Baby Blues

Chapter Eight: Of Baby Showers and Wedding Bells

A/N: I am determined to finish this story. And I know my updating is sporadic to the point of no forgiveness, but I do intend to finish this story within one chapter after this one, along with a short epilogue. A major thank you needs to go to those who are still reading this, for your patience and tolerance, and continuing support ^^

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Sophia was a good girl.

More than that, she was the epitome of the universal stereotype. She enjoyed cooking, cleaning, friendship, love; she was stylish, angelic, cute, naive and stupidly brave… all in all, the perfect good girl.

With all the above in mind, it made perfect sense that she should snap from the pressure.

Good girls, after all, finish last as she had soon learned. The best friend whom she should have claimed came out of the closet after the battle had finished; hereby annihilating any dream she had of a suburban house with a white picket fence, a dozen children and a Labrador puppy. To make matters worse, the token bad boy (who was the logical choice after the childhood friend, do keep up), Albel, also declared his intention to claim said best friend, therefore destroying any chance she had of shacking up in a manor and becoming a Glyphian duchess.

It was a wonder she was still speaking to either of them after they decided to seal their relationship with a baby. By all rights, she should have shunned both of them, but she couldn't. Sure, she acted like everything was perfect, but she still held a little bit of a grudge. But abandoning best friends was not something good girls did, you see. Plus it was rather fun to try dressing Albel the Wicked in pretty maternity dresses – suicidal, yes, but still fun.

In any event, this was how she came to be at the centre of this mess.

A baby shower.

A baby shower for the most notorious, ruthless and bloodthirsty warrior in all of Elicoor, perhaps even the universe now that 'she' was driven solely by female hormones.

Sophia sighed and tucked a pen behind her ear. It was a small wonder she didn't stab it straight through her head. "Are you sure that Albel will be okay with the colour?" she said dubiously, giving Fayt a hard stare. "Once the party starts, I can't change the decorations before Albel sees it. And if he doesn't like them–"

"Pink is the perfect colour," Fayt interrupted. "We discussed it together and he agreed that since our baby is a girl, pink is an excellent colour."

"Really. Even though you don't know the sex of the baby."

The bluenette scoffed. "Of course I know. Albel is going to give birth to our baby girl. Therefore, pink."

"…Albel told me that if he walked into the room and saw the colour pink anywhere, he would throw me onto the ground, disembowel me, tie my entrails to a lum and drag me all over Airyglyph before chopping off my legs and throwing my body over a cliff."

"H-He did? Really?"

"Yes. Really. You see, it seems that Albel is under the impression that the baby is going to be a boy. Not a girl, as you so insist."

"I'm sure he was only joking." Fayt knew perfectly well that Albel rarely joked, but for the sake of the bet between himself and his lover, he was willing to tell a few white lies.

"The word 'joke' isn't even in Albel's vocabulary, Fayt. He was serious. Deadly serious. Serious enough to terrify half my staff into quitting and fleeing for their lives, convinced he was going to beat them to death with their own colons."

"…Albel wouldn't go that far." Another blatant lie on Fayt's part.

Sophia sighed, taking a deep breath before looking him straight in the eye. "Fayt," she said as calmly as she could. "Get out of my sight. Now."

"But—"

"Out!" the screech burst near his ear and Fayt fled, clutching his backside protectively in case she decided a bolt of lightning would help the message hit home. He pushed past the crowd of workmen carrying marble statues and dozens of flowerpots, yelping apologies as he left a wake of smashed pottery and angry curses. He weaved his way through the hall packed with servants (over whom Sophia had waved her magic wand and turned into interior decorators) and a battalion of cooks. Fayt narrowly missed being decapitated by a cook armed with a silver platter and he plunged out of the ballroom and dashed around the corner. Eventually, after navigating further mazes of servants, soldiers and nobles alike, he found himself in a quiet niche and he sank down onto the stone floor, congratulating himself on his luck. It was a marvel to find anyplace quiet these days.

