Chapter Text
Elliot woke up slowly—like someone had turned the world’s brightness down to a soft glow just for him. Four months in, the worst of the morning sickness had finally passed, but he still felt heavier, sleepier. His body moved a bit slower now, and the blankets felt twice as comfortable as before.
But what really pulled him from sleep wasn’t the morning light.
It was warmth.
A familiar scent.
A breath against his cheek.
Then—soft, careful kisses.
First on his jaw.
Then on his cheek.
Then one right between his eyebrows, where Mafioso always kissed him when he wanted Elliot awake but not startled.
And then—
Tiny, barely-there nuzzles against his stomach.
Mafioso’s long, fluffy bunny ears brushed over Elliot’s shirt, slow and affectionate, as if greeting the baby too.
Elliot made a small sound—something between a sigh and a giggle.
“Maf… that tickles…”
Mafioso didn’t stop. If anything, he doubled down with softer kisses along Elliot’s stomach, his gloved hands bracing either side of Elliot’s waist to keep his touches steady.
“Sorry, amore… wake-up kisses are important.”
Elliot blinked groggily. “For… who?”
“You. And our baby.” Mafioso’s voice was quiet, almost shy. His ears twitched as he rested his forehead lightly against Elliot’s belly. “Four months. The little one deserves a ‘good morning.’”
Elliot’s face reddened instantly.
Before he could bury himself back under the covers, Mafioso gently coaxed him upright, one arm around his back, the other under his elbow. Elliot leaned into him—mostly because he loved him, partly because pregnancy made standing feel like a full-body quest.
“Slow… slow,” Mafioso murmured, helping him sit fully.
“I am slow,” Elliot mumbled sleepily. “Gravity hits different now.”
Mafioso chuckled under his breath. “Then I’ll hold you up.”
And he did.
He helped Elliot slide out of bed, guided him to the mirror, and picked up the brush without needing to be asked. Elliot stood there, eyes half-lidded, leaning back against Mafioso’s chest while gentle strokes smoothed through his hair.
“More tired today?” Mafioso asked.
“Mm-hmm. Baby’s stealing my energy.”
“Our child can have mine,” Mafioso said instantly, ears perking with determination.
Elliot let out a sleepy laugh. “That’s not how that works.”
“Then our child can have Soldier’s. He won’t mind.”
Elliot snorted, which made Mafioso smile triumphantly.
By the time Elliot was dressed—slowly, carefully, with Mafioso helping him pull his shirt over the little bump—they were ready for the appointment.
“Today’s the day,” Mafioso whispered, resting a hand on Elliot’s belly.
“Yeah,” Elliot said softly, excitement fluttering through him. “Today we finally find out.”
The drive to the clinic was… interesting.
Mafioso tried to look calm—hands steady on the wheel, posture straight, breathing controlled.
But his ears?
His ears betrayed him completely.
They twitched every two seconds.
Every. Two. Seconds.
At one point Elliot reached over and gently held one down.
It immediately flicked back up.
“Are you nervous?” Elliot asked, amused.
“No,” Mafioso lied. His tail thumped the seat exactly once. “I am… anticipating.”
Elliot smiled softly. “You’re nervous.”
“…I am anticipating very intensely.”
When they finally checked in and were led into the dim ultrasound room, Mafioso took a seat beside the bed—but only for two seconds before he stood again. Then sat. Then stood. Then hovered.
His ears twitched the entire time.
Elliot lay back, shirt lifted to reveal the soft curve of his bump. The cold gel made him flinch.
Mafioso flinched with him.
Then the wand touched Elliot’s skin, and the screen came alive in blurry, moving grays.
At first—random shapes.
Then—
Movement.
A tiny curl of limbs.
A little flicker of light—
Elliot gasped. “That’s— that’s its heartbeat?”
The doctor smiled. “Exactly.”
Mafioso froze.
His pupils went wide, glossy and huge, like someone had switched his instincts from predator to overwhelmed dad mode.
He grabbed Elliot’s hand with both of his own, clutching it like he was anchoring himself to earth.
Then the image shifted and—
“…Um,” the doctor said.
Mafioso leaned forward slightly, ears stiff and tall.
Elliot blinked. “…Is that—?”
“Yes,” the doctor confirmed. “I believe those are… bunny ears.”
