As promised, chapter two for those still interested. The feedback came far quicker and in far greater numbers than I anticipated! Thank you all for your reviews.

Warning for extremely lengthy dialogue despite the fact that it's about 1200 words shorter than the prior chapter.

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Ever since he was very small, Marco had always possessed the uncanny ability to know where he was before he ever opened his eyes. Where most people climbed from sleep into the waking world with only a foggy handle on their bearings and whereabouts, Marco could pinpoint his location in the world without a moment's hesitation.

This gift had come in handy as a kid after emergency trips to Italy and sleepovers, but most notable of all was when he was barely a baby being carried from one room to another while asleep. Despite being so young, he could effortlessly remember the foggy feelings of place.

However, when Marco drifted in a half asleep fog the next morning with a still near splitting headache and even more terribly perfect pain in his arm and back, it was with a panicked start that he realized for the first time in all his 23 years of life...Marco had not a clue where he was.

He lay there in the unfamiliar bed, open eyes staring wide into the great nothingness that he could only guess was a ceiling. Dylan lay comfortingly at his back, one leg thrown possessively and uncomfortably over his own in sleep. The strange numbness in his own legs threatened a tidal wave of pins and needles when the blond decided to wake up.

Minutes ticked by and Marco could not, for the life of him, figure it out and he couldn't help but feel as if this was a bad omen.

Marco took a large breath, feeling the need to go to the bathroom rush through him coupled with an even more overwhelming need to be sick as with every morning. He whined through his small pain muddled cloud and decided he could take it no longer, no matter how much he didn't want to wake his husband.

He lifted his unhurt arm and pried Dylan's arm off of his waist and did the same with the man's leg, somehow managing to turn the man onto his back. Instantly the feared sensation of pins and needles assaulted his legs and Marco grit his teeth near painfully as he groped about beside him, luck on his side as his hand came in contact with a lamp and switched it on.

The panic increased as he realized he'd never seen this room before. Though, he visibly forced himself to calm down as he repeated to himself that it looked like a hotel, that it was innocuous and not completely worrying.

This in mind he climbed gingerly out of the bed, hissing and whining the whole time at the sparks of pain ricocheting through his body with every movement. Hurrying though he managed to stumble into the bathroom and it was the sound of the door closing that woke Dylan in the next room.

Within only the last few months, Dylan had come to believe that the worst possible sound to wake up to was that of someone retching. He'd awoke to this same noise so many mornings recently he wondered why he was still not used to it. However, this morning was just like every other in this way, as his eyes pinged open, finding the small room bathed in the glow of one lamp and wonderfully warm, he could hear his husband being sick through the thin walls.

Instantly windswept with the memories of the previous evening and the new meaning behind Marco's sickness upon waking, Dylan felt instantaneously wide awake. Peeling away his blankets in a hurry, he rushed after the noises, letting himself into the restroom.

Inside was a familiar scene, Marco looking truly ghastly as he knelt on the floor ashen faced and shaky. It was made worse this morning as Marco very obviously looked lost and uncomfortable, and every few seconds a pained wince would cross his face.

Dylan sunk down to sit on the edge of the bathtub, running soothing hands through the Italian's hair, watching as the man's eyes shut involuntarily at the comfort. When brown eyes opened once again seconds later, they looked much more calm but no less curious.

"Where are we, Dylan?"

The words were quiet and if Marco's face had been turned away Dylan was sure he would not have heard him at all. Several responses swam through his head. He considered telling him this was still the hospital. Even more hair-brained, he mulled over telling the man that they had moved over night without his consent.

However, Dylan knew that they had precious little time before some sort of facility representative, or even Dr. Mikhailov himself, came to collect them, meaning he had this little time to tell his husband not only the utterly unbelievable truth that he was...God it had all made so much more sense the night before, but also that they were miles from home.

Dylan felt himself give a strained, wonky smile, gathering Marco up in his arms and helping him off the floor. It struck him suddenly how very small the other man was, a good head shorter than him and ridiculously bony. Compared to his own still rather impressive stature and physique at least, Marco was nothing more than a waif.

