Chapter Text
“That's it.”
The words cut through the air with resolution, determination. Done.
From the coffee table in front, both his husband and sidekick looked up to Ballister, who was currently sunk into the couch with a very set scowl, pregnant belly pinning him down. His feet had been resting over that same coffee table where Ambrosius and Nimona were coloring and drawing, respectively.
“We're not even fighting, Balli…” his husband said. He’d been helping Nimona color her drawings, painting right inside the uneven, wild red lines.
Ballister tsked, “Not that, this!”
He jabbed a finger at his own belly, scowling. A small wave answered at his poking, and he glared at Baby, turning his hand into a fist.
"What did Baby do now..." Ambrosius muttered, bringing his face closer to the drawing and squinting most likely to color the details. "...aside from not being born."
"And making you walk funny," Nimona said too, going back to draw.
"And causing pain all over," Ambrosius continued.
"And not letting you sleep."
"And..." Ambrosius tilted his head. "Is this an eye or a tear?" he asked Nimona, who shrugged. "I'll say it's a tear, from the stabbing." Ambrosius turned to Ballister, "And leaving you tired?"
Ballister's throat had tightened a little bit more with each mention of everything that had been driving him insane these weeks.
“I'm so fucking done, Ambrosius, I want him out now," Ballister complained, in an almost shaky voice. He covered his face with his left hand, tightly closing his eyes– no, he couldn't cry again. He already ugly cried earlier with a commercial on refrigerators, twice in the morning was just too much for him.
He took a few deep breaths to calm himself, not quite filling his lungs. And as if to twist the knife a little deeper, Baby did what felt like a full turnaround in his belly– sharp enough to make Ballister wince.
Nimona spoke in a softer tone, “Took you long enough to snap, boss. I thought you would’ve, like, a week ago.”
Because a week ago was the due date. And oh surprise, no baby!
He sniffled and lowered his hand again, as Ambrosius gently nudged his foot with a hand. He cradled it by the back next, and gave a few rubs.
"Balli, I know you're going through something very tiring right now..." he began. "But the color I need is under your instep, so–"
"Is it," Ballister muttered, not even checking if his foot was withing vision range, too tired of everything right now.
Ambrosius nodded and carefully moved Ballister's foot about three centimeters to the side.
"That's all, love. Go back to your brooding."
Oh, he would.
Ballister was fed up. Tired, achy, swollen in all the uncomfortable places, he couldn't sleep more than a couple of hours each night now, not even with Nimona’s help to get comfortable, and he wasn't sure he'd taken a good, deep breath in weeks.
It was as if Baby was pressing everywhere, all the time, and even with that found it in himself to twist and do damn somersaults inside. Ballister had found it cute at the time, maybe until a few days before they thought Baby would arrive. But now they pissed him off, each kick to his ribs and his bladder– all his organs within range.
He couldn't take it anymore.
“Ambrosius!” he snapped, hand turned into a fist again.
His husband straightened immediately, not unlike a proper knight answering their Captain's call.
“Yes!”
“Look up how to induce labor at home,” he all but ordered.
Ambrosius nodded and dropped the sky blue pencil he'd been using to bring out his phone. He diligently started typing, as if a man on a mission.
“Nimona!”
“Hi, boss.”
“Shut up,” he muttered, low and dangerous. Then, a little louder, “Help me up.” And after a few seconds of thought, “Please.”
After Ballister lowered his feet from the coffee table, Nimona helped him up, slow and careful. Being teenage and short (but still incredibly strong), her small hands braced firmly under Ballister's arm as he rose from his seat, belly first and with effort.
“It'd be easier if you turned into something bigger,” he muttered, out of breath.
“Maybe,” she said with a shrug.
Both knew that Nimona didn't shift based on what other people thought made sense. But once he was firmly planted on his feet, Ballister just stood there, hand at his lower back.
“...Well?” Nimona asked.
Ballister groaned as he leaned back, stretching. “Nothing, my lower back was killing me.” Then he turned to Ambrosius, in a better mood. “Found anything?”