Airyglyph had been swept up in a frenzy of baby fever for the past two months. The castle had become a hive of activity as the entire town prepared for one of the greatest parties ever thrown, and it seemed as if everything had been moving ahead at double the speed. Since the public's 'discovery' of Albel's pregnancy (incited by the captain's rather prominent bump made even more conspicuous by his pair of dungarees as he proceeded to lead his army in their daily drills), Albel and Fayt had been swept up in a maelstrom of scandal and intrigue. Strangely enough, Albel's pregnancy had effects that neither man could have predicted.

It was suddenly fashionable to be pregnant. Spurred by the actions of one disgruntled swordsman, women found pride in their baby bumps and showed them off with tighter clothing instead of obscuring their pregnancies with the demure, heavy maternity wear favoured by Glyphian society. The younger women even went so far as to duplicate the dungarees worn by the captain.

In the face of this, the men didn't have much of a choice but to be swept along with them. Husbands and fathers alike were threatened and coaxed into accepting the unusual couple by their wives and daughters, to whom the idea was hopelessly romantic and exciting. No man would have dared to openly disapprove of Albel's condition and they could hardly argue that it got in the way of his duties. Albel had continued his military duties until Fayt had forced him to relinquish them to his vice-captain. Yet even now, a month before the birth, Albel still maintained a tight grip on his battalion, insisting that his subordinate report to him daily.

Not even the king was safe. His newly crowned queen had been the most enthusiastic of the lot. She had insisted, amidst the outcry from the nobles of Albel's refusal to take a bride and his pregnancy by another man, that it was an occasion for a party – the most elaborate, expensive and overblown baby shower known to mortal man. Airyglyph, like any man, had conceded defeat to the whims of his newlywed wife from one flutter of her eyelashes and a coy smile. Besides, his people had not had a reason to celebrate since the end of the war with Aquaria and the imminent arrival of the heir to the Nox estate was as good a reason as any.

Albel hated the fuss and he blamed Fayt for it. Rather unreasonable, the bluenette thought irritably, since Albel was the one parading his pregnancy for all to see –how could he not have expected anyone to make a fuss when a pregnant lord strutted back and forth across the battlements every day? – and Fayt was hardly at fault that Airyglyph's queen had taken such an interest in him. Intrigued by the stories Fayt told her of Earth customs, she had instantly lit upon the idea of a party to celebrate impending motherhood. But Her Majesty wasn't going to be the one to plan it. That was beneath her royal person.

She had left that great privilege to Sophia. Not because Sophia wanted to throw a baby shower, but because she was the only female with some passing relation to Albel willing to do it (there was Nel, but no one was stupid enough to ask her to throw a party for the swordsman. They had just gotten past the point where they tried to kill each other on a daily basis and no one in their right mind would put those two in a stressful situation again and still hope to come out of it alive).

Fayt settled into a light doze, leaning his head back against the cool stone. The past three months had been akin to a roller coaster, and he felt like he had been moving on constant warp speed. Amidst all the attention and scrutiny from the Glyphian public and arrivals of all their outworlder guests, Fayt even had to remind himself to just breathe. He found himself wishing frequently that he and Albel could just take off somewhere –anywhere– and have their baby in peace. Unfortunately, that was exactly what it was – wishful thinking. Their baby and their relationship had become the focus of every gossip session in the past two months. Were they having twins, was the baby going to be a girl or a boy, what was the child's name going to be…

If the Glyphians had had tabloids, Fayt was damn sure they would have been on the cover ten times over already.

"You!" a voice burst out, jerking the bluenette from his stupor. "Have you found Lord Leingod?"

Uh-oh. Fayt scooted further along the dim corridor. He certainly didn't want to be found this soon. Most likely it was another servant carrying a ridiculous request from a noblewoman who wanted him to tell his story or convince Albel to sit and chat with the other expectant mothers of the court. He let his head sink onto his knees and listened.

"He ran out of the ballroom some time ago," another voice reported breathlessly. "We lost sight of him in the crowd."

A foot stamped impatiently. "Not only is his mother requesting his presence, Lord Albel was also looking for him. Lord Albel! Now for the love of the gods, man, find him!"

"But sir, he's nowhere to be found–"

"–and we've searched every corner of this floor!" a third voice chimed in.

