A Morning Lie-In
A SPIT Ficlet by SkyFire

Rating: PG-13ish
Category: AU
Warnings: Sympathising with poultry?
Summary: Blue makes a shocking discovery; Wess is in trouble!

Wess finished tying his belt, then went back over to the bed where Monshikka lay, white body half-covered by the mussed blankets and face still pressed into the pillow as he tried to deny the morning's untimely arrival. Never let it be said that the Kiriannan was a morning person.

He brushed aside a snowy lock of hair, pressed a kiss onto a newly-revealed cheekbone. “Are you going to join us for breakfast this morning, love?” he said softly.

Monshikka shifted in bed until he lay curled up on his side facing his husband. Pink eyes blinked groggily. “No,” he said. “I think I'll stay here a bit longer.”

Wess frowned. “Is something the matter?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed, running a loving hand down the other's back. “I know you're not the morning type, but you do usually get up....”

The albino somehow managed to give the impression of arching, almost catlike, into the caressing hand even as he melted further into the bed. “Mmmm,” he said. “Just feeling a little off this morning.”

“Are you sure? It's not like you to be 'off',” Wess said in concern. “Do you want me to get a Healer?”

A delicate snort. “No. I'll laze a little then soak for a while and I'll be good as new.”

“If you're sure,” the dragonhawk said, voice unable to conceal the lingering concern.

“I'm sure.”

“All right, then. But if you don't show up at lunch, I'm coming looking for you.”

A sleepy smile. “I'll be looking forward to it.”

“To check on you! Not--!” A pause. They might not exactly be newlyweds anymore, but sometimes – “Well, maybe just a little....”

“Love you, too. Now get going before Arrowsmith eats your share of breakfast.”

Another brief kiss, this time pressed to pale lips, then Wess was gone.

***---***

An hour later, Monshikka sighed in resignation and pushed back the blankets. He'd tried, but found regaining sleep impossible. Between the sun's light and the slight cramping in his stomach, it was an attempt doomed to failure. He sat up, hands rising to rub at scratchy eyes, then stood. He winced slightly as the change in position did nothing to ease the cramping. He rubbed at his flat belly, but it didn't seem to help.

What was wrong with him? Like Wesselik had said, it was unlike him to be 'off' in any manner, and yet there he was. Had he eaten something he shouldn't the night before? But Wess had eaten the same food he had – off each others' plates, no less! -- so wouldn't he be affected as well if that were the case...? Then again, he was a dragonhawk, supposedly complete with their reputed iron stomach...

A sigh, then he pushed the thought away, straightened, pulling himself into his typical regal posture.

Ouch. Bad idea.

He slumped slightly as the cramping seemed to worsen with the straighter posture, sighing in relief as it eased.

'Maybe I'll take that bath now.'

Grabbing up a robe from the chest at the foot of the bed, he wrapped it around himself before making his way through the suite to his bathing room. A few minutes to relieve morning necessities, then he was sinking into blissfully hot water, robe discarded once more, soothing incense curling up into the air from its little brazier.

It was one thing that the entire Court had agreed on; as soon as they had returned from Palaklais, Blackbird had changed the Palace to now include running water, as well as having the Court's private baths perpetually filled by piped-in hotspring.

Monshikka supposed they had all gotten a little spoiled by the bathhouse back in the cabin; none had really appreciated having to call down to the kitchens for hot water whenever they had the urge to bathe.

He settled onto one of the submerged seats, the water bubbling warmly at his shoulders, head back and cradled on a small pillow at the side, his long hair floating as it would around him. He breathed deep of the spring-and-incense-scented air and tried to relax. It seemed to be working; he could feel his muscles relaxing, even as he started to drift off into a light doze.

***---***

It was midmorning. Blue walked down the long hallway on the way to the rooms he shared with Misty for one of his periodic naps. There was no hiding his expectant condition from anyone now; his belly round and pronounced. The weight of his foal was not something his current form had been made to support; he ached constantly and the foal seemed to soak up whatever energy he had, leaving him perpetually tired and irritable. It had been quite a while since he had seen his feet, let alone anything else below the belly. Ah, well. It wouldn't be like that for much longer. And even if he hadn't discovered how to shift shape by then, the Healers had assured him that the foal could be delivered, though it would involve cutting him open.

He shivered at the thought. He'd better learn to shift soon!

The foal shifted slightly and he smiled softly, even as his hands did their best to help his back support the weight in front of him. Even though he seemed to get bigger and bigger every day, Misty still kept telling him he was beautiful. Sometimes he wondered if his beautiful Assassin hadn't received a knock upside the head he hadn't told anyone about.

The pregnant guedelph stopped suddenly, looked around for the sound that had alerted him; a thing more sensed than heard... but he knew to trust his instincts, especially now. The gut feelings of an expectant guedelph were not a thing to be brushed aside.

Odd; he was near Monshikka's suite. What could he be--

There it was again.