“First option calls for exercise… running, curb-walking… ooh, a yoga ball.”
“Great, that’s what we’ll do,” Ballister said with finality, giving a few steps just to shift his weight. “Running, not the yoga ball.”
“Oh, but I wanted the yoga ball… imagine throwing it at each other," Ambrosius said with a tempting smile, from his place at the coffee table.
Nimona, of course, immediately agreed. “Yeah! Boss, let’s get the y–”
“No, we’ll use it like two days and then leave it abandoned somewhere around the apartment,” he cut. Then he muttered, “Also you won’t throw it at me and that’s just unfair. Running it is."
“Boss, no offense, but…” Nimona said, and he gave her a tired glance. “Look how you’re waddling there.”
Ballister stopped his few steps, frowning.
“I’m walking,” he refuted.
It was like a duck overfed in bread, but still walking.
“Yeah, that’s you walking! How are you going to run?”
Ballister stared a little longer, and then sighed – it was solemn, dramatic, as he stared out at the far horizon through their apartment balcony's window.
“I don’t know.”
---
So, they tried running.
Now they were in a sports field, behind a park. There were some families, groups of teenagers and such going on about their own business.
As they had first arrived, a few had approached to seek photos, mostly from Ambrosius and Nimona. And the people that asked Ballister, he had to decline. He was feeling a little self-conscious in the jog pants that he'd always used –the waistband sat awkwardly right under his belly– and the newer, oversized shirt that seemed a little too loose everywhere except his bump.
These days, a simple and polite I don't want to did the trick, unlike years ago where he had to try and find a way to say that exact same thing, without really saying it.
After a while, people left them to their own business, but Ballister still felt a little too exposed.
Just to get him out, he told himself. Then wondered if maybe he should've agreed to the yoga ball, even if he wouldn't have been able to join in on the fun of knocking each other out of their feet with it.
Both Nimona and Ambrosius were wearing sporty gear too, and they stood flanking Ballister as he got himself ready on a running start position – or as much as he could. No way he was dropping to his knees, so he just lowered himself a little bit with his arms in position.
“Okay… go!” Ambrosius called, pointing forward.
So, Ballister ran as fast as he could… and somehow it was the slowest he'd ever run.
His waddling stayed intact, and he swayed more than he should while he advanced a few feet from his starting point.
“Oh this is just sad,” he heard Nimona murmur. “No wait– it's funny too. Hehe, look at the swaying. You can do it boss!”
The cheering lasted about two seconds before Ballister stopped and hunched forward with his hands on his knees, absolutely winded.
“Oh, fuck,” he wheezed.
“But Balli,” called Ambrosius from behind, with a hint of amusement in his voice that got quickly overshadowed by earnestness. “You're running in slow motion! Try going faster.”
Ballister didn't turn, still trying to catch his breath, but he got mad, with good reason in his own opinion. Too bad Ambrosius couldn't see his frown from his position.
“You should try running with a fucking watermelon right in front, you b– it's hard!”
“You're right, you're right, it must be–”
"It is."
“That was really insensitive, Goldie,” Nimona said, most likely to throw wood at the fire rather than to defend Ballister.
“Yeah, I know, sorry– I'm sorry, Balli,” Ambrosius called from a few feet behind him.
Ballister huffed, “It's okay. But mention something like that again and you're sleeping on the rug.”
---
To make it easier –or maybe just to show off how non-pregnant the other two were–, all three of them ran. Ambrosius and Nimona cheered as they jogged beside Ballister, encouraging him to keep going.
Which one of them said the silliest stuff, Ballister wasn't sure.
“Go, Balli, go, get him out, out, out!” Ambrosius sang for no reason, raising a fist, shifting his tone from low to high-pitched with no pattern to it.
“Evict him, evict him, evict him!” Nimona sang to Ambrosius' melody.
(Oh, look at them; with their nimble, baby-less bodies, running and chanting and not trying to will a whole tiny human out...)
