Chapter Text
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She couldn’t blame him. Not really.
The reef had not known stillness since Toruk Makto arrived with his family in tow. Outsiders with grief in their eyes, hunted by a demon wearing the skin of Sky People, dragging the shadow of war behind them like a stormfront. Ronal had felt it in the currents before the first ilu scattered—something vast and wrong, pressing against the ocean.
So they had been busy. Both of them.
Olo’eyktan and Tsahik. Leaders. Anchors.
And she had been pregnant.
When the Sullys first came, it had been new. A quiet, secret warmth beneath her ribs, her body only just beginning to shift. Tonowari had still noticed then. His hands had lingered, warm and reverent, palms spread over her stomach like he was listening for something only he could hear. He’d smiled at her with that soft, private look, the one meant only for her.
They had decided together. Another child. Because they missed it.
Because he missed it.
He had loved watching her body change before—how she grew heavier and stronger all at once, how life shaped her from the inside out. They had been excited. Grateful they could do it again.
And then time had slipped.
Meetings bled into training. Training into negotiations. Nights ended with exhaustion instead of laughter. Tonowari’s attention fractured in a hundred directions—the clan, the outsiders, the looming threat. Ronal told herself it was fine. She told herself she didn’t need more.
Months passed anyway.
Too many.
She felt it most in the mornings. Their hammock still swayed gently with the tide, but they no longer lingered there together. No basking in the soft reef-light. No quiet hands tracing the curve of her belly, no patient listening for kicks. They barely cuddled. Barely touched.
They hadn’t been intimate in months.
That part wasn’t even the worst of it. She understood exhaustion. She understood duty. What hurt was the absence—the way he no longer noticed. How he could rest a hand on her hip without realizing how much she’d grown. How he could miss nearly half her pregnancy without meaning to.
She missed him.
Ronal, Tsahik of the Metkayina, healer and matriarch, had led councils while her back ached and her feet swelled. She had guided spirits while hormones twisted her emotions into sharp, fragile things. She was always thinking. Always deciding.
She was so tired of thinking.
That was how she ended up alone with him in their marui, the children gone, the reef quiet for once. The silence pressed close, heavy and intimate. There were a hundred things she could have said—reasonable things, measured things.
She said none of them.
“I miss you...”
The words came out small. Broken at the edges. As if they’d scraped her throat on the way out.
Tonowari froze.
Oh...
It was subtle, the way the weight shifted in him, like a wave pulling back too far before it crashed. He looked at her then—really looked—and the truth hit him all at once. The roundness of her belly. The tension in her shoulders. The way her hands hovered uncertainly, like she didn’t know where to put them anymore.
Eywa.
Months.
He crossed the space between them in two steps and then stopped, like he was afraid of moving too fast, afraid of breaking something already cracked. His hands came up slowly, cupping her arms, thumbs brushing gentle circles into her skin.
“I—” His voice failed him. He swallowed hard. “Ronal. I didn’t… I didn’t see.”
That was the worst part. Not that he hadn’t cared—but that he hadn’t seen.
Her composure shattered. Tears welled despite her best efforts, slipping free and trailing down her cheeks. She hated how relieved she felt when his expression crumpled in response.
Tonowari gathered her up then, no hesitation left. He pulled her against his chest, careful of her belly, arms firm and sure around her back. Ronal melted into him with a quiet, broken sound, fingers fisting into his vest like she might drift away if she let go.
“I’m here,” he murmured, voice rough. “I’m here. I’m so sorry.”
She didn’t answer. She just breathed him in—salt and sun and home—and let herself be held. Let herself stop being Tsahik for a moment. Let herself be someone who didn’t have to be strong.
Tonowari’s hand slid to her belly, warm and familiar, and this time he stayed. He bowed his head, resting his forehead against hers, eyes closed like a prayer.
“I missed so much,” he whispered, more to himself than to her. “I missed you.”
Ronal’s shoulders shook as she cried quietly into his chest, but there was comfort there now, cushioning the hurt. His grip never loosened. If anything, it tightened, grounding them both.
He pressed a kiss to her temple. Then another, softer, lingering. His thumb brushed away her tears with aching care.
“You don’t have to think right now,” he said gently. “I will. Let me.”
For the first time in months, she believed him.
They stayed like that, tangled together in the quiet marui, the reef humming softly around them. Tonowari didn’t rush. He didn’t pull away. He just held her—hug after hug, breath after breath—until the ache eased and the missing didn’t feel so sharp.
And for the first time in a long while, Ronal rested.
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