Together

When Homura found out that her lover of many years was pregnant, her first response was "How?!" She had immediately summoned Kyubey and questioned him under gun point (not that the gun posed any serious threat to the alien). After all, both Homura and Madoka were girls and Homura was pretty darn sure her hands did not produce … little swimmers. Kyubey, however, matter-of-factly explained that being a Puella Magus made same-sex (well, girl/girl, since males were not part of the system) pregnancies possible in order to increase the number of candidates with high potential levels, though very few magical girls ever managed to live long enough to even consider having children. That had earned Kyubey several shots that he managed to dodge. Casual smirk still in place, he said that they would have a daughter, since male children did little to further the Incubators' goals. This time, he did not escape the well-placed shots that marked the destruction of his body.

Madoka was over-the-moon happy ("We're going to have a baby!"), and Homura was too, but she was more concerned with the fact that Madoka insisted on continuing to fight witches with her, even though her pregnancy sapped her energy and restricted her mobility. However, the loss of her friends Miki Sayaka, Tomoe Mami, and Sakura Kyoko was ingrained too deeply in Madoka's memory to let her beloved fight alone. She knew that her child's safety was paramount, but she could not bring herself to stay behind while Homura fought witches by herself – the terror and anxiety of being left alone were too much. Grudgingly, the ex-time-traveler acquiesced and redoubled her efforts to protect Madoka and their daughter (just thinking of their daughter sent delighted thrills through Homura).

As the months passed and the child in Madoka's womb grew, Homura fluctuated between fear just before a battle and lust just afterwards. Flushed with sweat and her uniform — now a simple pink dress shirt and skirt to preserve her magic and for comfort — clinging to her rounded form, Madoka was the epitome of beauty to the time-traveler.

One afternoon, after a particularly close call, Homura knelt in the living room before Madoka and cradled her lover's swollen abdomen, practically worshipping it. "Madoka … that was too close," she murmured. Her heart ached — though not because of her childhood sickness, that had been fixed long ago; it was the thought of losing her beloved that made her heart clench painfully. The pinkette's warm hands covered hers and shifted them to where their daughter was kicking. Madoka reclined against the cushiony armchair, alleviating the discomfort from her back, her smile never wavering.

"I know, but you'll be alone and without any help once I give birth, since our daughter will need constant care. I don't want you to wear yourself out before then, especially when you refuse to team up with other magical girls," she patiently explained. Homura scowled slightly but nodded in agreement. Though the witch they had battled today had actually posed a threat to Madoka's life, that was an uncommon occurrence. Even pregnant, the pinkette was a formidable fighter; it helped that her weapon was long-range. Madoka could protect herself adequately, something that Homura had difficulty remembering even though her time loops had ended years ago. "Now, I kinda feel like taking a shower. Help me?"

Smirking at Madoka's mischievous tone, Homura hastened to help her six-month pregnant wife up and led her to the bathroom. Once in, she helped Madoka out of her clothes and then proceeded to help her wash herself. She kept her own clothes on, even though they got soaked through, in order to resist being tempted to take Madoka in the shower. It wasn't the safest place to have sex while pregnant, and Homura wanted to avoid risks as much as possible. I will not lose her, not again. Especially now that she carries the fruit of our love within her. Eh, perhaps she had been reading too much poetry lately. It was difficult, however, to resist the temptation that was Madoka when she was sensuously lathering soap everywhere she could reach, especially her deliciously bulging womb. "Madoka, you are a sex fiend," Homura growled exasperatedly – but so am I. Indeed, Homura and Madoka simply could not get enough of each other lately. The soon-to-be-mother laughed teasingly at her as she finished cleaning herself.

Minutes later, Madoka was sitting on their bed, wrapped up in a fluffy pink bathrobe and waiting for Homura to return from her own shower. Sighing happily, Madoka patted the bulge of her belly and began speaking softly to her daughter. "You weren't scared, where you? Nope, as long as Mummy is with us, everything will work out just fine." She laid back on the bed and continued to murmur lovingly to her unborn daughter. She talked about everything, but especially about Homura: Madoka loved to tell her daughter about Homura. "I hope you look like her … she's so brave and strong …" Will our happiness last?

When the time-traveler stepped out of the bathroom in dry clothes, her breath caught at the sight of Madoka sleeping peacefully, hands protectively over her womb. A brief burst of magic dried Homura's and Madoka's hair instantly – no need for Madoka to get sick – and she gathered the pinkette into a warm embrace, nuzzling her.

