Chapter Text
The air in Bunker 9 smelled of gasoline, sawdust, and the distinct, sharp tang of WD-40. For most people, it would have been overwhelming, maybe even nauseating. For Leo Valdez, it was the smell of progress.
Usually.
But for the last three weeks, the smell of the oil had been turning his stomach. He’d chalked it up to a flare-up. His Fibromyalgia had been acting up something fierce lately, a constant, dull thrum of electricity under his skin, making his joints ache and his muscles feel like they’d been put through a trash compactor.
He sat on a rolling stool in front of his latest project—a skeletal frame for an automatic strawberry harvester for the Dionysus cabin—and wiped his forehead with the back of his glove. He was tired. Not the usual ‘I stayed up for forty-eight hours building a helicopter’ tired. This was a bone-deep exhaustion that sleep didn't seem to fix.
"Hey, Valdez!"
Leo jumped, his wrench slipping and clattering onto the concrete floor. He flinched at the loud noise, his hands shaking slightly.
He looked up to see Jason Grace walking through the heavy metal doors, shaking the rain off his bomber jacket. Jason looked good—tired, yes, they all were, but solid. Grounding. His blond hair was damp, and he held two brown paper bags from a deli in New York.
"Delivery for the Supreme Commander of the Garage," Jason announced with a grin that faltered slightly when he saw Leo’s face. "Whoa. You look pale. Are you okay?"
Leo swallowed hard, his heart hammering against his ribs in a rhythm that felt all wrong. "Yeah. Just... long day. The gears on the harvester are fighting me."
Jason set the food down on a relatively clean workbench and walked over. He didn’t touch Leo immediately—he knew Leo’s boundaries when it came to pain, knowing that sometimes a sudden touch could send a shockwave of Fibromyalgic agony through his system. Instead, he stopped a few feet away, his blue eyes scanning Leo critically.
"You’re rubbing your wrist," Jason noted gently.
Leo looked down. His thumb was pressing rhythmically into the inside of his left wrist, a nervous tic he’d developed to ground himself when the static in his head got too loud. He forced his hand to stop. "Just a tic."
"Leo." Jason’s voice dropped, serious now. "Did you take your meds? Did you eat?"
"Took the ibuprofen an hour ago. Didn't help much." Leo sighed, spinning the stool around to face Jason fully. He looked up at his husband—his *giant* of a husband—and felt a sudden, overwhelming wave of guilt.
They had talked about this. They had sat on the roof of the Zeus cabin six months ago and made the decision. Leo had gone off his testosterone blockers—well, his birth control—because the hormones were messing with his system, exacerbating his pain, and making him feel like his body was a stranger. They wanted a family. They wanted *this*.
But wanting it and dealing with the reality of it were two very different things. Leo was trans. He had spent years fighting to make the world see him as a man. The idea that his body was currently doing something biologically, fundamentally 'female'—growing a life—was terrifying him. He felt like a fraud, like his biology was betraying his identity.
But there was something else, too. The nausea. The fatigue. The way his jeans were feeling tight around the hips.
"Jason," Leo said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I... I need to tell you something. And you have to promise not to freak out. And don't give me that worried face, you know I can't handle the worried face."
Jason’s brow furrowed, but he knelt down on one knee so they were eye level. "I promise. Leo, you’re scaring me. Did something happen? Did the legion—"
"No, no. Not the legion." Leo took a shaky breath. He reached into the pocket of his jumpsuit and pulled out a small, white plastic stick. He hadn't looked at it in ten minutes. He couldn't.
He held it out, his hand trembling.
Jason stared at the stick. He blinked. He looked at the stick, then at Leo’s stomach, then back at Leo’s face.
"Pink," Jason said, his voice hoarse.
"Yeah," Leo squeaked. "Two lines. Pink."
Jason stared for another ten seconds. He didn't move. He didn't breathe. Then, slowly, his eyes widened until they looked like they might pop out of his head. "You... you mean..."
"That makes six months of trying officially successful," Leo said, his voice cracking. "Congratulations, Daddy. You’re gonna be a father."
Jason let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob. He surged forward, wrapping his arms around Leo and burying his face in Leo’s neck. He held on tight, careful not to squeeze too hard, mindful of the pain, but desperate for the contact.
"Leo," Jason choked out. "Oh my gods. Leo. We’re... we’re having a baby?"