The words from the previous evening echoed in his mind. Will he die?

One arm tightly wrapped around Marco's shoulders, Dylan guided them both back into the bedroom, letting Marco lie down again before he told him anything. It was times like these that he wondered the true limits of his own cowardice because he found himself inexplicably tight-lipped and unwilling to divulge the events Marco had slept through the night before.

Lying back down as well, Dylan sidled across the bed until he was nearly nose to nose with a still ashen faced Marco. Buying time, he lifted a hand to run through the man's messy hair, teasing snags and altogether putting more energy into this small task than was wholly necessary. Unluckily or luckily for him, Marco had seen this behavior several times over and knew what this mood meant.

"Don't stonewall me, Dylan, where are we?" Marco whispered, voice sounding rough and raw from the retching, his red eyes imploring and beseeching as he regarded the blue pair avoiding his own.

After a moment of trying to keep up with his racing mind Dylan only shook his head, swallowing with an audible click. "The phrase 'the last place you expected' happens to ring true." At the annoyed expression on his husband's face, he sighed.

"We're in Russia," he murmured at last, voice seeming to bleed right into the sheets, imbedding there so that Marco could feel them against his skin, an invisible mental invasion hidden cunningly within warm words.

For all of a moment Marco looked close to laughter. As if choking on a cough he seemed to hesitate on the very edge of a chuckle before his eyes caught the absolute seriousness of Dylan's face, and his entire body visibly tightened, his mouth snapping shut, laugh completely forgotten.

"Why?"

The word was so deceptively small for a question that held a thousand and more answers. But which response would be the right one? Which one would put Marco the most at ease...which was the higher road? Should he tell him the lie about his arm once again? Should he tell him the larger truth?

"Dylan?"

What if it was a hoax after all? Sure last night the doctor's words had sounded so reassuring, as if taking the pressure of Marco's ongoing illness off of his own shoulders. Sure it was wonderful to consider children. It was just made so easy this way. But...it was just too unbelievable.

"Answer me."

Even worse...what if it was true? What if Marco really was pregnant, some small tiny life living right there inside of him depending on Marco to stay okay...for Dylan to keep Marco okay. Were they ready for this? Was...was Marco ready for this?

Will he die?

Amid his thoughts, a flare of pain shot through his head as Marco tugged a lock of his hair in frustration. It was enough to make Dylan's break out of his musings completely with a loud curse and a childish pout.

"Dylan...why are we here?" Marco demanding once again, looking far from amused, his face quickly darkening in agitation. Mood swings, Dylan's mind threw out randomly amid his dazed shock. The realization apparently was enough to seal the deal because he felt his resolve crumble immediately.

"We're here because the doctor's found something special about you when you were in the hospital for your arm. There's a special hospital here, which we're in right now, because they're going to want to talk to you...want to work with you...to...to make sure the special thing doesn't go awry."

The words sounded strange even in Dylan's head. Out loud they sounded nothing short of ridiculous.

Marco however seemed to be taking this all in without a problem. From his winces earlier it was obvious his dosage of painkillers had worn off and so it was not possible he was doped down by drugs. And out of all the reactions he was waiting for Marco lifting his hand to run down the side of Dylan's face, giving him comfort instead of the other way around, was definitely the last.

"I knew there was something happening to me," Marco whispered, looking far off and Dylan fancied almost glowing as pregnant women were often described as.

He felt his worry melt into something closer to giddiness in the face of Marco's lack of anger, something completely alien after the trials of the night before. Before he could even stop himself the words slipped right out of his mouth in a chaotic little breath of calm euphoria.

"We can have a child, Marco."

Across from him Marco was smiling tiredly, affection clear in the lines of his face. "If we ever decide to quit procrastinating and visit a foster home, of course we could. After this mishap is cleared up at least. Are you saying you're finally ready?"