"Fools! He has to be somewhere and I want him found immediately. Or would you like to inform Lord Albel that his consort cannot be found?"

There was silence before the second voice reluctantly said, and sounding very doubtful, "Perhaps Lady Mirage will be able to offer information to his whereabouts. She knows some very useful magic with those strange devices she calls 'science'…"

Fayt sighed, pressing his palms against the stone and pushing himself to his feet. Back to work, he thought to himself, mouth tweaking into an expression of acquiescence. He shuffled around the corner, holding his hands above his head in a gesture of mock-surrender.

Three faces whipped around at his entry, their anxious faces quickly morphing into expressions of enormous relief.

The bluenette smiled. "Since there seems to be such a fuss," he said mildly, "I'll come quietly."

-

-

Nursing a burgeoning headache, Fayt slunk to his and Albel's quarters where he anticipated a blissful tranquillity. He had endured an hour of his mother jabbering on about interior decorating for the baby's room at the Nox manor. Then she had gotten started on the endless list of candidates for the baby's godparents and how adamant she was that her grandchild would be christened at the biggest cathedral in Aquios – the royal palace itself. At this point, Fayt was willing to grab the closest two people in his vicinity and name them as the baby's godparents. Screw ceremony.

The endless party activity was getting to him and he wanted nothing more to curl up on the bed with Albel and take a long nap before he was dragged off once again. He was about to push the door open when a high-pitched shriek shattered the silence within the room.

"HOW DARE YOU DENY ME? I AM PREGNANT, MAN, PREGNANT!"

A person, undoubtedly terrified out of their wits, gibbered "my apologies, Lord Albel!"

Fayt groaned –no rest for the wicked, was his thought– and entered the room to see his pregnant lover standing over a soldier of the Black Brigade. His pregnant lover, mind you, clad in worn dungarees and fully armed with a lethal, bloodthirsty sword. The soldier was clutching a familiar well-wrapped box in trembling hands.

"DO I LOOK LIKE I CARE FOR YOUR WORTHLESS APOLOGIES? GIVE IT TO ME!"

"B-But, Lady Mirage said n-not to under pain of d-d-death–!"

Albel glared, cradling his distended belly in one hand and pointing his sword at the hapless soldier. "DO YOU HAVE A DEATH WISH, YOU FEEBLE MAGGOT? DO YOU WANT TO DIE UNDER MY SWORD?"

The man bowed his head in defeat. "N-No my lord," he sobbed.

"Good," Albel snapped. "Now give me the chocolate!"

The soldier handed it over with shaking hands. His captain snatched it greedily, ripping the wrapping off in a frenzy to reach the sweet cocoa goodness inside.

"Aaaahhhh…" he sighed, closing his eyes in rapture.

"A-Am I dismissed, m-my lord?"

"Hmm? Of course," Albel waved his hand negligently, sinking into an armchair and favouring the soldier with a sudden dreamy smile. "And while you're at it," he added generously, "take the day off. Relax. Put your feet up. You've earned it, soldier."

"T-Thank you, my lord!" the soldier saluted gratefully and fled, pausing only to flash a bemused Fayt a quick salute.

Fayt closed the door behind him then turned to his errant lover. "Was that really necessary?"

The swordsman shrugged. "It keeps them on their toes," he said offhandedly, cramming a hazelnut cream into his mouth.

The other man shook his head and his gaze dropped to the box cradled in his lover's lap. "You know you're not supposed to be eating that," the bluenette said admonishingly. "Mirage told you to avoid an excess of sugar."

He leaned over Albel, running a hand through his hair and cupping the nape of Albel's neck in his palm. The swordsman leaned into the touch, but held the box closer to his chest.

"I only intended to have a little taste," he grumbled.

"Mmm-hmm… and now you've had it."

Fayt's breath brushed over Albel's cheek before his tongue flicked out in a teasing sweep across the swordsman's lips, erasing a smear of chocolate.

"You can't lie," he continued. "I can taste the evidence."

"You're such a tease," Albel growled, gripping Fayt's shoulder and jerking him down. Their lips brushed together softly at first then met with greater urgency as the two grew more impatient. Fayt manoeuvred his body so that he was seated on the armrest of the chair and he slid his left arm around Albel, embracing him closely. Out of habit, one hand found Albel's rounded stomach and automatically began rubbing in smooth, practiced circles and Albel let out a purr of satisfaction at the motion.

