his breath go after he let fly. The elven projectile whistled as it rose little by little, then began to drop and nestled itself deep in the cave elf's cranium. It gave a little croak and fell over sideways, and its head cracked loudly on the stone floor. Dalamus rushed forward, looked through its pockets and pouches, and was grinning at the amount of gold this stuff could get him when a deep, mechanical groan sounded off to his left.

His eyes went wide and he looked over in the direction of the noise.

Oh, Gods, no.

A Dwemer centurion was peeling itself out of its circle beside the crumbling wall. Dalamus felt a shiver run the length of his spine as an empty feeling fell heavily into his stomach; he'd only ever fought one of these things, in Alftand, and it had killed Lydia. The only reason he'd beat the thing was because it was trapped behind that grate. He didn't come here to die. So he got up slowly, carefully, turned toward the exit...

And ran.

Like hell.

The centurion roared, in that way that made his ears want to cry, and large steps followed him down the incline leading back through the cave. A loud hiss filled the air and the back of his head prickled at the little bit of steam that had actually touched it, which was probably cooler than it should've been. The monster was close, but not close enough to kill him. Yet.

His heart was pounding in his chest and his ears, and the loud thudthudthud of his booted feet hitting the stony floor echoed throughout this cave that seemed like it would never end, but it couldn't compete with the STOMPSTOMPSTOMP that was the centurion following after him. Close. Quickly. If he could get back to that room... he could hide, it would go right past him. His lungs were on fire, heart on overtime, legs pumping relentlessly as he continued through the passageway, and when he turned a corner there it was! He zipped around, hid in a dark corner near the way out and tried to hold his breath.

He vaguely remembered that, to get out of the cave, he had to go deeper into it. The chamber where he'd killed a few chaurus came to mind; there was no way a centurion could fit in that tiny little space! Eventually it would be trapped back in the bigger areas... though he stopped thinking about it when the Dwemer machine came charging into the room and stopped, looking around.

Was his heart always so loud?

There was a little scritchy noise on the other end of the room, far from him, and when the centurion began stomping over in its direction - thank the Gods - he began his slow migration toward the exit. He backed in slowly, eyes glued to the enormous golden machine, and was about two feet in when he tripped on a rock and fell on his ass. The short curse he let out may have been a little too loud; the centurion turned and looked right at him.

He cursed again, this time a little louder.

The centurion roared and ran at him; he scrambled backwards and got up to his feet. He didn't want to run anymore, he was tired, this was stupid -

"Move!"

Marcurio?

He didn't have time to think about it before he was yanked back by the collar of his armor. From the floor, on his ass again, he caught the form of Marcurio standing above him before his vision filled with bluish-white. He shut his eyes, ears buzzing, and as the blinding light faded from around his eyelids a loud, mechanical roar filled the air. When his eyes finally pried themselves open he looked up in shock; the centurion was shimmering with shock magic, falling apart - Marc had killed it!

The Imperial huffed and flexed his fingers, a motion Dalamus had come to recognize as him cutting off the supply of magicka to the digits. Indeed, the purplish-blue aura around his hands faded away, disappearing under the ends of his sleeves. He turned back to Dal and held out his hand to the Dunmer, a silent offer to help him up, and he took it. Dal opened his mouth to say something; thank him, apologize, something, but he was already starting to walk away, and the short glimpse he'd had of his husband's face was tired, and relieved, and... angry.

They didn't speak the entire way out of the cave. Dalamus was still wary of something jumping at them out of nowhere, while Marcurio's silence was something tense and seething. Even the creatures were on his bad side at the moment; when a lone skeever reared its head the mage shut it up quite quickly with a fireball.

Dal was a little unnerved; he didn't like the silence, he wanted to talk, make some kind of noise other than his footsteps, but he didn't know what to say... When they'd walked a little distance from the cave he finally muttered out a little, "Marc, I..."

"Are you insane?" the mage demanded, voice furious, "What were you thinking?"

"I... uh, well... what?" he tried to give an answer, he really did, but he couldn't process the fact that Marcurio was so angry at him.

"You almost got yourself killed," he admonished, "Both of you."

"I wasn't expecting the centurion to be there," the Dragonborn muttered, feeling tiny beneath the guilt of Marcurio's words, unable to look his husband in the face.

"It was a Falmer cave, of course there were Dwemer machines there! You know that, what did you even go in there for?"

"I had to."

Marcurio narrowed his eyes as Dal rubbed nervously at the back of his head. "It was a contract. Wasn't it."

It wasn't even a question, and the mage's flat tone made Dalamus flinch. "Yeah, I know, but..."

"Dal, I told you not to take anymore contracts."

"I know, Marc, but it was just this one, and I haven't done anything fun for three weeks, I had to get out and do something."