Dylan's face fell into a frown instantaneously. Shit. Floundering momentarily, Dylan scooted over that bit more, his nose overlapping with the Italian man's. Breaths mingled and the blond man deliberated.

"No...Mar--...you can have a child. You have a child."

His voice was very obviously thin, practically pleading by tone alone for Marco not to become angry with him, to become upset at all. That was the last thing he wanted but he had no idea how to make this seem more real to the younger man. As the man's face darkened below him he knew he had failed.

"Dylan...now is not the time for jokes," Marco whispered urgently, eyes blazing with something close to sad reproach. "Seriously, what's the reason I'm here?"

Feeling ridiculously close to tears Dylan swallowed around the lump in his throat. Grasping at straws, Dylan dropped a hand down to cover Marco's stomach as he had done the entire night in his sleep, as if waiting for a sign...a movement, a sudden warmth, or a sound to suggest that there was a miracle growing there.

None had been forthcoming. He only had faith.

"Think back to the past couple of months...think about the mornings and the weight and the way you always felt so upset with the world for no reason. Please Marco..."

"Dylan stop!"

"No," the blond man whispered, cupping his husband's face with his free hand. "You feel it don't you? You've felt it for a while now...that's why you never said anything. It didn't make sense. If you said it out loud it would hurt worse when you were wrong..."

"Don't say these things..."

"You thought maybe you were going crazy didn't you? Thought your mind was playing tricks with you because you wanted this so badly...to have this...you love the kids at work so much...it's all you ever wanted and y--"

"I can't have children, Dylan!"

Marco's voice was loud as he practically screamed his words in the silence and the stunned quiet that followed was practically buzzing with tension as furious brown eyes remained locked with pleading blue. Minutes ticked by as a mental conversation waged violently between their gazes, pushing, pulling, dragging, and shoving, one trying to hold, while the other tried to run.

After what felt like years of charged silence later, Dylan broke the battle with a tiny, intense voice, so unlike his demeanor that it made Marco listen as if he had no choice.

"But what if you could?"

Just like that it was as if the barriers received a crack in their armor and Marco felt his face crumple. He hid his face before any tears fell, burying it within the pillow and focusing on breathing without looking at Dylan. The man however afforded him no peace, instead leaning close and whispering comforting words into his ear.

"The people here...they say...Marco they say there are special cases. That you're one of them. I didn't want to believe them either...I still have trouble. But Marco...what if they're right? There is something going on with you...and you and I both know it's not stress...what if it's something so much bigger than both of us?"

Marco looked up, face tear-stained and lined with fatigue. It took all Dylan had within him not to reach up and brush the tears away, but he felt that one touch may break him.

"But...but what if it isn't, Dylan?" he whispered, sounding as if the very prospect may kill him. "I can hope for something only so long...if I let myself believe in it...if it doesn't come true...Dylan I'd die."

"It's not a prank, Marco," the blond insisted, moving to hold his husband's face in both hands as if to anchor him to reality, to make him listen to his words and watch them fall from his mouth. "This is all too elaborate...the signs are all too convincing...n-no one drags two people across the world for a laugh, baby. We-- we're left little choice in what to believe. Have faith."

Marco opened his mouth to respond, eyes suddenly much warmer than they had been throughout the entire argument and Dylan knew without his words that Marco had agreed to trust him. But just before sound could escape the Italian there was a knock at the door and both men jumped, breaking gazes to look in that direction.

Neither moved for so long that the person knocked again, startling them for a second time. Dylan frowned and leaned forward, kissing Marco on the forehead before disentangling himself from their embrace and stumbling over to the door, not even realizing until he was swinging it open that he was only clad in his boxers from the night before.

Behind the door stood a sweet looking blonde woman whom immediately blushed crimson at his state of undress. She was, like Joel and the doctor from the previous evening, wearing a white smock over normal everyday clothes of jeans and a sweater, her hair drawn back with a pencil stuck haphazardly behind her head.