When they finally parted, Albel had a little smirk of satisfaction curving his lips but it promptly disappeared when he realised that the box of chocolate was gone.

"Fayt!"

"Now where could they have gone?" Fayt wondered out loud, blinking innocently.

"Give. Them. Back."

"No. You've had enough," the younger man said sternly, hiding the box behind his back.

"I'll be the judge of that."

Albel lunged for the box, cursing the baby cradled in his belly for robbing him of all his agility. His lover performed a neat pirouette, playfully tweaking one of Albel's blonde-tipped braids and chuckling as the swordsman sailed past him. Enraged, Albel only just managed to maintain his awkward balance, and he spun on his feet to see the bluenette standing next to the window.

"Don't you dare!"

His shriek of dismay came a second too late. The box sailed out of the window and Albel let out a small cry, rushing to the window only to see its ill-fated demise on the courtyard cobblestones.

"Oops," Fayt said blandly. "My hand slipped."

"Y-You idiot! You wasted a perfectly good box of chocolate!"

"A box of chocolate, need I remind you, that you don't need nor have permission to eat. And," he added sternly, "don't sulk, Albel. You know that you have to think of the baby."

Of course, that mouth had already sunk into a pout that was difficult to get rid of.

"I wanted that chocolate. And I had no intention of over-indulging myself, for your information. I am the very example of control, Fayt. The discipline of five generations of soldiers is in my blood. The Nox family is bred for warfare, we have always been the elite of the elite…control and restraint are learned from the cradle…" Albel trailed off suddenly, looking startled for a moment before his features settled into a complacent look. "That was a strong kick," he noted admiringly.

Fayt stepped closer and placed his palm over his lover's rounded curve. His eyes softened when he felt the gentle thump against his hand. "I don't think she likes to hear us arguing," he commented wryly.

"Bah, that wasn't even an argument. What will he say when we dofight?"

"And when we break out the swords," Fayt agreed ruefully, remembering the path their squabbles usually took. Smashed furniture, torn clothing, bruises… sex… the bluenette blushed as a particularly vivid memory popped into his head.

A wicked glint flickered into life in those red eyes and Albel tilted his head, a little smile quirking his mouth. "Blushing, maggot?" he said archly. "What could you possibly be thinking about when we speak of fighting… and you blush?"

Fayt tried not to laugh when Albel enveloped him in an embrace and buried his face in his neck with a playful growl. " Stop it. The baby can hear us," he whispered, stifling a giggle when the wispy tip of a braid tickled his chin.

"And what of it? Let him enjoy the show."

"Her," Fayt corrected absentmindedly, then he gasped as Albel nipped particularly hard at his collarbone.

"I thought we had settled that matter. Our child… is going to be a boy…" the swordsman groaned softly in approval when lips nibbled lovingly at his ear.

"Neither of us wins until she's born."

"I should never have agreed on this foolish bet. You become even more insufferable when you're determined. Stubborn fool."

"Who are you–" Fayt squeaked when a hand dipped underneath his shirt "–to talk about being stubborn? We both have a fifty percent chance of being right. You're the stubborn one."

"I know victory when I see it. You'd think that you would know that by now."

Fayt smiled. "I do," he said affectionately, kissing Albel on the cheek. He caught the swordsman's roving and insistent hands in his own, and held them still. "Think you wanna catch a nap before we have to get ready for the party?"

"Bah, who needs a party? I would much rather have you."

"Trust me, I'd rather stay here and sleep the night away with you than go out there and face the horde. It's just that everyone has put so much effort into it… for us. And the baby. We can't disappoint them."

Albel sighed. "I hate it when you use guilt against me," he said petulantly.

"It works, doesn't it?"

"Too well," came the grumble of agreement, as Fayt took him by the hand and led him to the bed, where he sat down with a thump.

"Nap," he said firmly, patting the space beside him. "No arguments."