"Running for your life? That does sound like fun," the mage remarked dryly.

Dalamus sighed, ran a hand through his hair. "This is stupid. I was all the way through the cave when it showed up. If it hadn't been there, I would've gone home unscathed."

"But it was there, you're missing the point," that gave him an idea. "Come here, let me show you something."

Marcurio led his husband over to a large rock and sat him down. "I want you to repeat what I say very carefully; this won't work if you don't say it right."

"Are you trying to teach me a spell?" Dalamus asked, one white brow arched.

"Yes. Don't you have relatives who are skilled in illusion?"

Dalamus shook his head. "Aryvis is my cousin by marriage. I'm not related to any mages."

"Oh. Well, this still won't be that hard. Just listen."

It took a little time and a deep wrinkle of concentration in Dal's brow, but eventually he learned the spell. The words were odd, they felt weird in his mouth, but soon enough his tongue wrapped around the strange syllables and his hand swirled with golden light.

"Now, I don't think you have a lot of magicka, so let's do this quickly," Marcurio murmured, taking hold of his husband's glowing hand, "Tell me when you feel something."

Dalamus watched in slight confusion as Marc guided his hand down over the slight curve of his belly. He knew that this was Detect Pulse, the spell Nura had taught him, but he didn't know what had so assured the Imperial that he was pregnant. To be honest, he was extremely curio oh.

"Stop." he used his other hand to take hold of Marcurio's wrist, keeping it in place.

It was like one pulse with an echo - the first, heavy and strong, was undoubtedly his; the second, soft, small, and a little bit quicker than his own, was a discovery that made his mouth gape slightly in wonder. He had something living, growing inside him, something he'd love and cherish for many years. Someone. His eyes caught those of his husband, slightly guilty red meeting a serious dark amber right as his magicka slipped away and the heartbeats quieted.

"Do you understand now?" Marcurio asked, releasing the Dragonborn's hand.

Dalamus nodded, and guilt kept his lips together. There was nothing he could say at the moment.

"You have to be careful with this," he reiterated, resting one hand against Dal's belly. "Okay? I don't want either of you hurt."

"I will, I promise."

"That's what you said last time."

"I didn't promise last time," he corrected, taking Marcurio's hand into his own. "I'm serious. I'll be good."

"You really promise?"

"I really promise."

"That's my wife," Marc purred, pressing a kiss to the Dovakiin's forehead. "I'm tired. Let's go home."

"Right."

Dawn light was peeking over the walls of Whiterun when they got back to Breezehome. Dalamus went for a quick bath; Marcurio, however, just stripped down to his breeches and fell into bed. He was half asleep when the Dunmer came up to the bedroom, smelling like soap and heat.

"Are you still mad at me?" he asked, burying his face in the warm skin of his husband's neck.

He wrapped one arm around Dal's back, pulling him close. "No."

"Good," the Dunmer smiled and closed his eyes.

...

~5 months later~

"I hate you for this."

Marcurio smiled, turning his attention up the stairs. "For what?"

"For getting me pregnant, fetcher."

"Why's that?"

Dalamus appeared at the top of the stairs, probably just getting away from the mirror, with his arms crossed above his positively round belly. In fact, he'd begun wearing his husband's shirts because his no longer fit. "I'm bloody huge."

Marcurio couldn't keep the smile off his face as he went up the stairs and wrapped his arms around his husband, swaying side to side. "I think you're beautiful."

"That doesn't mean I don't look fat," he muttered.

"Being fat and being pregnant are two very different things," he rubbed Dal's stomach with a little smile. "And relax, you only have a handful of weeks to go."

It had been a nice few months. Dalamus kept his word and didn't sneak off again, for which Marcurio was grateful. The store became their source of income since they were no longer selling artifacts and what not. The money was used for normal expenses and the odd two-in-the-morning cravings Dal would sometimes get. For instance, once he prodded the mage awake in the middle of the night because he really wanted some cucumbers and honey.

"Cucumbers and honey...?" he'd asked, eyesight still blurry with sleep as he tried to focus on his husband.

The Dovakiin nodded. "Can you get some for me?"

"None of the shops are open," he argued weakly, rubbing at one eye with the heel of his hand. But when he looked back over at his husband the look of disappointment on his face hurt his feelings a little.

That night he went out of the city to find some honey, and returned with three or four bee stings.

Such was the case for a number of incidents; it seemed like the baby was craving quite a few different things, some of which Dalamus wouldn't have come anywhere near under normal circumstances. But Marc was a total sucker for the guy, bulging belly and all, and faithfully did his bidding.

"I want it out of me already," Dal grumbled, but looked down at his swollen torso with warmth in his eyes.