"I um-...good morning, Mr. Michalchuk," the woman said, voice high pitched in embarrassment. Her accent was a sweet British lilt, hinting towards a more northern drawl and Dylan found it quite endearing. My name is Linda. I was told to wake you and your husband and invite you both down for breakfast before the day's activities begin if you're both agreeable."

Smiling brightly he nodded, feeling his hair bounce against his neck. "That'd be great. I'm absolutely starving. Would you mind overly if we got a shower and dressed first? I'm afraid we've been awake...discussing things...instead of getting ready. Would thirty minutes be alright?"

The woman only looked relieved and nodded, her eyes painstakingly staying locked on his face, the blush still lightly staining her cheeks. "No that'd be fine. While you're getting ready I will go speak to someone about obtaining you two some clothes for the next week and getting you a map of the facility. You'll no doubt need both before the day is out."

With that Linda disappeared down the hallway, humorous pencil bobbing with her every step. Dylan stared after her for a moment in amusement before letting himself back into the room and closing the door. Marco was still lying in the bed, propped up on his good arm with a curious expression. Dylan only shrugged and gave him a ridiculous smile.

"The people here are quite strange," he offered, walking over to the Italian man and helping him sit up. "Well, let's get you showered first...you'll take longer."

Dylan trailed off, looking around the room and Marco was about to ask him what was wrong before the man jumped up and stumbled over to the empty trash can in the corner, pulling out the plastic bag before walking back over.

"We've got to keep your cast dry," he explained in distraction, eyes and hands already focusing on the task of getting his husband out of the white polo he was wearing. Marco allowed the treatment for a few minutes after a rather annoyed sigh. Once his shirt was off, both of them mindful to keep from jostling his hurt arm, Marco batted away his husband's hands.

"I can bathe myself," Marco pointed out, leaning up to kiss Dylan's cheek before walking around him and disappearing into the bathroom looking lost in thought, leaving Dylan by himself and rather at a loss.

Once he heard running water, the blond felt his fingers begin to tap at his leg and he absentmindedly hoped Marco had covered his cast. The man had never had one before so he would no doubt not know any better. It was better thinking about the trivial things in comparison to what his brain was beating him with want to think about instead.

The silence was getting on his nerves and Dylan nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the first few tinny chords of a Snow Patrol song wafting up from the pile of clothes on the floor. Looking at both doors of the room as if waiting for someone to come out, Dylan jumped up and dug about, finally locating Marco's cell phone with his friend's name lighting the screen. He sighed, deciding he should have saw this coming.

He hit the speak button and sighed into the receiver. "Hello, Ellie."

"Dylan," the woman's voice replied, sounding worried and rather tired, but thankful. "I went to visit Marco at the school today because we always have lunch together and I was told that his doctor had called him in sick indefinitely. What's going on? Is he okay?"

Well...fuck. Dylan rubbed at his eyes, suddenly feeling too tired where he had been bounding with energy only moments before. "Marco's fine, Ellie. In fact, he's doing great. He does have a broken arm though. I'm assuming they told you about his fall?"

"Yes of course. Do you know how long he'll be in that?"

"No...probably a few weeks," Dylan replied, making a very clear 'wtf' face into the air at the completely random question.

"Okay, but what's wrong with him? Is it serious? When can I visit him?"

"Ellie," Dylan grumbled, hearing the water shut off in the bathroom. "To tell you the truth, this is something Marco needs to tell you so I will let him call you later tonight alright? For now just rest assured he's fine and you can see each other when you can. Right now we've got a meeting with a doctor so I'm going to have to let you go."

Marco stumbled into the room looking light years better than he had earlier, refreshed and once again holding that near glowing quality Dylan had seen earlier. He had wrapped himself in two towels, a random habit he'd always had, one wrapped around his waist and another draped across his shoulders, hiding almost all of his skin from sight. But he was smiling and that was something.

Ellie's tinny voice broke his thoughts. "You don't have to be an ass, Dylan," the red head accused, but not without the sarcastic deadpan you could often hear in her jokes. "I'll call back around eight, here's hoping Marco answers instead. Take care of him."