"Mother-hen," the swordsman muttered under his breath, squirming into his place beside his lover. Together they cuddled back onto the pile of pillows, Fayt wrapping a protective arm around Albel's rounded stomach.

"I hope," Albel murmured drowsily after a few moments, "that you reminded Sophia the decorations for tonight were to be blue. I gave her quite a… vivid description of what happen if she failed to comply with my wishes."

Fayt winced. "Sure. Sure, I did. Sophia knows what do."

I just hope she can run fast enough.

-

-

It was a glorious evening for a party. Clear skies, still touched with rose as the sun sank behind the mountains, showed the first winking stars to the first of the guests arriving at Airyglyph castle. They also had the fortune of being greeted by hundreds of flickering lanterns flanking the path into the castle courtyard.

Sophia, electronic notepad permanently in hand, was quite proud of herself for managing a zigzag through the crowd in high heels and a tight-fitting cocktail dress and snaring the unerring waiter who had been about to serve a bad plate of steamed buns made with suspicious looking seafood before he could give a poor guest food poisoning. Mission accomplished, she flagged down another waiter and shooed him back to the kitchens with the confiscated platter. She turned her attention to the crowd once more, surveying the guests with a practiced eagle eye while she patted her hair down, ensuring that not a strand was out of place.

Yes, this baby shower would be the most memorable event of the year if she continued to have her way. Sophia loved compliments as much as the next girl, and it was especially nice to be complimented by royalty.

"Gifts that way!" she snapped, pointing her staff at the room adjoining the ballroom. The servant staggered over to deposit another load of exquisitely wrapped gifts next to the quivering stacks already threatening to topple at any moment. An obscenely huge teddy bear –Adray's gift to the couple– sat in the corner, looking quite menacing as it glowered down at the guests. Sophia looked at it with a sigh. She would have liked to send the plush toy to another dimension. That… thingwas bound to terrify any child. Adray wouldn't be deterred though. His repressed yearning for grandchildren (denied to him by Nel's continuing rejections of proposals) had unleashed a monster. That monster in the corner, specifically.

"Lady Sophia!"

Her personal assistant, a lovely girl from Kirlsa by the name of Lillia, popped up next to her, snapping her heeled shoes smartly together and giving a mock salute. "Ready to report, my lady," she said cheerfully.

"Proceed," Sophia said curtly.

"All guests are present and accounted for, save their Royal Majesties of Airyglyph and Aquaria. And the Lords Nox and Leingod, of course," she added.

"Excellent, excellent… and everything is in place for their entrance?"

"Yes, my lady."

"Then we can begin the ceremony. Have everyone stand by, in position." Sophia snapped her fingers, murmuring a spell under her breath. Magic flexed the air in front of her and the lights dimmed to a dusky gloom. Hearing the surprised mutters of confusion and alarm from the guests, Sophia smiled. She released another spell with a flamboyant twirl of her staff, and thousands of tiny luminescent lights twinkled to life, on the walls, ceiling, even the floor. Exclamations of alarm quickly turned to delight and wonder, and lords and ladies alike pointed to the beautiful lights illuminating the ballroom, casting a soft, silvery glow upon every face it fell.

"Lady Sophia," and she turned at the whisper from beside her, "their Majesties and honoured guests are waiting to enter."

"Have them begin the announcements," Sophia murmured back. As Lillia scurried off to obey, Sophia turned back to the enthralled crowd. She pointed her staff towards the heavy, ornately carved doors enclosing the ballroom, bringing the focus of the light to rest there.

Their Royal Majesties of both nations entered first, Queen Aquaria escorted by her consort, and King Airglyph entered with his wife on his arm. Woltar came behind them, an expression of mild bewilderment on his wrinkled face that had been more-or-less permanent ever since Albel had broken the news of his pregnancy to him. A rustling whisper filled the ballroom as the crowd bent on one knee to receive their monarchs. They rose moments later, an expectant hush falling over them, broken by excited murmurs that were quickly silenced.

Their honoured guests were standing in the doorway. Albel, haughty and ignorant of the many eyes focused on them, struck a regal pose. Fayt looked frozen, blinking against the light and mouth hanging open slightly with apprehension, until Albel tugged him forward.

