Chapter Text
Pete’s sitting on the floor of the bathroom in his and Porsche’s shared room, knees to his chin and arms wrapped so tightly around his legs he actually might be stuck in this position. His head feels foggy, like his skull’s been stuffed with cotton. He keeps his eyes trained on the cabinet door in front of him and tries to quell the rising anxiety in his chest by taking slow, measured breaths.
The doctor told him he’d gained some weight upon returning from the safe house, and sure, Vegas made sure he was fed while in captivity, but it definitely wasn’t enough for him to put on as much weight as he did.
Pete thinks he knows the reason, but coming to terms with it is a whole other struggle he’s not sure he’s all too ready to deal with.
There has to be another explanation. There just has to be.
And that’s why he’s sitting on the bathroom floor, pointedly ignoring the store-bought plastic stick lying beside him as he waits for the timer on his phone to count down. He replays the scenario in his mind over and over: it’s not what he thinks it is, and his conviction will be proven in three minutes.
It’s not what he thinks, it’s not.
Except…deep down, Pete thinks his hopes are futile.
The timer goes off. Pete uncurls his body, slowly as if he’s moving through water, and reaches down for the test. With shaking hands, he brings it closer to his face.
Two pink lines stare back at him.
For a moment he doesn’t react, can’t react. He sits there, frozen as something wretched twists in his gut. It finally leaves his mouth as a strangled sob, and the test slips from his fingers and clatters against the tile.
It’s not like Pete doesn’t know who the father is. There’s only one other person he’s had sex with in the last month.
Another sob tears itself from Pete’s throat, abrupt as it rips through his chest.
He could’ve sworn Vegas wore a condom that night—hell, he fucking watched Vegas put it on. Maybe it broke and neither of them noticed. Either way, everything’s about to change and Pete has no damn clue if he’s ready for it.
Suddenly there’s a loud knock on the bathroom door that has Pete jumping out of his skin. He curls in on himself, body shaking violently as tears continue cascading down his face, as the sobs increase in frequency and intensity.
“Pete?!” Porsche’s voice, sounding frantic and worried. The doorknob wiggles once, and then it’s turning, and Pete realizes with a jolt of panic that he forgot to lock it in his haste after returning from the store.
The door flies open and Porsche immediately spots Pete across the room, curled up on the floor. He exhales a loud breath of relief. “Oh, there you are! Khun Tankhun said you ran off, I got worried!”
Pete feels like his heart is ripping itself into pieces, but through it, he lifts his head up and somehow manages a weak smile. He hopes it’s a smile anyway.
“I’m fine,” he says—whispers. Porsche‘s eyes narrow without wasting a second.
“Bullshit,” he snarls. then his eyes land on something else, something that fell to the floor near Pete’s foot just a minute ago. “Pete…what’s that?”
The question hangs in the air, unanswered as the weak smile drops off Pete’s face, his bottom lip beginning to quiver dangerously. Porsche carefully lowers himself to the floor to look closer at the object. His eyes widen when he realizes; it’s a fucking pregnancy test.
There’s no reason for Pete to give him a verbal answer. The tears in his eyes tell Porsche everything he needs to know.
White-hot rage burns through Porsche’s veins. He shoots to his feet, jaw tight and fists clenched. “I’m going to kill him,” he growls lowly and turns toward the door.
“No!” Pete shouts, one hand flying out to catch Porsche’s wrist. Stunned, he looks back at his friend, his friend who’s clearly in distress but holds his wrist in a vice, preventing him from moving. “N-no, don’t…”
“Pete…” Porsche lowers himself back to the floor, plastering himself to Pete’s side and guiding the other man to curl into him. His heart shatters as another sob wracks Pete’s body. He feels helpless. “How can I help you?”
“I…I don’t know,” Pete whimpers. Porsche wraps an arm around his shoulders and pulls him even closer. “I don’t know what to do, Porsche.”
And then Pete completely crumbles into a wailing, sobbing mess against his shoulder, burying his face into Porsche’s shirt and drenching it in seconds.
