So, that’s life for a while. Danny splits shifts with Malia at Casa Preggo whenever he can, praying each day that when he gets there the house won’t have burned down, or Chin won’t have snapped and drowned Steve, or Steve won’t have broken a limb trying to prove that pregnant or not he’s still got it. He makes healthy, well-balanced, home-cooked meals for the ungrateful bastards (it’s not his fault Malia’s made Rules) and most nights Chin crashes out by eight-thirty, but Steve is still trying to prove he’s Super-fecund-man, able to stay up later and get up earlier. More often than not that ends with Steve half-sprawled in Danny’s lap in a drooling, snoring mess by nine-thirty. Danny would complain more if it weren’t oddly soporific – Steve’s weight and warmth and solid presence, even when he’s asleep. Danny hasn’t slept as well in years as he does during those cat naps, and he’d feel a smidgen of guilt about that except hey, Steve’s the one who’s chosen to use him as a body pillow.