Melly and Tent.

The life of Lucius Finnigan had been a relatively simple one. Complications for him involved his mistress not being diligent at filling his food bowl at the times of day they had agreed. He wished, sometimes, that life had been as kind to him as it had to Millie but there were many occasions over the years when the girl had been reduced to tears and he was, much to his obvious dismay though he would not readily admit it, rather used to the puffed, scarlet face slick with salty tears that was hidden behind a mop of dirty-blonde hair out on the decking. The cat tip-toed beneath the wicker chair and lowered himself against the wood, dropping the bacon momentarily so he could decide from which end he was going to start his assault of the tasty morsel.

Lucius lifted his head at the sound of Millie’s sobs, his eyes falling back to the bacon as the guilt of his pleasure while she was so sad welled up in his stomach. He crept across the deck, prepared to get out from beneath the chair and join her in it to provide some sort of comfort to her. Much to his delight, he didn’t have to. Trent’s appearance before his mistress made Lucius both excited and apprehensive; and he tried to remember where exactly male humans hated to be assaulted, just in case he needed to do so; to protect Millie and her kitten.

Millie froze at the touch of Trent’s hand against her back. She squeezed her eyes together, willing the tears to stop in order to face him, but instead found herself shrinking into the chair, as if it would protect her from him. A breath left her mouth shakily as she lifted her head to meet his gaze. Her hands came to her eyes to wipe the tears away but also to hide herself from him. She rubbed at her eyes, reddening the skin around them with the unnecessary force of her hand.

His voice comforted her somewhat though his words did not resound until a moment later. It was only then that Millie lifted her head and dropped her hands into her lap, her legs coming down to cross over one another in the chair. Her face contorted with incredulity and her lips once again moved wordlessly as she tried to find some way of replying. Millie’s eyes widened with understanding and her lips came together, no longer able to even attempt to find her voice. Her whole being fell silent as she grappled with his words, tried to overcome what he’d said and figure out whether he meant it or not.

Millie brought her hands to Trent’s face, apologising softly for their coldness. She swallowed tightly, buoyancy returning to her mood as she realised what he’d said, what he’d meant. He loved her. A soft smile brought Millie’s lips upwards and she combed her fingers through Trent’s bed-head. Her fingers drifted down from his temples, delicately tracing the bone structure of his face. A breathy laugh escaped Millie’s lips and her eyes flicked up to meet his.

“I’ve always loved you, Trent.” She told him quietly, her lips still curled upwards in a tentative smile. “You just never seemed to see.” Millie ducked her head a little and peaked at him from underneath her damp lashes. “I...I’m sorry for the way things were but I never stopped loving you...I...” Millie trailed off and closed her eyes for a moment before reopening them and lifting her gaze back to his. “I love you too; more than you’ve ever realised.”

The agency that the photograph had induced felt almost surreal. It was only after the words were out that Trent realised he had actually propelled his thoughts into actions. Well, speech, really. Typically, though, his thoughts remained where they arose from. Anything that managed to escape the thought bubble was an achievement worthy of a mention. This time, Trent didn't waste much time dealing with the fact that he had said the all-important, overwhelmingly over-used, yet still the ever so endearing three words that lovers were made to use. The looks on Millie's face demanded his attention. For one, he was sufficiently concerned about not causing more pain. What got him, though, was the magic prompted by the three simple words. She had gone from utter agony to a sort of joy that Trent felt as if he had forgotten he could ever evoke in the girl.

It was no wonder why his father had told him, from the experiences of his old friend Harry, that love was truly the greatest magic of them all. Trent had, all this while, thought that it meant that love was going to cause a scene. Some sort of grandeur that even the unforgivable curses couldn't emulate. Now, though, he saw the effect of love's power in a magnitude that was so subtle, and yet count for so much. The grand finale that he had become disillusioned with, after the mammoth disappointments from waiting around for it, turned out to be him looking for a show in all the wrong places. This he could appreciate.

The touch of Millie's hand and the warmth that was uniquely hers, and that he craved for constantly, called for him to melt into it. Trent shut his eyes for a few milliseconds and enjoyed the feel of her fingers through his hair. The man came close to purring in response, before he reminded himself not to assume the role of the cat. Lucius was just there, watching. And even with his eyes closed, Trent knew that he was still being watched. He wondered about the odd hints of hostility that Lucius had dished out earlier, and for the first time, wondered if the cat had known about this all along. Surely, he must have. There was a new kind of attachment that Lucius affected to Millie, only because Trent had noticed how the cat had gone from neglecting the presence of his mistress, to perpetually being around wherever Millie lodged herself at. Amused, Trent opened his eyes and eyed the cat for a brief knowing moment. Pity, really, again, how he was far more astute about the cat than about the love of his life.