Mafioso made a noise Elliot had never heard before. Something between a gasp, a hiccup, and a tiny squeak. His tail shot straight up behind him like a startled cat.
But the doctor wasn’t done.
“Well,” she said with a warm smile, “I can also confidently tell you… she’s a girl.”
Elliot’s breath caught.
A girl.
Their baby.
His eyes filled instantly, tears slipping down before he could stop them. “She’s… she’s really… she’s—”
Mafioso had no words.
None.
He just leaned forward, forehead nearly touching Elliot’s shoulder, squeezing his hand with both of his. His ears slowly folded down—not in fear, but something warm, gentle, overflowing.
His voice came out low, shaken:
“A… a daughter…”
Elliot laughed through his tears, brushing Mafioso’s cheek. “Yeah… we’re having a daughter.”
Mafioso didn’t move for a long moment. He just breathed, slow and uneven, staring at the tiny ears on the screen—like the universe had just delivered him a perfect miracle wrapped in fuzz.
When the doctor printed out the photos, Mafioso immediately took them like they were crown jewels.
She handed him three.
He asked—politely—for six more “just in case.”
They left with a whole folder of them.
Some to keep.
Some to cry over.
And absolutely some to cause chaos back at the base.
Elliot wiped his eyes as they approached the car.
Mafioso opened the door for him, ears still wobbling from emotional overload.
“We are… showing them these,” he said with heavy seriousness.
Elliot grinned. “Oh, definitely.”
The mafialings were not ready.
Back at the base, the atmosphere was calm.
Peaceful.
Quiet.
Which, of course, meant it was the perfect time to create absolute chaos.
Mafioso placed one—just one—ultrasound photo on a central table in the common room.
Not hidden.
Not tucked away.
Just sitting there.
Like bait.
Like a trap.
Elliot blinked. “Are you… sure this is a good idea?”
Mafioso’s ears tilted back with smug satisfaction. “No.”
Elliot blinked again. “…Maf.”
“They will find it,” Mafioso murmured, tail swaying. “And their reactions will be… educational.”
“Educational?” Elliot raised a brow.
“In assessing their crisis-management skills.”
“…They have none.”
“Exactly.”
He stepped back to admire his own setup like an artist admiring a masterpiece.
The single ultrasound photo—the one showing both the baby and her tiny bunny ears—lay perfectly centered as if framed by destiny.
Mafioso’s smirk softened slightly as he looked at Elliot.
“You ready to go home?”
Elliot nodded, touching his small bump with a warm, tired smile. “Yeah… I kinda wanna nap.”
Mafioso immediately scooped up the remaining folder of ultrasound photos like they were priceless relics, tucked them under his arm, and guided Elliot out with a hand at his lower back.
But before leaving, he gave the photo one last satisfied glance.
His last thought as he closed the door:
They’ll probably find it in ten minutes.
He was wrong.
It only took four.
Back at home, Elliot curled onto the couch, sleep tugging at him. Mafioso covered him with a blanket, kissed his forehead, and settled beside him with a book.
Peace.
Quiet.
No screaming—
…yet.
But at the base?
They had no idea a bomb was waiting on the table.
And Mafioso knew exactly what he’d done.
Soldier and Contractee were in the common room, having what could generously be described as a conversation.
More accurately: Contractee was talking, Soldier was listening without listening.
“Okay but hear me out—what if socks are just foot prisons?” Contractee declared, waving his hands like a philosopher mid-breakdown.
Soldier didn’t look up from polishing his rifle. “Socks are warm.”
“Prisons can be warm too! That doesn’t make it right, Soldier!”
Soldier blinked slowly. “…Huh.”
Contractee was about to go on a full TED Talk when something on the nearby desk caught his eye.
A small glossy rectangle.
A picture.
A picture of something mysterious.
Something round.
Something vaguely alien-shaped.
Contractee stopped mid-sentence.
Squinted.
Leaned in.
Face inches from the photo.
His eyes widened.
His soul left his body.
“—SOLDIER.”
Soldier didn’t even look up. “Hm.”
“SOLDIER.”
“…What.”
“SOLDIER.”
Now he looked.
Right in time for Contractee to inhale—
—and unleash a scream so loud and sharp it bounced off the walls like a ricocheting bullet.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—”
Several things happened at once:
• Soldier flinched just slightly (which for him was basically a jump scare).
• The lights flickered.
• Somewhere down the hall, an alarm that wasn’t even connected to anything went off.
