Name : The Greatest Journey

Author : Rain

Disclaimer : Shaman King belongs to Takei.

Theme : Parenthood

Soundtrack : Sleepsong (Secret Garden)

Characters : Meene, Marco, Antonio

Note : This was a commission made by Lugia2PK on gaiaonline. Hope you like it!

When she first had to take a real pregnancy test, the brunette couldn't help but remember one of their earliest adventures.

John had picked up some prank pregnancy test that always read "positive", put it into Meene's sparring bag and set the whole thing up to fall at the slightest movement in the ship's kitchen, where Marco would without doubt try to pick it up. The ensuing crisis had wrecked their cohesion for months, and it didn't help that Marco forbade anyone to tell Jeanne.

Meene chuckled gently at the memory, one hand rubbing her budding stomach. An adventure indeed.

Meene was going to explode. She could deal with the nauseas, mood swings, the pains – but there was one thing she couldn't control.

"There are over four pages on what could go wrong! What-what if you get an infection? What if he get strangled with the umbilical cord? What if–
- Marco.
- Did you know that 6.8% of women died during childbirth here? And–
- Marco Maxwell.

The blondie paused mid-rant. "Yes?
- If I see you anywhere near the computer again, you'll find out the hard way why they tell you not to put stress on pregnant women."

Sometimes people wondered if Marco wasn't the one to carry their child. He was certainly the one who had all the temper tantrums, and whose whims had to be satisfied if one wished not to end as a small pile of ashes.

Also, for someone who usually had a 'low baritone' type of voice, he could scream pretty high. Damn high really. God help the world if anything, however small, happened to Meene. This contributed to a certain void around them – though he didn't really mind, after all.

Jeanne ended up buying lots of Belgian chocolate during those nine months.

The game began approximately one hour after he was born.

"He has your hair, Marco.
- Poor boy. Already unlucky," joked a laughing John.

The noise disturbed the baby, who opened a curious eye.

"That would be yours, Meen'," added Christopher, before motioning Kevin to come over. Said Kevin declined; he feared his face would scare the poor child.

The baby yawned, and directed his attention to the shimmering white hair of the girl who carried him. After a few forceful tugs, Jeanne gave up and gave him back to his mother.

"I guess he'll be a fighter, like his parents."

After living (and dying, but that was another story) through the tournament, after seeing his worst enemy crowned and allowed to do as he wanted with their precious planet, Marco believed he had witnessed the most awe-inspiring things available.

He was wrong.

The sight that he was sure would accompany him beyond the borders of the living world and even beyond the Great Spirits, he found it in his home, in his room.

The blondie found that the sight of his son sleeping on top of his wife was the most intense of his long life. Who would have known?

It was harder than it had any right to be. Though he kept silent, though Meene tried to look cheerful, not one of the three family members felt happy that morning.

It had begun when he woke up, at eight o'clock. Though the boy had never signified any fear at the idea of going there, suddenly he was terrified and refused to follow his mother. Clothing and feeding him had been the most horrible part.

Now that Meene and Antonio were all ready to go, he could only mutter, with a feeble smile of apology:

"Good day in school, 'Tony."

Their boy was a precocious artist, they found out.

Antonio would spend his time doodling on the pages of his books (despite Meene not liking it one bit) and only agreed to come to his father's garage if he could help paint the vehicles. At first, they had shrugged it off, believing he was just over-enthusiastic and would soon change the focus of his attention.

It was the day Marco found a flower drawn on Michael's pristine exterior that they understood they needed to find him some controlled outlet. If only to avoid causing heart attacks to the poor father.

"Mother!"

Meene giggled. He had taken after his father on that regard, always wanting to sound formal and adult. It didn't, however, change the fact that he stayed a boy, a little boy that ran up to her and hug her legs.

"Yes, Antonio?"

The boy looked at her, a frown marring his perfect face:

"Matt-ou told me the story of his parents, and 'twas un-be-li-va-bel, so I wanted to know… How did you meet father?"

It should have been a simple question, but Meene stilled all the same. How to explain the story of their life to a seven-years-old?

"See, I don't like this either. But we got to make this work out, because Meene asked us to. Alright?
- Alright." Father and son were sitting side by side in a small church of Roma.

"You know I believe you, 'Tony. I always believe you. That's why I wanted to come here. See that statue?"

The boy nodded.

"This statue hates liars. If you lie here, he clamps his mouth shut. So tell me again, what happened to that cake?"

Antonio looked up to his father. Then back to the statue. "I-I might have something to tell you, father."

"He's so small…
- That would be my fault," he replied with a chuckle. "Don't let his height fool you, he's already old enough.
- Is he?" Meene couldn't help but worry as she watched her twelve-years-old son carefully observe the different parts of the car he was supposed to assemble.

The couple had hesitated between letting him find a spirit of that world or helping him 'create' it, like they had created theirs; but in the end Marco had proposed simply letting him evolve on his own and watch what happened.

Six months later, a new Angel was born.