The small click signaled her cutting the line and Dylan congratulated himself on a job well done, snapping the phone shut and dropping it on the bedspread. Seeing his husband shivering a bit and occasionally wincing, Dylan stooped down and collected the man's black pants and his shirt from the previous day.

He stood and walked over after placing the two items on the bed and wrapped long arms around Marco's toweled frame. The Italian smelled clean and rather sterile, his lack of typical shampoo and soaps creating a very noticeable difference. But Dylan did not care overly, only watched as Marco smiled through a small wince.

"We'll try to get you some pain medication during breakfast," Dylan reassured him, pushing back the dark hair from his face before stepping out of the way, going to take his own shower and allow Marco to dress without his wandering eyes. He tried to hurry, simply going through the motions of washing his hair and body as he stared blandly at the white tiles of the shower, ears straining to catch any signs from the other room that Marco may need him.

His shower ended without mishap and he toweled off in equal silence before walking back into the bedroom, enjoying the rush of cold that came with moving from the muggy bathroom. Marco sat at the foot of the bed, fully dressed and his hair now looking more orderly and pulled back in a ponytail away from his face due to its wet state. His casted arm looked heavy but dry in his lap and overall he looked lost in thought.

Dylan only smiled awkwardly, hopping into his own pants and trying to locate the pale blue button down he'd arrived in, slipping it on at last. Just as he was buttoning the final button the knock from before sounded. He moved to answer it but Marco beat him to it, apparently reaching a point of curiosity that made him go out of his way to figure out what was going on.

Beyond the door, Dylan could see the same sweet woman from earlier and her smile was quite wide indeed as she regarded Marco. Slipping into his shoes, Dylan came up behind Marco and smiled at her. She looked relieved he was now dressed.

"Breakfast is waiting downstairs gentleman," Linda said, offering Marco a small plastic cup with what looked like powerful pain killers resting at the bottom and himself a sheet of paper with the schematics of a rather complicated building that he could only guess was a map of the facility. With a smile, she began walking and the men followed silently, looking both ways at all of the doors and the few people they passed.

On the bottom floor was a drab cafeteria and Linda directed them towards to a small buffet of sorts before she disappeared back in the direction of the elevators, leaving Marco and Dylan standing in the middle of the room rather dumbly.

After several minutes Dylan only shrugged, playfully cuffing the back of the Italian's neck before going off towards the food, his stomach taking over where his mind and emotions had failed. When he turned around, his plate literally heaped with food he saw Marco sitting at a table by himself looking wan and tired, his brown eyes fixated on the tabletop intently.

"You should eat something, Marco," he murmured as he sat down across from him. His husband however only rolled his eyes before allowing his gaze to snap right back to the table. Dylan could see the cogs working in his head as if he were transparent. Marco was thinking about the conversation earlier...thinking about the baby that may or may not exist. He was thinking of all the damn possibilities that Dylan himself was resolutely ignoring.

"Come on, just try a glass of milk please? Some toast. Anything."

He didn't even wait for Marco's response, already striding across the room and returning with both, setting them in front of the rather irritated looking man.

"Dylan, I don't exactly enjoy seeing my food twice," he snapped irritably, resting his cheek in his hand morosely. After several moments of silence in which Dylan stared him down, not touching his own food as if daring Marco to eat his own, the man finally moved to finger at his glass of milk in thought.

For the first time since their conversation, brown eyes lifted to look at Dylan a bit shamefully. "I've not been eating a lot lately," Marco admitted, biting his lower lip sheepishly. "What with the weight gain and the vomiting and...if all of this is true...what if I---"

This acceptance, this sign of Marco admitting that this entire scenario may be true, albeit stressed, was what the blond man had been waiting for and it calmed his own worry.

"No ifs," Dylan said, voice sounding strong and effectively ending Marco's morbid musings as he lifted one of his larger hands onto the table and covered one of the darker man's hands, squeezing gently. "We'll get all of this shit cleared up today. We'll end up picking out nursery colors or flying home. Either way...we'll get through this. No ifs."