Eunoia, Caporegime, and Consigliere BURST through the door armed to the teeth:
—Caporegime with a pistol in each hand
—Consigliere wielding a clipboard like a weapon of authority
—Eunoia with a taser, calm but READY
“WHO’S DEAD?!” Caporegime barked.
“IS THE BASE BREACHED?!” Consigliere added.
“Identify the threat,” Eunoia requested politely.
Contractee did not point at a person.
He pointed at the desk.
Specifically:
At the ultrasound photo.
Still screaming.
“WHAT IS THAT? WHO DID THIS? WHO PUT—WHO PUT A CREATURE IN ONE OF US?!”
Consigliere froze.
Soldier, finally moving, walked over, picked up the photo, and examined it with all the interest of looking at a piece of toast.
“It is an ultrasound,” he said calmly.
Contractee whipped around. “WHAT’S AN ULTRA-SOUND?!”
Soldier blinked. “…A baby picture.”
Contractee gasped like he had been SHOT.
Contractee gasped like someone had just set off a grenade under his feet.
He staggered back, clutching his chest, eyes bulging, breath hitching in a rapid, dramatic spiral.
“A… a BABY picture…?” he whispered, horrified.
He stared at Soldier.
Then at the photo.
Then at the ceiling as if asking the universe for answers.
Then he froze.
Very, very slowly, he turned…
Head swiveling like a possessed marionette…
And pointed one trembling finger straight at Consigliere.
“You,” he breathed, scandalized.
Consigliere’s eyes went wide. “A—A what?” His voice wobbled, like the floor had just shifted beneath him.
Caporegime smirked, his gaze flicking to Consi with a mischievous glint. “Interesting,” he murmured, clearly enjoying the moment far too much.
“No. No. None of that,” Consigliere sputtered, waving his hands frantically. “Put that face away!”
Contractee, still pointing at the ultrasound photo as if it were a weapon, went full-on detective mode. “It’s one of you! I knew it! It’s you two! Consi got pregnant and you didn’t tell me—”
“What—no—absolutely not—” Consigliere squeaked, flustered beyond belief, cheeks burning bright red.
Caporegime leaned back slightly, smirking even wider. “We could try,” he said casually, clearly loving the chaos he’d stirred.
Consigliere’s red deepened, almost matching the shade of his panic. “Capo! Do not say that in front of—the child—or anyone—”
Contractee, undeterred, jabbed at them both with a dramatic flair. “See??? They did do it!”
Eunoia, calm as ever, tilted her head and analyzed the scene. “Analysis: Consigliere is not pregnant.”
“How do you know?!” Contractee shouted, incredulous, eyes darting back and forth.
“Because that is not how human biology functions,” Eunoia replied, entirely matter-of-fact.
Contractee froze, then flopped dramatically against a nearby chair. “Wh—well—what if I’m pregnant?!”
The room went silent. Even Soldier, usually the calmest of them all, raised a brow.
“You are not,” he said flatly.
“Are you sure?” Contractee pressed, still flailing slightly.
“Yes,” Soldier repeated, unamused.
“But—” Contractee tried again, only to be shut down immediately.
“Yes,” Soldier said once more, final and unyielding.
Contractee deflated for a moment, looking like he’d lost his personal war. Then, as if remembering he was the king of panic, he snapped upright again. “Then who did this?! Who’s the parent?! Which one of you—wait, wait, hold on!”
He snatched the ultrasound photo back from Soldier, holding it up to the light like it contained forbidden lore.
His squint deepened.
His pupils shrank.
“…Are those… ears?” he whispered.
Soldier leaned in again. “Yes.”
“Like… bunny ears?” Contractee croaked.
Soldier blinked. “Also yes.”
A silence fell. Heavy. Electric.
They all stared at the image.
Everyone froze, eyes flicking from one to another, silent panic blooming like wildfire.
Caporegime muttered, “There’s only one person around here with bunny ears.”
Consigliere stiffened. “And he is not here right now.”
Eunoia folded her hands behind her back. “Logical conclusion: the child belongs to Mafioso.”
Contractee’s mouth dropped open like a collapsing bridge.
“OH. MY. GOSH.”
He slapped the photo to his chest dramatically.
“WE’RE GONNA BE UNCLES—AUNTIES—WHATEVER—SOMETHING!”