"In due time." Marcurio pressed a kiss to his cheek and turned to answer the door, which had been knocked upon during the course of his sentence.

"Good morning, Fralia," he smiled, opening the door wider for the elder woman. She had appointed herself as their midwife and came over to check on Dal every week or so; apparently, she felt like she still owed them for the life of her son.

"Good morning, dear," she leaned up to kiss his cheek as she entered the house, then turned to the elf at the top of the stairs. "And how are you feeling today, mister?"

"Big," he muttered. Dalamus wasn't plagued with the mood swings of a normal pregnancy; instead, he was just perpetually disgruntled - as opposed to his sweet, shy disposition - save for a few moments of clingy adoration for his husband.

"That's to be expected. Let's go check on your little one," she smiled, and began ascending the staircase. Dal waddled to the bedroom and sat back against a high stack of pillows. Marcurio was in the room soon after, and sat down in the corner chair with a sweetroll.

The Dragonborn's attention focused entirely on the sticky little bun, and the baby seemed to kick in agreement. "Can I have some?"

Marc's eyes flicked over to him, the sweetroll hovering just before his lips.

"Please?"

The mage closed his eyes with a sigh, "There goes my breakfast," and walked over to the bed, handing it over to the Dovakiin. He took it with a word of thanks and polished it off quickly; he felt bad, he really did, but the baby had him eating at least twice the amount he normally would. Fralia nodded when he said as much - "That's good, it means the baby's healthy."

"I'm off to get some food of my own," Marcurio said, with a little glare at his husband; Dalamus smiled sheepishly under his gaze. "You, behave."

After a moment Fralia settled down in front of him on the bed as he pulled Marc's shirt up over his head. The Greymane woman cast some spell, the same spell she used every week and he still didn't know it, and lay a hand on his stomach, rubbing the stretched skin with a sort of reverence. The baby turned over within him and he smiled, let out a little sigh.

"Have you two picked any names yet?" Fralia asked, gray eyes meeting his own.

"Kylius if it's a boy, Aeriela if it's a girl."

"Whatever it is, it's growing quite well," she smiled, and the baby kicked against her hand.

"You don't have to tell me," Dal huffed, shifting into a more comfortable position. This child of his was a new weight his body couldn't get used to; his hips, knees, and ankles ached.

"I know, dear," she smiled warmly, ending the spell and patting his swollen belly, "You only have a little ways to go now."

"Thank the gods!" he was suddenly aware of Marcurio coming up the stairs as he said this.

"Aw, you missed me," the mage purred, leaning across the bed to press a kiss to Dal's cheek.

"Oh, get off, you," he giggled, pushing halfheartedly at his husband's face as Fralia rose from the bed.

"I actually have a few errands to run, so I'll be leaving now."

Dalamus smiled up at her. "I'll see you out."

"Nope," Marcurio took hold of his wrist before he could even move; the Dragonborn looked at him with a confused expression.

"Why not?"

"Dal, you're eight months pregnant. There's no reason to have you going up and down the stairs."

"It's fine," Fralia excused with a flick of the wrist, "I'll just see myself out."

She moved to do just that, but Marcurio followed her anyway. After letting her out and seeing her off the mage returned to the bed, spooning himself against the Dragonborn's side and pressing a soft kiss to the back of his neck.

"You know..." he closed his eyes when Dalamus spoke two soft words, "When we found out I was pregnant, I thought we were screwed."

"I know," Marc murmured into his skin, inhaling his scent. "It's been a long time since then, though; the idea's grown on you, hasn't it?"

"Was there a choice for it not to? I'm about ready to have this baby now. But yes, I rather love the idea."

"You'll make an excellent mother," the Imperial joked.

"I'm serious," Dalamus was not amused, though, and turned over in his husband's arms. "I... I'm afraid of one thing, though..."

Marcurio's brows drew together. "What is it?"

"What if I'm... not a good father?"

"You can kill the World-Eater, but you don't think you can raise a child?"

"That's my point; I've gotten to where I am by destroying, killing things, I don't want to... to hurt our child."

"Hmm," Marcurio hummed, sounding pensive. "I read once, somewhere, that dragons are even more protective of their young than bears. They'll burn down whole towns, kill hundreds of creatures, just to make sure the hatchlings aren't harmed. If anything, you'd hurt everyone else."

"That doesn't count, Marcurio, don't give me lore. What I don't want is to harm the baby, myself."

"You won't." he said it with finality, eyes dark and serious. "Stop fretting, everything will be fine. That's us in there; it's a small miracle for everyone but for us it's even more. Mara gave this to us, it's our gift, and once it's here you'll do everything in your power to keep it safe and healthy and content. Hell, we'll probably spoil it rotten."

"You really think so?"

"I know so. Dal, you're gonna be an amazing father."