Trent chuckled in bitter amusement at himself as soon as Millie was done speaking. "And here I was, constantly thinking how silly it was for me to believe ... " He had a lot of questions though. If Millie was going to have a child, he wanted it to be his. But really, it could be Stewart's too, no? Fortunately, he decided against clarifying. She had been so upset earlier, hadn't she? He considered all the questions he had, quickly deciding that they were all bad moves. A weak smile surfaced. Still kneeling close to Millie, Trent brought his hand down her back to where she had placed a hand at. True to his nature, there was hesitation, but he reached for the hand anyway. And before he could say anything, the stomach let out one of the loudest of rumblings. Alarmed, Trent looked from Millie to his own torso.

"Mophead ... wh ..." He bit his lower lip. Surely this wasn't too bad a question? "What are you going t- ... I mean ... can I help?" He hated not knowing what to do. Yet, he was there, wasn't he? No, he wasn't going to run. If it was his, he would never. Then again, even if it wasn't, how could he look at Millie now, and turn to run from her? The questions were swimmingly bizarre in his head. It was too much. Trent eyed the part of Millie that he would have liked to bury his face in reality. He did it, in his imagination. He was contented with that. He had always lied to himself about that.

The flower softly unfurling and blooming from within her was a creature that was a blessing to its mother. Just as its mother was, the child was acutely aware of the change that grasped them. Their world around them had shifted and changed just as they did. The world the child was to be born into was an uncertain one, that much was clear, but Millie had ever intention to make it as stable as possible; with or without Trent though she desperately wanted it to be the former.

The young woman’s master plan was not one she had given much thought. The house had helped her much more than she had ever dreamed it could have. The magic that crackled and whipped around the area shaped and morphed the building into something completely different, something that could house not just one but multiple children should she choose to reproduce a few times over. And as much as that astounded her, nothing had surprised her more than the changing mood of Lucius the Cat.

Licking her lips, Millie reached up again to wipe the tears that stained her cheeks. She blinked wearily at Trent and a reluctant giggle escaped her throat, her shyness giving her an almost childlike quality. Her hand found Trent’s cheek again and her smile, small, almost insignificant though it was, seemed to grow.

Millie’s eyebrows rose in response to his question and she shrugged her shoulders a little before absentmindedly rubbing her thumb across his cheekbone. “I was rather hoping you would,” she admitted to him quietly. “I mean, it’s yours, Trent. She,” Millie amended. “She’s yours. I ... I want you to be a part of her life. I mean, you don’t have to be. I just thought..” Millie bit her lip and closed her eyes, unsure where she wanted to go from there. She instead left her words to hang in the air, deciding that was the best way.

Perhaps, for once, he should let the questions rest. She had no reasons to lie to him. That, at least, he was sure of. He wanted so much to lay his paranoia to rest. It was infinitely easier to just go along with it and not have to think. For someone who didn't have very much to show intellectually in school, he sure did think a lot. One would have thought that the brick wall of limit had already collided into him. He was ready to call it quits, and he wanted it very much to not be one of those times again when he would go back on a progressive decision. Shrugging off the thoughts again, Trent watched with sheer pleasure as Millie laughed. It took every ounce of self-control to keep from diving into that laugh, mix himself up with it, let himself loose to it, and just embrace her to give himself over to it. Practice had, however, made it perfect. His self-control over such matters, that is. Instead, the hand that held hers gave a decent squeeze.

The smile on Trent's face became more pronounced; slightly shaken by the words that followed from her, but persisting ever so lightly. One would have expected the man-child to bolt. A child?! He never saw a child in his future. Merlin, he didn't even fancy children. But this was his, and this was his and Millie's. Besides, didn't that mean that he would have a chance of a future with Millie after all? For a fleeting moment, Trent felt smug. Take that, Stew. And then, of course, the doubts hit him again. Perhaps Millie really wanted the child with Stewart. It just happened to be his and she was just being nice about it. Trent shook his head. This is not another time for wimpish thoughts.

"D'you want breakfast? Hungry? I mean, maybe she's hungry?" And just like that, he assumed that the baby was going to be a girl. Unknowingly, too, he was concerned with the baby. Staring intently at the bump that he was trying to make out, Trent's eyes stayed at Millie's torso as he spoke to her. And then, he took his hand from hers and began to creep slowly to her stomach. The desire to feel whatever he knew was there now overwhelmed whatever reservations he might have. Finally, his hand was pressed against where he thought the baby would be. Delighted, he looked up at Millie, searching for a sign of assurance from her that would match the look on his face - a smile that hardly concealed the joy that was slowly arising, and the uncertainty of what was expected of him now. Trent eyed the lips that, before, had said the words that were surreal and almost perfect. He wanted them, and he watched and waited as he leaned closer to pay attention to whatever life that was in Millie.