“…We should go,” Consigliere muttered finally, voice low and still flustered.
“Yeah,” Caporegime agreed, smirk still playing at the corners of his mouth.
“A wise choice,” Eunoia added, nodding once.
Contractee, however, was not done. “I still think Consi’s hiding a bump—”
“CONTRACTEE! I WILL END YOU!” Consigliere shouted, lunging toward him in a mix of panic and horror.
Caporegime only chuckled. Chaos, after all, had officially arrived.
Mafioso sat on the couch, one gloved hand holding the book open while Elliot leaned half-asleep against him, soft snores brushing against the sleeve of his coat. The quiet hum of the apartment was interrupted by a sharp, impatient knock at the door.
Mafioso sighed and rose, brushing a hand along Elliot’s back to wake him gently. “I’ll get it,” he murmured, opening the door.
Contractee practically lunged through the threshold, holding the ultrasound photo like it was evidence of the century. “IT’S YOU!” he shouted, voice bouncing off the walls.
Elliot stirred, blinking sleepily, a small smile tugging at his lips. “No… it’s me,” he said softly, stepping forward to take the photo from Contractee’s frantic grip.
The moment everyone’s eyes landed on the small curve under Elliot’s shirt, reality hit. Contractee’s eyes went wide. His panic detonated like a bomb, every thought tumbling out at once: “WHAT— YOU— BABY— WHEN— HOW— WHO— WHY— AHHHHH—”
Eunoia, ever composed, stepped forward with a small smile. “Congratulations,” she said warmly, the calm in her voice cutting through some of the chaos.
Soldier reached out, resting a firm hand on Elliot’s shoulder. His expression was rare—soft, steady, a smile that made Elliot’s heart squeeze.
Consigliere let out a long, exasperated sigh, relief flooding his features. He didn’t need to say anything; the tension that had been coiled in his chest finally loosened.
Caporegime, however, smirked like he’d just won a game. His eyes flicked to Consigliere. “So… we’re off the hook,” he teased.
Consigliere’s glare could have carved steel. “Capo,” he said, voice low but lethal, “I will end you.”
Contractee, still bouncing from one foot to the other, refused to calm down. But even as he flailed, the others crowded closer, offering congratulations, pats on the back, and soft words. The room became a mix of laughter, sighs, and warm chaos.
Caporegime, ever the planner, was already scheming. “Baby-sized combat training gear?” he suggested casually.
“Mini coat?”
“Or… maybe a weapon?”
The room collectively groaned. “Denied,” everyone chorused, glaring at him. Capo only smirked wider, clearly already imagining the mischief to come.
Meanwhile, Mafioso wrapped an arm around Elliot, pulling him close, letting the warmth of his presence shield them from the storm of excitement and panic in the room. Elliot leaned against him, smiling softly, finally feeling the weight of love and family pressing gently around him.
Chaos, as always, had its place—but right now, it was filled with joy.
Later that evening, Elliot tapped on his phone, bringing up a video call.
“Elli, buddy! Long time! How ya been?” Chance’s face appeared, calm and casual, a cup of something steaming in one hand and his signature shades perched perfectly.
Elliot didn’t say a word. Instead, he slowly lifted the cleaned-up pregnancy test toward the camera, holding it there with a faint, sleepy smile.
Chance’s calm demeanor shattered instantly. His eyes—behind the shades—went wide, jaw dropping as his free hand flew to his head. “Huh? What’s that—WAIT. WAIT. WAIT. WAIT—WHAT?!”
He began flailing, waving his arms as if trying to shake the information out of the screen, voice rising in pitch. “Elli—BUDDY! NO. THIS—HOW?! WHEN?! WHAT—AHHHHH—”
Elliot blinked, amused and exhausted, lowering the test slightly but keeping it visible, his lips twitching with the tiniest smirk.
Chance’s screaming continued off-screen, a perfect blend of panic and excitement, until the call abruptly ended with him still losing it, leaving Elliot and Mafioso chuckling quietly together.
Mafioso’s gloved hand rested over Elliot’s stomach. “Well,” he murmured, voice low and amused, “that went well.”
Elliot snuggled closer, eyes soft. “He’ll need time.”
Mafioso’s ears twitched, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Patience… and maybe a helmet.”
Elliot laughed softly, letting the warmth of Mafioso and the chaos of the day settle around him. For the first time in months, everything felt… right.