Porsche has an idea of what they need to do, but he doesn’t think Pete will like it much.
“I think we need to tell Kinn and Tankhun.”
—•—
Three hours later Pete finds himself sitting on one of Khun Kinn’s conference room chairs, eyes glued to the mahogany table as he sits stone-still. He can feel the other guards’ gazes on him, the glances of worry that Pol and Arm send his way. He feels Tankhun’s eyes on him, like he’s trying to see into Pete’s soul.
Porsche called Kinn from his and Pete’s bathroom and told him everything. Pete had been too busy crying his lungs out to hear what was said on the other side, but somehow Porsche managed to get the both of them to the on-site infirmary where the doctor there—the same one who had told Pete just hours earlier that he’d gained weight—confirmed it: he is in fact, pregnant.
It’s late, nearing two in the morning as they all sit there in tense silence. When the doctor confirmed it Kinn immediately called Vegas, speaking tersely into the phone to get himself to the main family mansion as soon as possible. That had been well over half an hour ago now.
Pete’s eyes shift to gaze out the floor-to-ceiling windows, lights glittering like little crystals in the darkness. A plane flies over the bank building a few streets over, its red lights flashing mutely as it heads for the airport.
Another five minutes pass, still with no sign of the minor family heir. Maybe he wouldn’t even show up.
But as soon as Pete thinks it, the door to the conference room opens. Everyone’s heads whip towards it, the bodyguards on duty immediately standing to bow. Pete, for his part, finds that he can’t move at all.
It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since the last time he saw Vegas—Vegas, who was so desperate and broken at the safe house right before Pete knocked him out with handcuffs—and yet the younger man has changed so much.
“Vegas,” Kinn nods, then gestures for the chair across the table from him. “Sit.”
Pete watches Vegas like a hawk, following his movements as he crosses the conference room towards the table and noticing the way the other man carries himself. There’s none of that smug, confident aura Vegas used to exude every time he entered a room, regardless of who was in it. It’s almost as if he’s trying to make himself smaller. There’s an emptiness to his eyes also, gaping and persistent as he obediently sits in the chair across from Kinn. He doesn’t even look at Tankhun, who’s busy trying to burn holes through his cousin’s skull.
He knows the past version of Vegas would have snarled at his—now former—boss for daring to order him around like that. He knows Vegas’s eyes would have come alight with defiance and animosity, lips pulled back in a sneer.
Seems like the safe house changed both of them.
Finally, Vegas speaks, voice quiet and face devoid of any emotion. “Why am I here?”
“Vegas,” Kinn starts, hesitates. He glances towards Pete, as if asking for his permission. Pete swallows dryly, then nods. “Pete’s…Pete is pregnant.”
The world stops. Freezes. If it were possible, Pete thinks ice would be forming all around the room right now.
For what feels like an eternity, Vegas doesn’t react. He doesn’t move, he doesn’t say anything, and somehow, that’s makes it even worse. Pete came to this meeting expecting some sort of reaction, even if it was negative. To see Vegas rendered completely speechless and absolutely frozen in his chair, well, it has Pete feeling just a little sick.
The ice cracks. Vegas’s voice is strained as he rasps, disbelievingly, “Excuse me?”
“He’s about two weeks along, according to the doctor on the property,” Kinn informs him without wasting a beat. Vegas’s eyes snap to Pete, and he sees a multitude of questions swirling in those brown eyes. He knows exactly what question Vegas wants to ask.
Pete did the math. The night Vegas’s hedgehog died, the night he kissed Vegas, ended up becoming the night that started it all.
Kinn’s continuing, voice eerily calm yet stern as stone. “And I know listening to orders, especially from me, isn’t something you like but right now I don’t care.” He leans in, piercing Vegas with a glare that has all the bodyguards in the room cowering. “Take care of Pete. Take care of your child. Treasure them, treat them like the precious beings they are, because if I find out that you hurt either of them in any way, I will personally torture you myself.”
