MMA System: I Will Be Pound For Pound Goat

The night had passed quietly, the way only a night filled with certainty could.

Two people had stood before everyone they loved and promised the rest of their lives. Now, they weren't just Damon and Svetlana. They were the Crosses.

Damon opened his eyes slowly, the soft morning light stretching across the ceiling above him.

His body still felt the weight of the past twenty-four hours, the laughter, the dancing, the emotions, and the exhaustion that came with a perfect day.

He lay still for a few moments, just breathing.

Last night had ended like a dream. Or maybe more like a fantasy. Truth be told, it had crossed into something bordering on reckless, something only two people deeply in love and newly bound could justify. It was messy, passionate, and private in the best ways.

He hadn't even realized he'd fallen asleep with a smile on his face until his cheeks ached now from it. But really, could anyone blame him?

Their intimacy had always been a language of its own, unspoken but understood. It was never routine, never lacking.

He turned his head.

He was surprised to see the bed empty. The sheets were still damp, evidence of everything they'd done just hours ago. But Svetlana wasn't there.

Damon sat up, joints cracking as his body stretched from the long night. He expected to see her curled up on the other side, maybe just slipped out to grab water or something simple.

Then he heard it.

A sharp sound from the bathroom. A gag. Then another. It wasn't quiet, and it wasn't casual. It sounded like someone was trying not to throw up, and failing.

Damon was on his feet instantly, grabbing a pair of lounge pants off the chair as he moved.

"Svet?" he called, his voice low but alert.

Another dry heave answered.

He didn't wait. He crossed the floor in a few steps and opened the bathroom door without knocking.

What he saw stopped him in place.

The door creaked open, and the light from the hallway spilled into the bathroom.

Damon stepped inside, his bare feet brushing against the cool tile. The room smelled faintly of mint and something sharp beneath it, bile or stomach acid.

The fan above hummed quietly, but it didn't drown out the ragged sound of her breathing.

Svetlana was hunched over the toilet, one hand braced against the rim, the other pressed to her lower stomach.

Her hair was pulled loosely over one shoulder, strands sticking to her neck. She didn't look up when he entered.

Her back rose and fell with shallow breaths, her body trembling just slightly, not from cold but from what had clearly been a rough few minutes.

Damon's jaw tightened. He didn't say anything at first. Just stepped closer.

"Svet," he said gently, his voice soft and unsure. "Hey… you okay?"

She didn't answer right away. She reached up to flush the toilet first, then leaned back against the side of the tub, wiping the corner of her mouth with a towel that had been folded neatly on the counter.

Her movements were slow, like she was trying to hold onto what little stability she had left.

"I'm fine," she muttered, her voice barely audible. She didn't sound convincing.

Damon crouched beside her, his hand resting carefully on her knee. She didn't flinch. She just kept her eyes low, avoiding his.

"You sure?" he asked, watching her closely. "You're pale. And… you were choking when I came in."

"I wasn't choking," she murmured. "Just… couldn't keep anything down."

She leaned forward to splash water on her face, then pulled another towel from the rack to dry off. Her hands were shaking.

Damon stood back up but stayed nearby, arms folded loosely. His chest tightened a little watching her.

This wasn't just a one-off moment. He could tell by how calm she was, too calm, like this wasn't the first time. Her face didn't show panic. Just frustration.

"You sick?" he asked, narrowing his eyes. "Was it the food last night? I can call the hotel, see if anyone else—"

"It's not the food."

Her voice cut through softly, interrupting before he could finish the thought. She wasn't snappy, just firm.

Damon stopped. His eyes scanned her face. The lines under her eyes were new. And when she stood up fully, she moved a little slower than usual, careful, like she didn't want to jostle herself too much.

She went to brush her teeth, pausing between steps, her eyes closing briefly as she waited for a wave of nausea to pass. Damon noticed that too.

"How long's this been going on?" he asked, his tone dipping more serious now.

Svetlana didn't respond immediately. She finished rinsing her mouth first, then leaned both hands on the sink, her head down. She stared at the drain.

"Three days," she said quietly.

Damon blinked. "Three days? Why didn't you—"

"Because I didn't want to think about it." She glanced up at him in the mirror. Her reflection looked tired, but honest. "And because I wasn't sure. Still not."

He took a slow step toward her. "You think it's something serious?"

She turned around, back against the counter now. Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of the towel she still held, eyes avoiding his.

"I don't know," she said. "Maybe. Maybe not."

Damon exhaled through his nose. "Alright. So what do we do? You want to go to a clinic or something?"

She looked up at him now. Not scared. Just tired. Like she'd spent the last three days quietly turning over every possibility in her head.

"I think…" she started, voice quiet again, "I think I might be pregnant."

Damon didn't react at first.

He blinked once. Then again. The words landed heavy, but slow, like they needed time to process.

He didn't flinch or panic. He just looked at her, really looked. The pale skin, the shaky hands, the strange calmness. The fact that she hadn't said anything until now. It all connected.

He stepped forward until he was just in front of her, close enough to reach out.

"You think," he repeated softly.

She nodded.

"Have you taken a test?"

"No. I didn't want to ruin the wedding. I didn't want anything to touch it. Not even something good."

Her eyes welled a bit, but she blinked quickly, forcing it back.

"I just wanted us to have yesterday."

Damon nodded, his throat tightening. Slowly, he reached out, brushing her cheek with his knuckles, then resting his palm there. She leaned into it instinctively.

"And you gave me the best day of my life," he said. "Nothing changes that."

He pulled her gently into a hug, wrapping both arms around her waist with a firmness that made it clear, whatever this was, she wasn't facing it alone. Her head came to rest against his chest.

"We should get to a doctor today," Damon said, his voice low near her ear.

Svetlana nodded against him, letting her arms slip around his back. "Yeah…" she murmured, then let out a slow breath. "I just feel so tired. Can't tell if it's from last night or… this."

Damon chuckled softly, one hand brushing up her back. "Last night would knock out anyone, but I'm guessing it's not just that."

She gave a weak smile. "I didn't even feel it coming. I thought it was nerves at first, then the heat… but now, every morning, Damon. It's like I wake up with a war going on inside me."

He leaned back slightly so he could look at her face, his hands staying on her waist. "Then we find out for sure. Today. No more guessing."

She nodded again, quieter this time. "Okay."

He studied her for a moment longer and kissed her forehead, then gently turned her toward the door. "Go lie down. I'll call down, get the hotel doctor or find a clinic nearby."