Marco only nodded, swallowing thickly and returning his eyes to the milk before him. After a moment of mental deliberation he lifted the glass and took a careful sip. Across from him Dylan nodded in appreciation, tucking into his own breakfast.

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"Ah, my dear boys!"

Marco and Dylan whom had been eating in relative silence for the last ten minutes snapped to attention, looking across the cafeteria to see Dr. Mikhailov walking over. Dylan gave a small smile in greeting and Marco only looked on in confusion, having been asleep through his entire introduction.

When the aging man drew up a chair to sit with them at the table he flashed his eyes questioningly at Dylan almost willing his husband able to communicate with him telepathically.

"Hello, Marco I don't believe we've met. I'm Dr. Bernard Mikhailov and I'll be your head doctor for the next few months," the man greeted, lifting a frail looking hand to shake Marco's. The Italian looked hesitant but did indeed shake the man's hand, casting frantic glances to Dylan every few seconds.

"I um, it's nice to meet you," he replied, pausing and biting his lower lip unsurely. "Wh-when can I go home if you don't mind me asking. I don't know how much of this story I'm willing to believe and go along with while my students are without me. I need to go back to work."

It was hardly the nicest of things to say, Marco realized. His words had been downright rude compared to his usual amount of tact but he was tired and still a bit in pain, as well as sick and not a little bit cranky. And the chance that he was being lied to was high. Surely he would be allowed this small moment where normal human decorum failed him.

However, despite all of the horrified or outraged expressions he had expected to cross the doctor's face in reaction, none were forthcoming. Instead a twinkle seemed to burst into life within the man's grey eyes, and he smiled his gentle, cigarette stained smile.

"Did you sleep well last night? Did you eat this morning?" the man asked, looking uncannily in control of the situation despite the utterly inane question he'd just posed.

It took great will power for Marco not to make a face at Mikhailov. Instead he turned a confused glare on Dylan whom only shrugged as if to tell him to answer the question. Marco turned back to the man with a small glower.

"I slept fine. And I ate as much as I could this morning considering the weird sickness I've had the past month or so. Is there a reason you're asking me such strange questions?"

"Why of course," he replied, looking ridiculously proud of himself as he moved to stand. "Knowing you are in relatively fit condition I think it's now time that I show you and your husband what I've dragged you here for. Come along gentlemen."

Dr. Mikhailov did not even wait for them both to answer or object as he pushed in his chair and already began walking towards the doors. Marco and Dylan looked at each other in bewilderment for a split second before noisily jumping out of their chairs in a flurry of loud scrapes and clattering silverware to follow the man.

The corridors looked just as white and boring as they had the night before and Dylan felt utterly uninterested in them, leaning over to slide an arm around Marco's frail shoulders as they speedily walked behind the doctor whom moved with quite a bit more energy than Dylan would have given him credit.

At the end of the hallway they were ushered into a room where a small inclined bed sat with two chairs and several large pieces of equipment scattered about. Dylan was instantly nervous for no reason and squeezed Marco closer.

The elder man was blind to the movement and had turned to them both, clapping his hands together and smiling warmly. "Marco if you'd just lie down here and Dylan if you'd take a seat over there I'll give you the proof you've been waiting for."

Too nervous to even look at one another both men did not need to be told twice, haltingly taking the places they been directed towards. Lying on the scratchy, overly clean linens of the bed Marco swallowed anxiously. Dylan was seated in the chair to his right and Dr. Mikhailov took the seat on the left, beginning to fiddle with the equipment.

Amid his rather frantic musings Marco felt Dylan take his hand and he squeezed the offered comfort, eyes fixated on the machines all around, irrationally afraid the doctor was going to slice him open at any moment.

The moment never came. Instead Mikhailov smiled at him reassuringly before reaching over and lifted his shirt off of his stomach, letting it bunch around his chest beneath his arms. Marco gasped and stuttered a reprimand, moving to push it back down before, strangely enough, Dylan reached over and pushed his hand back down.

