I woke to the familiar warmth of our bed, the soft morning light filtering through the half-drawn curtains in gentle, diffused rays that painted the room in hues of pale gold and shadow. The sheets beside me, however, were cool and empty, devoid of Miko's usual presence—no tail draped lazily over my leg, no soft purrs syncing with my breathing, no warm body curled against mine like an anchor in the night. I blinked against the light, a frown creasing my forehead as I sat up slowly, the mattress shifting under my weight with a faint creak. The clock on the nightstand glowed just past eight, early for her to be up and wandering without waking me first. "Miko?" I called out, my voice still rough from sleep, echoing slightly through the quiet house like a whisper in an empty hall. No answer came, only the distant hum of birdsong outside and the subtle tick of the clock downstairs.
Rubbing the sleep from my eyes with the heel of my hand, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, the wooden floor cool and smooth under my bare feet as I pulled on a pair of sweats hanging over the chair. The house felt unusually still, the air carrying a faint chill from the open window, scented with the fresh earthiness of the nearby river. I padded downstairs, the stairs creaking under each step, my mind starting to buzz with mild concern—had she gone out for a walk? Was she in the kitchen satisfying another odd craving? "Miko? You okay?" I called again, louder this time, my voice bouncing off the walls as I circled through the living room. The couch cushions remained undisturbed from last night, the TV screen dark and reflective, no signs of recent activity. The kitchen stood empty, counters clean, no clatter of pans or the telltale aroma of her bizarre pregnancy concoctions wafting through the air. A quick glance into the bathroom revealed nothing but steam-fogged mirrors from an earlier shower, and peering out the window to the backyard showed only the swaying grass and empty porch swing.
Worry crept in now, a knot tightening in my stomach—was she hiding somewhere? Hurt? The pregnancy had her moods swinging, but this was new. "Miko!" I shouted, a edge of urgency creeping in as I retraced my steps to the living room, scanning every corner with growing unease.
That's when I heard it—a faint rustle, like fabric shifting against the floor, barely audible over my own breathing. I froze, heart skipping a beat, and my eyes landed on the couch, the gap behind it catching my attention. I knelt down slowly, the rug soft under my knees, and peered into the narrow space between the couch and the wall. There she was—curled up in a tight, defensive ball, her knees drawn to her chest, tail tucked protectively around her legs, ears flattened flat against her tousled hair. How she had even fit in there was a mystery; the space was barely wide enough for a child, let alone a full-grown hybrid with her agile frame, squeezed into the shadows like a frightened animal seeking refuge. She looked small and vulnerable in that cramped hiding spot, her golden eyes wide and shimmering with unshed tears when they met mine, her claws digging into her arms as if holding herself together.
"Miko? What the hell are you doing back there?" I asked, half-laughing in sheer relief at finding her unharmed, half-concerned by the fear etched into her features, my voice softening as I extended a hand toward her.
She bit her lip, her fangs peeking out slightly, and shifted uncomfortably in the tight space. "I'm... scared," she admitted in a small, trembling voice, barely above a whisper, her tail flicking nervously against the wall. "Of doctors. And it reminds me—we're supposed to go to the clinic today, right? For the check-up. I... I can't. What if they poke and prod and find something wrong? Or... or worse?"
Ah, that explained it—the pregnancy nerves hitting her full force, manifesting in this childlike hiding spot. I sighed gently, my concern melting into understanding; hybrids like her had often faced rough treatment from medical folks in less accepting places, and the vulnerability of carrying life amplified everything. "Come on, kitten," I coaxed, keeping my tone calm and reassuring. "It's just a scan—nothing invasive, nothing bad. But yeah, we need to go, for you and the baby. Or babies. Move the couch so I can get you out?"
She nodded sheepishly, uncurling just enough to give me space, and I gripped the edge of the heavy couch, muscles straining as I heaved it forward with a deep grunt—the frame scraping noisily against the wooden floor until the gap widened sufficiently. Miko uncurled slowly, her limbs stiff from the confinement, and took my outstretched hand, letting me pull her out with a gentle tug. Dust bunnies clung to her shirt, and she brushed them off absently as she stood, immediately clinging to me, burying her face in my chest, her arms wrapping around my waist like a lifeline. Her scent—warm, musky, with a hint of lavender from her soap—filled my senses, grounding me as much as her. "I hate needles and prods," she mumbled into my shirt, her voice muffled. "What if something's wrong with the baby? I can't handle bad news."
I wrapped my arms around her fully, stroking her back in slow, soothing circles, feeling the tension in her muscles ease slightly under my touch. "Hey, I'm going to be with you the whole time," I promised, tilting her chin up to meet her eyes. "Holding your hand, right there beside you. No one's touching you without us knowing it's safe. And if there's anything off, we'll handle it together—like always. Promise."
She relaxed a fraction more, nodding into my chest, her ears slowly perking back up. "Okay. But... breakfast first? I'm starving, and the baby's kicking up a fuss."
We headed to the kitchen together, her hand still in mine, the morning light now brighter through the windows, illuminating the counters and casting long shadows across the tile floor. I whipped up something simple yet nourishing—oatmeal simmered slowly on the stove, thickened with milk and swirled with fresh berries from the market, their juices bursting in vibrant reds and blues, topped with a sprinkle of nuts for crunch. The aroma of cinnamon and warmth filled the space, comforting and homey. We ate at the table, her sitting close enough that our thighs brushed, her tail wrapping around my calf under the chair like an extra anchor. The oatmeal was hearty, spoons clinking softly against the bowls, and we shared bites, her occasional smile breaking through the lingering anxiety.