He pauses, glancing over at Pete. Some of the rage and scorn bleeds from his expression, replaced by softness. “After everything Pete has done for our family, he only deserves all the attention and care in the world, especially right now. Am I clear?”
Kinn turns his gaze back to Vegas at that last question. Yhe rage and scorn are back, and for the briefest second Pete sees Vegas flinch in his seat.
“Yes, Kinn,” Vegas mumbles.
Kinn looks at him for a couple more minutes, as if gauging whether his cousin is being sincere or not. Soon he seems to find what he’s looking for, and he pushes his chair backwards.
“Good.” He gestures to all the bodyguards who trickle out of the room behind him, until they’re all gone and it’s just Porsche who’s left. Pete watches as his friend’s eyes narrow, as he gives Vegas a look that has the other man withering into his chair. Then he’s hugging Pete tightly before following everyone out, taking Kinn’s waiting hand in his own and closing the door behind them.
With that, the only ones left in the room are Pete, Vegas, and a thick, suffocating silence encompassing them.
“Is it true?” Vegas asks into the tense air, face hesitant, eyes afraid. Pete looks up at his voice. “Are you…is it…is it mine?”
Pete nods. “I haven’t had sex with anyone else in years.” His hands tighten into fists in his lap. “It’s yours, Vegas.”
Somehow that wasn’t the right thing to say, because the next second Vegas’s face completely shatters and his chair screeches across the floor.
“Pete, I…” Vegas’s voice cracks, tears shining in his eyes as he shakes his head. “I’m sorry, fuck—I’m so sorry, I-I can’t—”
He turns his back towards Pete, but instantly freezes when Pete’s voice angrily ricochets off the walls.
“Don’t you dare turn your back on me!”
It echoes around the room, clatters inside Vegas’s skull as Pete’s words—words shouted with so much anger, yet with so much anguish, too—ring in his ears. Vegas clenches his fists at his sides, squeezing his eyes shut and refusing to turn around.
He knows what will happen if he does. He’ll see Pete’s face, heartbreakingly open and honest, and he’ll run back to him and just cause the older man more pain than he deserves.
“We started this together, we’ll finish it together too!” Pete shouts again, but his voice breaks halfway through. And that’s what finally causes Vegas to turn back around, to take in Pete’s tear-stained face as his eyes plead and beg.
Vegas exhales unsteadily, shaking his head almost frantically. Panic and fear claw at his gut. “I can’t…please Pete, I can’t hurt you again, I can’t!”
“You won’t!” Pete screams, before breaking into sobs that has Vegas’s heart ripping itself out of his chest. Through the cries Pete still looks at him, ever the steadfast man, and whispers thickly through tears, “I chose you that night, and I’m choosing you now. Please Vegas, come back to me. I need you.”
Vegas wants to turn around, to flee out of the room and out of Pete’s life. After everything that’s happened, putting a wedge between them seems like the one good thing Vegas could do for someone else.
Or, well—seemed like. Because now, seeing Pete so vulnerable, hearing him beg for Vegas to come back to him…not even an ounce of himself could resist that. Nor would he ever want to, now that Pete’s made it clear he wants Vegas by his side.
Vegas crosses the room in four long strides, kneeling in front of Pete and taking the older’s hands in his own. His thumbs caress Pete’s skin, his eyes gazing deeply into glassy, red-rimmed brown eyes.
“From now on, you’re the most important person in my life,” Vegas declares softly. He feels his own eyes watering, a lump forming in his throat. But he soldiers on, because this is for Pete now. “Everything I do from this moment on is for you and our child. I swear to you, Pete, I will take care of you—of both of you. I regret all the pain I’ve caused you, but I promise, I will be a better man.”
“I know you will,” Pete whispers. He tugs on Vegas’s hands, murmuring a soft “c’mere,” and the next second both of them are standing and Pete’s throwing his arms around Vegas’s shoulders, the younger’s arms winding tightly around Pete’s waist.
“We’re in this together now,” Vegas whispers, delicate and featherlight but resolute, into Pete’s temple. “I swear on my life.”