Morgana x Maxim Requests

Counting Stars (M)

Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING! The Sorcerer's Apprentice and all of its characters belong to Disney.

Rated: M (Mature): Sexual Themes

Requester: Meiwakunatto/A_Lost_Minstrel

Trigger Warnings: None

Maxim knew something was wrong the minute he stepped through the door. The sound of glass shattering in the next room and Morgana swearing up a storm only confirmed it.

Abigail scurried toward him with a "I wouldn't go in there if I were you" expression. He motioned her over and put a hand on her shoulder. "What is going on?"

"She is not happy," Abigail whispered, "Veronica said she and Morgana got their first full physicals today. I don't think Morgana liked the doctor very much. She called him a bithiúnach. I haven't any idea what that means, but she's been very snippy ever since she came home. She keeps on pacing. I'm not sure what made her upset, but whatever it is, I'd avoid going into the kitchen until Morgana calms down."

Maxim didn't like the sound of that. The physician they'd gone to must've said or done something to make Morgana feel threatened elsewise she wouldn't be lashing out now. The glass was a precursor. If something wasn't done, if he didn't step in and defuse the situation, Morgana could get volatile.

He gave Abby a gentle nudge toward the hall. "Go do your homework. I'll find out what happened to upset Morgana."

The eleven year old gave a quick nod then hurried off into her room. Maxim took several deep breaths before entering the kitchen.

Morgana was sweeping up the mess she'd made. Glass littered the floor where the coffee cup had hit the wall. He could sense magic. Had she thrown a plasma bolt? Highly unlikely. Morgana's preference was pyromancy, but nothing was on fire yet, so perhaps she'd chosen to utilize telekinesis to throw the mug. His lady love was upset. The hows of it didn't matter so much as the why.

Maxim cleared his throat. Morgana whirled around hands raised. The flames fizzled in her palms then disappeared the moment realization set in. Maxim frowned upon seeing the forlorn look on his wife's face. He waited for her to lower her hands before he wrapped his arms around her. Morgana stiffened up, something she always did when anyone showed her affection, then buried her face into his shoulder and inhaled. She'd told him on multiple occasions that he smelled of cloves, autumn breeze and male musk. He hadn't known what to say. He'd simply held her tight just like he was right now. "What's wrong, my dove?"

"Everything," she whispered. "The physician was cruel and uncouth. He made the rudest comment about my age after I told him we were trying for a child."

Maxim scowled. "What did he say?"

"That a woman as old as I am shouldn't be having children. I'd be better off leaving it to a younger woman like Rebecca or Veronica."

"What a twit."

"Drake called him a wanker and told me to ignore every word. It took all I had not to toss the bithiúnach through a window."

"Sweetheart." Maxim kissed the top of her head. "I know I'm not prone to saying this, but Drake's right. That man is a complete moron. If fate sees fit, we'll have children, when the time is right. You needn't rush these things."