As Ballister ran, what he wondered the most was if he looked too ridiculous or not, running slowly with a huge belly in front.
Most likely answer was that he did.
And knowing people, even if they were left alone after the initial approaches, Ballister wouldn’t be surprised if videos of him running in slow motion were already circulating online.
(He realized that he couldn't give less of a shit right now; at least Baby would have a well-documented journey into the world.)
Ballister needed several breaks while running from one end of the park to the other. He leaned his hands on his knees more than he ever had in his whole life training to be a knight. He'd never gotten this tired; huffing like he'd run a full marathon rather than a few meters.
He breathed in deeply before turning to look at Ambrosius by his side, who was standing close and rubbing some circles on Ballister's lower back, where –for fuck's sake– it ached.
“How long have we been running?”
Ambrosius' checked his smart watch, “Um, like five… nope, six minutes now.”
Ballister blinked.
This wouldn't work. Mostly because Ballister was already exhausted, and they had barely begun... Baby better get out from this, because he was seriously considering quitting.
They ran a bit more (about two minutes), and Ballister ended up with his hair clinging to his temples with sweat, breathless. Finally, he just asked for a proper break.
---
They had taken seats at a park bench, with Ballister downing a bottle of water like he hadn't hydrated in years.
“Are we going back to run lat–?” Nimona started.
“No,” Ballister cut her off, lowering the bottle. “That's enough running for today.”
“We could try another exercise,” Ambrosius suggested. His hand gently rubbed Ballister's thigh. “They said curb walking helps a lot with opening your pelvis.”
“Please don't mention my pelvis when we're in public,” Ballister muttered, patting Ambrosius' hand back. He sighed. “Let's do it, then. Anything to... evict him, was it."
---
So, curb walking.
It really was slow and tiring, and Ballister spent a few minutes more at it before he complained about other options.
Squats, suggested Ambrosius.
They squatted together, holding hands no less.
Ambrosius counted one, two, three… and Ballister just stared at him easily squatting, before he himself lowered into position, slow and careful of not losing his balance as he started descending, with Ambrosius' hands firmly holding his, as if afraid that Ballister might topple over.
(Honestly, Ballister feared the same.)
Alright, so far so good. This certainly made it feel like Baby was about to pop out, with the pressure on his groin.
But when Ambrosius pulled himself up, Ballister was unable to follow.
“Help–” he squeaked, holding Ambrosius' hands a little tighter.
“Balli, c'mon, you can do it!” Ambrosius cheered, like an overly optimistic coach encouraging a particularly unathletic person.
Unfortunately, it worked. “Yeah, you're right, I can!”
He tried. He put his all into it… and he toppled backwards.
Ambrosius' hands quickly pulled him forward, and his hands left Ballister in about a millisecond to catch him properly, firmly holding him.
There, with his face pressed against his husband's shoulder and his arms hugging against his waist (oh, how Ballister missed having a grabbable waist–), Ballister just stayed still for a moment.
His heart thumped against his chest, fast from either the sudden scare or the abrupt movement.
He let out a sigh.
"Let's just go home."
---
Later that evening, where they were all piled on the couch and each doing their own thing; Ballister dozing off on Nimona –a bear right now–, as she watched cartoons and hugged Ballister like he was her own personal plushie.
And there was also Ambrosius watching videos on his phone, in a reasonable volume. He let out a soft giggle, and started typing, with that small click accompanying each letter.
"Oh, he's so cute..." he muttered as he wrote. "I love him. Hearts, hearts..."
Ballister opened his eyes in suspicion, sleepiness gone for a second.
"Who's cute?"
And why so many hearts?
Ambrosius threw him a smile before showing his screen, where an overly pink and sparkly fan edit of Ballister played. It was the sort of editing where you'd put the most flattering pictures of your favorite characters, not... a random knight struggling with running while very pregnant.
"Oh, Ambrosius. Report that thing."
"No way, it's going on my Ballister and Baby folder," Ambrosius said, fondly.
Ballister rolled his eyes and let them drift shut again.
Whatever.