Looking over angrily he was faced with Dylan's carefully blank eyes, obviously asking him to just go along with this and promising he'd take over if anything bad happened. It calmed Marco instantly and so he relaxed somewhat into the bed.

With the go ahead now, Mikhailov reached over a smoothed a strange gel substance over his now exposed stomach and Marco sucked in a breath beneath the fingers, startled. The gel was cold and he felt terribly uncomfortable being touched like this, but the doctor apparently understood that and finished quickly, returning a moment later with a handheld part of one of the machines.

For all of a moment Marco thought the instrument was a taser and he could hear and feel his breathing speed up comically before the doctor rolled the wand across his stomach. Marco watched the movement with increasing confusion, wondering what in the hell was happening until he heard a startled gasp from Dylan beside him.

Marco looked over at the blond man, wondering what was wrong when he caught the man's expression. Blue eyes were trained away from him, wide with something akin to astonishment, mouth hanging open in surprise. The look alone caused Marco's heart to leap and he jerked his own gaze in the same direction, feeling his mouth fall open in a similar fashion.

A few feet away stood what appeared to be a television screen and on it was a fuzzy image that looked like nothing beyond a moving swarm of black and white swirls. But both men had seen such things in movies and the like and knew instantly what the vague outlines were.

"Gentlemen, I'd like to introduce you to your new son or daughter," Dr. Mikhailov whispered gleefully, still intent upon keeping the movements of the wand steady despite watching the men's reactions.

Dylan felt ridiculously choked up as he stared at the strange splotch of color that was supposedly his child, right there inside of Marco, separated from his hands by meer flesh and growing. Tiny little fingers and toes and large eyes simply forming and waiting. The screen was moving proof of what he'd been hoping was true, the hope not tangible but the warmth that spread through him was palpable.

"It's beautiful," the blond whispered after a long silence, seemingly unable to look away.

Marco however was staring at the screen in increasing awed worry. They hadn't lied after all. His outlandish feelings of having someone else with him all of the time was true. The sickness, the weight, the pain all had a cause. A tiny cause with an equally tiny heartbeat living right there inside of him.

With one last hopelessly shocked look towards the screen Marco turned to the doctor with large eyes, clinging to Dylan's hand, helpless to do much else. "Y- it's true," he breathed, frighteningly close to tears. "I've been...I've been not eating and falling off of stages and...and everything else when there was a..."

"Now don't fret so soon, Marco," the doctor murmured, returning the wand to it's holder on the machine, grey eyes warm and reassuring as possible. "I was worried as well but your body has proved to be resilient beyond all of our expectations. He or she seems to be perfectly fine. It has a regular heartbeat and is in top form."

Dylan looked ready to fall over or pass out beside the other two men, having moved to cradle his forehead in a hand. "Holy shit," he muttered to himself, the impact of it all finally hitting him now that he didn't have Marco to worry about.

Dr. Mikhailov laughed very quietly, reaching over to clap a hand on Dylan's shoulder. "That's the spirit. Now...I have hopefully gotten both of your attention I assume. Do you have questions for me?"

Instantly a million and one flooded both of their brains. Marco spoke first. "H-how did this happen? I mean...how is it even possible?"

"That is easy my boy," the elderly man said, mannerisms taking on a dreamy quality. "Love...love is how this was possible. For years upon years scientists have studied the human body to figure out what exactly love is, how it works, how it effects the mind, whether it is a real, tangible thing. And thus far, as most people know, there has been little to no headway made.

'But on that note there have been several indicators found that show love is something that does impact a person's mind and body from a quickened heartbeat to a contraction of the stomach. Endorphins are released. It's been proved with MRI scans that the most active parts of the brain are concerned with pleasure and arousal usually caused by those affected by 'love.' Even a blush is simply an increased flow of blood. But all of this...it begins somewhere, and that is where all of the theories come in because there science fails."

The doctor paused, leaning back in his chair with a thoughtful expression as he regarded them both. There was a strange sort of wonder in his eyes as he looked upon their faces, like he saw something there that they were blind to.