"Oh, get on with it!" he snapped, unheeding of how loud his voice became in the silence. "Now is not the time for stage-fright!"

Woltar rolled his eyes despairingly. The moment shattered, Albel strode down the centre of the crowd, red maternity dress flaring around his ankles. At the dais where the monarchs had gathered, Airglyph stood with a knowing smile on his face. After a traditional welcome speech from him, his queen clapped her hands and declared that it was "time to get the party started" – yet another testament that she had been spending far too much time with her otherworld guests.

After they had given their respects to the monarchs, and before Albel could make a beeline for the food, Fayt tugged him in Sophia's direction.

"Giving our thanks comes first, Albel."

"Bah, it can come after!" He strained in the direction of the food, nostrils flaring as the tantalising scents teased his nose.

"No," the bluenette said firmly, clamping Albel's arm in his. "You should know court protocol at a party. You were raised at court. So we're going to give our thanks. Now."

Albel sighed noisily. "Fine." He allowed himself to be dragged towards where Sophia was waiting. Fayt reached her first, dispensing with the hugs and chatter that Albel hated. Prompted by his lover, Albel reluctantly allowed himself to be hugged as well.

"Sophia, this is fantastic. You've really outdone yourself," Fayt gushed, then he elbowed Albel in the side, hissing "don't you have something to say as well?"

"I suppose it will do," Albel said grudgingly, tossing the scrap of praise (and it was praise, by his standards) at her. "At least you used the appropriate colour scheme, maggot."

Sophia rolled her eyes, knowing it was the most she could hope for. "You're welcome."

"Now can we eat?"

"Go ahead," Fayt and Sophia simultaneously, both letting out identical sighs as the swordsman set off towards the tables, stride full of purpose.

"Blue?" Fayt said petulantly, turning his attention to Sophia once he was sure Albel was safely out of ear shot. "I wanted pink."

"Look at it this way, Fayt," she retorted pleasantly. "You wouldn't eviscerate for not following your whims. He would."

"But, Sophia–"

"No buts. Go have fun at your party, Fayt."

"But–"

"Go have fun now!"

Fayt sighed. "Yes, ma'am."

-

-

Small bells tinkled, and Peppita's little gloved hand hovered over the swell of Albel's stomach.

"Can I…?"

Albel scowled, folding his arms and resting them across his chest. "You may," he replied rather ungraciously, shooting a glare at Fayt, who only mouthed "be nice".

He sighed as the group around him started clamouring for their chance to feel the Nox heir move. Once his pregnancy had become apparent, everyone wanted a feel and Albel had had no choice but to become accustomed to being touched by people other than his intimates. In his condition, it was not advised that he chase after offenders. And he supposed, on some obscure level, that the attention he got from people oohing and aahing over his condition was rather flattering.

Peppita gingerly rubbed in circles, feeling out the shape of the baby under her palm. "Oooh," she cooed, eyes wide. "I can feel the baby moving!"

"Albel, can I feel–?"

"Touch me, maggot, and I'll have your head on a pike decorating the citadel before the hour is out."

Cliff drew his hand back, looking wounded.

"Can I touch those?" Roger interrupted, staring with wide-eyed fascination at Albel's breasts.

"Not unless you wish to lose all your fingers," Albel answered sweetly, his sword hand twitching suspiciously near the curve of his hip, where he most likely had a dagger hidden in the folds of his dress.

"No fair– hey!"

Fayt plucked the Menodix up by the collar of his shirt, growling, "Isn't it past your bedtime, Roger?"

"What?" the boy whined, struggling in Fayt's grip. Albel shot him a smug look, wiggling his fingers in goodbye, and a smile curved his mouth when Fayt booted the Menodix out of the ballroom and slammed the heavy doors shut.

The captain of the Black Brigade's smile grew wider when Fayt stood at his shoulder, a mulish look on his face. The bluenette was shooting a suspicious look at Cliff, and then decisively, he placed a hand on Albel's shoulder.

"My, my." Albel murmured. "Aren't we possessive tonight."

Fayt heard, and flushed.

"Shut up," he muttered back. "He was being rude."