"Mmm, Homura …" a needy moan escaped from Madoka's lips as she shifted in her lover's arms, now wide awake and aroused. No further persuasion was necessary: oftentimes, at the height of their passion, it was difficult to tell who needed this more: a hormone-addled Madoka or Homura and her obsession with Madoka's pregnant belly. Homura's hands deftly opened Madoka's robe and began pleasuring her. Her pianist's fingers brushed over the other woman's taunt skin, reveling in the proof that Madoka was hers and she was Madoka's. Foreplay was completely disregarded in favor of relieving the need Madoka had for the feel of her love's graceful fingers inside her. It was not because her breasts were incredibly sensitive that they skipped foreplay; Homura was perfectly capable of pleasuring her lover with the most gentle of strokes. The lack of foreplay today did not, however, make sex a quick affair. Homura took her slowly, long fingers stroking Madoka, feeling her arousal and gently penetrating her. Sometimes, possessed by undeniable desire, Madoka would dominate and Homura would gladly let her have her way, but not this time. Groans and moans filled the air, Madoka bucking her hips to meet Homura's hand, her taut abdomen brushing against her. Oh, how Homura loved the feel of her wife's roundness, heavy with child. She captured the pinkette's lips in a searing kiss, her free hand gently ghosted over Madoka's sensitive breasts, continuously pumping in and out of her slowly. Their activities escalated when, torn between wanting to be careful and wanting to take Madoka hard, Homura hastily took off her shirt and bra, pressing herself against Madoka, wanting the pinkette to know just how much Homura loved her. She couldn't get enough of Madoka's glowing skin, flushed red with desire, pink hair splayed around her head like a halo, and their child growing in her. Half naked, she nuzzled Madoka's swollen belly, bit gently at her neck, traced an invisible path from her breasts to her ear with her tongue, fingers never stopping their ministrations, and Madoka's hands gripped Homura's shoulders tightly, then fisted her hair, wandered everywhere, wanton moans escaping her mouth. Everything became a blur of sweaty skin, hot bursts of air, passion, their bodies moving in unison. Despite the sensitivity brought on by pregnancy, Homura knew how to let Madoka enjoy their union for as long as possible. By the time Madoka came with a cry of "Homura!" dinner was long forgotten.

They lay together for a few minutes, limbs tangled, basking in the afterglow of their love. Homura ran her hands over Madoka's belly, unable to resist, and was not surprised to feel their daughter kicking. Her lover's merry laughter warmed her heart – the previous dull ache receded in the face of Madoka's generous love. "Looks like our little Mae wants attention," Madoka cooed at her womb, pressing Homura's hand to it with her own hand.

"Yes," breathed an over-the-moon-happy Homura (though she would never admit that she sometimes was as exuberant as Madoka). She was surprised, though, when Madoka sent an apologetic glance at her. "Madoka?" she whispered, unease beginning to wrap its cold tendrils around her heart.

Madoka kissed her beloved, trying to reassure her. After all, they had both lost a lot: it was only natural that they each harbored deep-seated insecurities. "I'm sorry – I know we haven't really discussed names, but I think Mae is perfect for our little girl," she admitted. Homura relaxed and laid back in bed, a hand idly playing with Madoka's pink hair.

"It's perfect," Homura replied, and she meant it. Our little daughter, Mae. She got to her knees and eased Madoka flat on her back; serene smiles graced their expressions. Hesitating, feeling awkward and foolish for wanting to talk to her daughter as she had seen Madoka do many times, Homura simply remained kneeling on the bed next to Madoka, her hands resting immobile on her knees. "What if … Madoka, I do not know if I will be a good parent to our daughter," she confessed. "I am not very demonstrative with my affections, and I am afraid that she will take my aloofness to mean that I do not love her." When she had still been the sick, shy girl with braids and glasses, Homura had not been open with others. Granted, she had been stuck in a hospital, completely alone for several years, so it was only natural that she did not know how to show others that she cared for them. Madoka was the only exception to the cold, distant mask that was ever-present around others.

Madoka's giggling brought Homura out of her thoughts. "Silly Homura, —" The lack of honorific was an honor in and of itself to Homura — "of course you'll be a fine mother, and of course our daughter will love you! I'll be her Mama and you'll be her Mummy," the radiant smile Madoka gave her was enough to reassure Homura – albeit only temporarily.

"Mummy?" she questioned, pushing her worries aside. Madoka struggled to raise herself up, huffing when Homura easily helped her into a sitting position.

"She could call you okaa-san, or okaa-chan, if you prefer. Then again, since I'm the one carrying the child, that means that technically you are the father," Madoka giggled at that thought.

A wry smile tugged at Homura's lips. "My parents were more traditional than Junko-san, but I think ... I like 'Papa,'" she decided. Pulling up courage, she slipped off the bed and knelt before Madoka. "Ah, well, I am your Papa, Mae," Homura told her wife's bulge, trying not to feel foolish.

"And your Papa loves you very much," Madoka added.

They were silent for a while, each lost in thought. Suddenly, however, Homura remembered that it was well past dinner time. "Oh! Madoka, are you hungry? We completely forgot about dinner," she fretted, picking up her discarded clothes. Before she could redress herself, however, Madoka tugged the shirt from her grasp. She licked her lips.

"Yes, but not for food." Homura rolled her eyes and walked to the closet.

"Madoka, you need to eat first. It is for your own good," she said as she pulled out a shirt and bra. She did not notice Madoka get up and walk towards her until the pinkette's strong arms spun Homura around and pushed her against the wall. The shorter woman's belly pressed against her as she pulled Homura into a passionate kiss. Breathless, Homura let Madoka take off her shirt.

"Oh, alright ... One more time can't hurt …"

Even though they have both suffered tremendously, Madoka and Homura have not given up on life and happiness.

Together.

A/N: I went back and revised Together before I uploaded it on Archive of Our Own, so then I figured I should fix the FF version, too. After some delibration, I've decided that this will remain a one-shot, since I've pretty much figured out the metascience/metaphysics thing. Please review! ~Teddy [9-09-2013].