He went over to the door, opened it. “Monshikka?” he called as he went in. He looked around. It was a sitting room much like the one in Misty's suite only decorated in shades of blinding white. Bits of greenery here and there broke up the starkness, but there was no way it could be mistaken as belonging to someone other than the Ice Prince. Though once he took the time to really look at it, he found bits and pieces of color scattered here and there; Wesselik's touches, no doubt. “Are you here?” he asked, moving deeper into the suite, letting motherly instincts guide him.

Odd; he'd lost his mother when he was only days old and hadn't had a similar figure in his life since, yet he still had those same instincts she must have had. The ones that told him something was in need of help. The ones that insisted that he provide it....

Before long, he ended up in the Kiriannan's bathing room. Drew in a harsh breath at the sight that greeted him. He rushed over to the bath as quickly as he could; even he could tell that the albino was not well. “Monshikka? What's wrong?”

Monshikka, for his part, was still in the bath, though now he was curled up tightly, arms wrapped firmly around his middle, a sheen of sweat on his exposed skin, and his hair a sweaty, tangled mess. It took him a long moment to realize he was no longer alone. When he did, he started in surprise, then turned pained, glazed eyes toward his guest. “B-Blue?” he croaked.

“Yes,” the bard said. He reached out, brushed a strand of damp platinum out of Monshikka's face, then let his hand be taken by the man. “What's wrong?” he asked again. “Do you want me to get someone? Wess? A Healer?”

“Don't leave me,” the prince demanded desperately, tightening his grip on the small hand. “Don't leave me here!”

The guedelph winced as his hand was squeezed. “Shh. Shh. I'll stay. Now tell me--”

“I don't know what's wrong with me!” came the hushed, hoarse reply. “I woke up sore. I thought a bath would... but it's not. It hurts!”

“Shh,” Blue soothed. “What hurts?”

“My--” The words cut off as a startled, then horrified look crossed his face. “No.” He looked down into the water, glaring weakly. Then he spoke through gritted teeth at his submerged parts. “You are not doing this to me! Do you hear me? Not!”

“Monshikka--?”

“Oooowwwwww!”

“What's happeni--? OW!” He broke off with a cry of pain of his own as Monshikka's grip tightened suddenly. He tried, but couldn't pry white fingers from their death-grip. “Let go!”

“I am not soiling myself. I am not. This is not happening to-- Whaa?!”

Blue looked up from his now-blue fingers at the sudden exclammation to see Monshikka staring in shock at the water. No, not the water. The thing that was now bobbing in the water. White, a slightly oblong sphere.

“Monshikka, did you just lay an egg?!”

Monshikka said nothing, still staring in shock, pink eyes wide. Then he winced, his grip tightening again. “Oohhhh!” he groaned. “Not happening. Not. Not. Oww! Not again--!”

***---***

The six other members of the Court currently at the Palace looked up as the dining hall door burst open abruptly, spitting a disheveled Blue into the room.

Misty was up and across the room to his love before anyone else had quite registered the fact that not only was Blue looking more mussed than they were used to seeing him, one hand was also wrapped up with splints and bandages. “What happened? Who did this to you?!” the Assassin hissed as he cooed over the hurt appendage, leading the guedelph to his place at the table.

Blue didn't answer, allowing himself to be led to the table, letting Misty fuss over him. He turned vibrant blue eyes to Wess. “I think you're in trouble,” was all he said.

Misty frowned. “Wess? Was it Wess? But he was with us--”

Once again the door burst open, this time revealing Monshikka. He was dressed in old, comfortable leggings and a loose shirt, his hair pulled back into a simple tail. His face was rather haggard, pale even for him though there was a faint angry flush at his cheeks and his eyes blazed. Clutched in both hands was the handle of a basket. His gaze zeroed in on his husband. “YOU!”

Eyes wide, Wess felt like slinking under the table. Or running. Those dust storms Monshikka had mentioned not long before their wedding were sounding pretty good. “What did I do?” he asked weakly. In an effort to change the subject, he asked: “Are you feeling better now?”

Monshikka stalked – graceful stride hampered by a bit of a limp – across the space between them and set the basket down on the table in front of his lover, very gently. “I just spent this morning in hell, so you will. Explain. This. To. Me.” A small pause. “NOW!”

Wesselik gulped, looked to the basket. It looked innocent enough; just a basket like any number of servants used to pick vegetables, carry laundry, do any myriad chores. He knew that couldn't be it. Looking in, he saw a pile of what looked like Monshikka's blanket. What, had he drooled on it the night before? He reached out a cautious hand, mindful of the fuming Kiriannan, and lifted a corner of the blanket. Stared. Looked to Monshikka. “What the hell is that?” he croaked, paling.

The white man growled, flicking the blanket back to show the others – crowded around the two in curiosity, yet trying to act as if they weren't – the basket's contents. Lying there on the sheet over an equally-wrapped bladder of hot water, lay sixteen long, gleaming white eggs, each nearly the size of a fist. “That's what I'm asking you,” he said, anger radiating off him in a nearly-visible corona. “And why the hell did they come out of me?!”

Wess gulped. Well, it was a good life while it lasted....