After finishing, we grabbed our things—her fidgeting with her ring the whole time, twisting it nervously on her finger—and headed out to the car. The engine rumbled to life as I pulled out of the driveway, the familiar vibration steadying my own nerves. As we drove through the winding town streets, past cobblestone paths lined with blooming flowers and hybrids going about their day, Miko turned to me, her hand resting on the gear shift over mine, fingers interlacing. "We should probably get a legal car by now," she said thoughtfully, her voice lighter now, trying to distract herself. "This one's still the one we... borrowed from Spain. Feels risky, especially with everything going on—the war news, the drafts. What if we get pulled over?"
I chuckled, glancing at her with a reassuring smile, the wind from the cracked window ruffling her hair. "Yeah, you're right. It's served us well through all the miles, but time for an upgrade. I'll look into it—maybe trade it in quietly at a local dealer or something. Get something reliable, with plenty of room for the baby seat."
She smiled back, her tail flicking against the seat. "Good. No more stolen wheels for our family. Feels like closing a chapter."
The drive to the clinic was short but felt longer with her mounting tension, the town giving way to the modest medical building on the outskirts, its white walls and sign gleaming under the sun. Miko's anxiety ramped up as we parked in the lot, her claws digging into my arm as we walked inside, her tail low and twitching like a nervous pendulum. The waiting room was sterile and impersonal—white walls adorned with generic health posters, stacks of outdated magazines on side tables, a few other patients flipping through them with bored expressions, the faint scent of antiseptic hanging in the air. We signed in at the reception desk, the clerk—a friendly human woman with a warm smile—handing us forms, and Miko practically glued herself to my side on the uncomfortable plastic chairs, her head on my shoulder, hand gripping mine so tight her knuckles whitened. "What if they find something bad?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the soft hum of the air conditioner.
"They're not going to," I reassured, kissing her temple, inhaling her familiar scent to steady us both. "And if they do, we'll handle it together—like always. Deep breaths, kitten."
The nurse called her name after what felt like an eternity but was probably only twenty minutes—"Miko?"—her voice cheerful through the door. We followed her down the brightly lit hall, past exam rooms with closed doors, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead, the floor tiles squeaking under our shoes. Miko held my hand the whole time, her palm sweaty and warm, her steps hesitant.
In the exam room, the doctor—a kind-faced woman in her forties with a hybrid-friendly badge pinned to her scrubs, her demeanor calm and professional—greeted us warmly, explaining the ultrasound process in simple terms to ease Miko's nerves. Miko lay back on the padded table, the paper crinkling under her, shirt lifted to expose the gentle swell of her belly, the cool gel applied with a squirt that made her flinch slightly. The wand glided over her skin, cold and slick, and I stood right beside her, our fingers intertwined, my thumb stroking her knuckles reassuringly as we watched the grainy black-and-white screen flicker to life with the rhythmic thump-thump of a heartbeat, strong and steady like a drum.
The doctor peered closely at the monitor, adjusting the wand with precise movements, zooming in on the blurry shapes. "Everything looks healthy—strong heartbeat, good growth for this stage," she said, her voice encouraging. She paused, tilting her head slightly as she maneuvered the device. "It... looks like there might be two in there. Twins, possibly. But it's still early—hard to be absolutely sure yet. We'll confirm on the next visit, but the signs are there: two gestational sacs, potential heartbeats syncing."
Miko's eyes widened in shock, a gasp escaping her lips as she squeezed my hand tighter, her tail flicking excitedly against the table. "Twins? Really?" Excitement bubbled over, her voice trembling with joy, tears welling in her eyes as she turned to me, beaming. "Did you hear that? We might have two!"
I grinned back, leaning down to kiss her forehead, my heart swelling at the news. "That's amazing. Double the trouble, double the love."
The doctor smiled warmly, wiping the gel from Miko's belly with a soft cloth. "Could be. Keep an eye on symptoms—more fatigue, bigger appetite, quicker growth. Come back in a few weeks for confirmation. Rest up, eat well, and congratulations in advance."
We left the clinic buzzing with energy, Miko beaming the whole way to the car, her steps lighter now, hand protectively on her belly as if cradling the possibility of two lives. "Twins! Or maybe not, but... imagine! Two little hybrids running around, tails and all." She held my hand over the gear shift as I drove home, her joy infectious, chattering animatedly about double cribs, matching outfits, and how we'd need to expand the nursery plans. The town blurred by in a haze of cobblestone streets and sunny storefronts, the weight of the morning's fear lifted like a cloud dispersing.
As we pulled up to our house, the sun high and warm overhead, casting short shadows across the driveway, I spotted someone standing at the door—a figure leaning casually against the porch rail, scanning the street with a watchful gaze. Another hybrid, a catgirl like Miko: sleek black hair cascading down her back, catching the light in glossy waves; similar golden eyes that narrowed slightly as we approached; a tail swishing impatiently behind her, clad in worn jeans and a weathered leather jacket that spoke of long, dusty travels. A backpack was slung over one shoulder, scuffed and faded, as if she'd just stepped off a bus or hitchhiked her way through half of Europe, her posture straight but tired, with a faint scar tracing her jawline that added an edge to her otherwise familiar features.
I parked, the engine ticking as it cooled, glancing at Miko, whose face had gone pale, her hand freezing on the door handle. "Who is that?" I asked, my voice low, protective instincts kicking in.
The woman stepped forward as we got out, her boots crunching on the gravel, her expression a mix of hope and uncertainty. "Miko? Is that really you?"
Miko froze in place, her eyes widening in shock, tail going rigid. "Akira?"
The catgirl nodded, a small, tentative smile breaking through her guarded demeanor. "Yeah. It's me—your big sister. I found you."