Leo let out a breath he felt like he’d been holding for a month. He wrapped his arms around Jason’s shoulders, burying his face in the damp jacket. "Yeah, Sparky. We’re having a baby."
Jason pulled back, his hands coming up to cup Leo’s face. He looked at Leo with such awe, such unadulterated love, that Leo felt the fear in his chest recede, just a little.
"How are you feeling?" Jason asked, his eyes scanning Leo’s face again, looking for the answers he hadn’t given earlier. "Is that why you’ve been sick? The oil smell?"
"The oil smell makes me want to die," Leo admitted with a weak smile. "And the ibuprofen isn't cutting it because I can't take the good stuff anymore. Not while..." He gestured vaguely to his stomach.
Jason’s face fell, his expression shifting instantly from joy to protective concern. "The pain?"
"It sucks," Leo said frankly. "My joints are on fire. I’m exhausted. I feel like I’m eighty years old."
"Can Will know?" Jason asked immediately. "Maybe he can—"
"No!" Leo said sharply, pulling back slightly.
Jason blinked, surprised. "Leo, Will is a doctor. He can help with the pain. He won't judge. He knows about..."
"I know he knows," Leo interrupted, running a hand through his curly hair. "It’s not that. It’s... Jason, think about it." Leo stood up, pacing the small space between the workbenches, agitated energy spilling out of him. "If we tell people, it becomes a Thing. With a capital T. Chiron will want to do weekly checkups. Piper will want to throw a baby shower. Aphrodite cabin will start knitting things."
Jason chuckled softly. "That doesn't sound so bad."
"It’s not the knitting, Jay!" Leo stopped and turned to him. "It’s the *looks*. The pity. The confusion. People look at me and see a guy. If I start showing, if I start... *gestating*... they’re going to see a girl playing pretend. Or they’re going to see a freak."
Leo’s voice cracked. "I just... I fought hard to be Leo. I don't want to be 'The Pregnant Guy' for the next nine months. I don't want to be a spectacle. I want to be *us*."
Jason stood up slowly. He walked over to Leo and put his hands on Leo’s shoulders, grounding him. "Okay," he said softly. "Okay. I hear you."
"I don't want anyone to know," Leo said, looking Jason dead in the eye. "Not Will. Not Piper. Nobody. Not until... until we have to. Until it’s unavoidable."
Jason looked torn. He was a praetor; he was used to carrying burdens, but he was also used to sharing them. He hated seeing Leo in pain, and the idea of hiding a high-risk pregnancy from the best healers in the world made his stomach twist. But looking at Leo—seeing the genuine fear in his brown eyes—Jason knew this wasn't a request. It was a boundary.
"Just us," Jason agreed. "The Seven... the others... they don't need to know yet."
"We can tell them when the baby is here," Leo said, slumping slightly in relief. "Or when I’m too fat to hide it under a tool belt. Whichever comes first."
Jason smiled, leaning his forehead against Leo’s. "We can do this. I’ll help you hide it. I’ll cover for you when you’re sick. I’ll... I’ll rub your back when the pain gets bad. I’ll read the baby books."
"You hate reading baby books," Leo laughed weakly.
"I’ll listen to the audiobooks," Jason corrected. "I’ll do whatever you need. We’re in this together."
Leo let out a long breath, finally letting himself believe it. He looked down at his stomach, still flat, still hidden beneath the baggy fabric of his jumpsuit. It felt impossible. It felt terrifying. But looking at Jason, it felt a little bit like a miracle, too.
"Two lines, huh?" Jason murmured, his hand sliding down to rest gently on Leo’s abdomen.
"Two lines," Leo whispered, covering Jason’s hand with his own. "We’re really doing this."
"Yeah," Jason grinned, kissing him. "We really are."
"Now," Leo pulled away, wiping his eyes and sniffing loudly. "If you got pastrami sandwiches, you better hand one over before I start crying again. The hormones are already making me emotional, and I’m starving."
Jason laughed, grabbing the bag. "Here. But we’re hiding the pickles. I don't want to know what that craving is going to look like."
"Shut up, Grace," Leo said, taking a massive bite of the sandwich. "I'm eating for two now. Respect the appetite."
"Happy six months, Leo," Jason said softly, watching him eat with a look of utter contentment.
"Happy six months, Jason," Leo replied, mouth full. "To the secret club."
"To the secret club."
They ate their dinner on the floor of Bunker 9, surrounded by metal scraps and blueprints, just two demigods and a secret that was growing, cell by microscopic cell, in the quiet dark.