Albel just smirked. He sat for a further half hour, tolerating Maria, Sophia, Clair and Nel cooing over him, while Cliff hovered morosely on the edges. He was content to just rest his feet while the party continued, until he felt Fayt's hand squeeze his shoulder.

"Can you – can you come with me for a second? I need to ask you something. A-Alone."

Albel shot him a curious look and the younger man looked away and muttered, "Just come here." He tugged Albel to his feet, ignoring the cries of protest from the crowd.

Mirage only smiled, catching Fayt's eye as he led Albel to the balcony, and she winked.

"What was that about?" Cliff asked curiously, sidling closer to her.

She let out a wistful sigh and linked her arm through his. "Nothing, dear. It's just – very romantic."

"What are they – oh." He blushed, staring after Fayt who was pulling Albel through the crowd.

Mirage rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "You have no sense of subtlety."

"But you just said–"

"I wasn't talking about sex, Cliff." She stared at him significantly, and he blinked.

"Huh?"

"Never mind, dear."

"But, Mirage–"

And then she proved to him once again (as she had throughout all the years of their relationship) that kissing was a very effective method to shut him up.

Outside, Fayt was having the opposite problem. He stood across from Albel under the soft light of the moon, horribly aware of the piercing and smouldering red glow of his lover's eyes. Albel was waiting for him to speak and he couldn't speak. His tongue was shrivelled, dry, and incapable of moving in speech. Clammy fingers clutched at the box in his pocket and he opened his mouth, but nothing came out save a choked squeak.

Albel's gaze sharpened, and he said irritably, "Fayt, what are you–"

"WillYouDoMeTheHonourOfBecomingMyHusband?" the bluenette blurted out.

Albel blinked at the incoherent jumble of words that tumbled out of Fayt's mouth.

"What?"

"M-M-M-M–"

"Spit it out, maggot. I haven't got all day to listen to your ramblings, I have to go to the bloody toilet again because the brat keeps kicking my bladder–"

"Marry me!"

"What?"

"B-Be my… my husband. I want you to be my husband!"

A look of astonishment lit the swordsman's face. "You wish to marry me?"

"Of course I want to marry you. Why wouldn't I?"

"We are two men, remember."

"Albel, we're two men living together and having a baby. That's about as married as you can get."

"I suppose that marriage would mean that our child would be legitimate."

"Well, yeah…" Fayt squirmed, looking a little hurt. "That's one reason."

Albel smirked. "Then I suppose, maggot, that you can now consider yourself engaged."

"It's… it's not just for the baby, Bel."

The older man sighed, snatching up Fayt's wrist and jerking the boy closer to him. "Do you believe me to be that shallow? Foolish as you are, I would marry you for you. I would not consider another worthy of exchanging a promise of marriage with me."

Fayt blushed, heated face pressed into the curve of Albel's shoulder.

"Wait, I had…" he fumbled in his pants pocket, bringing out the box. He opened the lid, revealing the two rings nestled amidst black velvet. "I thought we should both have rings to show that we're–" he paused and continued somewhat giddily, "–engaged."

Albel watched silently as Fayt clutched his hand between sweaty palms, sliding the silver ring over the ring finger of his left hand.

"I picked a stone to match your eyes," the bluenette continued shyly. "And mine–"

"Matches your hair," the swordsman observed bemusedly, plucking the other ring from the box and holding it up to the dim light. The precious stone reflected bands of blue within its depths, sparkling with the same brilliance of the stone on Albel's ring.

He slid it onto Fayt's ring finger, and purposefully held the younger man's gaze.

"I'm not going to be romantic or pathetic about this, Fayt," he warned. "I never have been, and I'm not about to start now."

"I know," Fayt agreed, smirking a little as he inched up. "That's why I intend being romantic enough for the both of us."

And with that he threw his arms around Albel's neck and kissed him with an enthusiasm that the captain couldn't help but reciprocate.

"Love you, Bel."

Albel muffled his face in Fayt's neck before he mumbled, "I know, idiot. And I told you I was not going to get sentimental about this."

Fayt smiled. With Albel, that was as close to "I love you, too" that he would get, but it was more than enough.

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To Be Continued

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