"Male pregnancy, as Dylan has already found out last night, is extremely rare. The amount of research we can do is small because of our time frames. We're lucky to get a case every decade. But the one thing that has held true throughout our studies is love.

'When in love, certain chemicals in the brain shift. When the love is spectacularly strong, such as yours, this shift carries far more impact. It in fact, in a sense, tricks the body into believing this phenomenon is possible and allows for DNA to mix. No scientist has yet discovered how the egg is formed, so one can only speculate. It is simply looked at as a freak accident. The problem is of course that a male's body has trouble coping with such a development. If the love is not strong enough, the man's body will fail through the shift due to faltering chemical imbalances. There have been two such cases where a man has died in the process, usually thanks to disloyalty or anger at the crucial moment of shifting. There have no doubt been many others but it is harder to keep track of the deaths."

Dylan's grip on Marco's hand increased, nearly crushing the Italian's fingers. "Dylan...you're hurting me," he squeaked, jerking Dylan's attention away from his sudden panic to his husband. He loosened his grip, turning back to Dr. Mikhailov with pleading eyes, needing to hear more.

"As I was saying, a man's body is not made for pregnancy. There is no true free space for the free floating sack that is now within you. Your body is literally straining itself to the breaking point to keep the space open for the developing fetus. And there is a reason no male pregnancy has been recorded before the twentieth century...because men do not have the uterus that women do.

'The child has no means of leaving the man's body. Modern science has of course moved forward to the point Cesareans are normal and only now are we able to remove the baby from the man's body. Before they were developed men simply died once the strain became too much. Now such fatalities are almost myth."

'This is why these occurrences are monitored so heavily, to make sure the pregnant man is never stressed. To be stressed could disturb the already fragile hold the body has over keeping the free floating area intact. When I first heard of your fall and broken arm I thought for sure your body would have collapsed before you arrived. You...Marco you're a miracle beyond anything our scientists have seen for that reason. For your body to hold up after that shock...we could only draw two hypotheses...either you are somehow tougher than the other recorded men...or the love that you two share is something beyond the others and I personally believe the latter."

Both men finally looked to one another at this particular piece of information, what they saw in each other somehow altered by these words. They had always known after meeting in high school that the dynamic between them was stranger than most. When Dylan was ever away Marco always felt as if he was missing a limb. His friends called him clingy, told him he'd have to learn to stand alone at some point...but it had never changed. When Dylan was gone for more than twelve hours Marco would become so agitated he'd do rash things he'd regret later, almost ceasing to function completely until Dylan was back.

The same could be said for Dylan. While he was able to function without Marco bodily near him if he ever thought Marco was angry at him he'd be reduced close to tears. Not surprising for some but Dylan was forever known by the tight hold he had on his emotions. He'd never cried through death, parental arguments, or personal let downs. But one upset look from Marco and every single one of his emotional walls crumbled, leaving him glassy-eyed and shaking like he'd had his heart ripped out.

It was always strange to realize even the smallest of things meant something so much more when added up, just like Marco's morning sickness which now stood for the biggest thing in their life so far.

"I think that perhaps I will let you both return to your rooms now my boys. This has been a lot dropped on you for one day and I understand how imperative talking is at this juncture. Consider yourselves free for the day. Meals will continue to be available in the cafeteria and if you need any assistance whatsoever simply dial nine on the phone in your rooms and we'll send someone over."

Both men swallowed painfully and nodded, unable to look away from each other despite the doctor speaking to them. Mikhailov however, hardly looked upset at the lack of attention and only moved to wipe the gel substance off of Marco's stomach with a wet cloth and lowered his shirt.

"Tomorrow, however, the talking gives way to action gentlemen. Go rest."

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And so now hopefully some of this has been explained and Marco is no longer in the dark. Do please share your reactions! I love reviews something awful and very much appreciate your thoughts.

The chapters will slow down now that I've given what I had completed. Just in warning.