Characters: Peter, Amy, mention of Nathan.
Summary: Peter comes home to a surprise.
A/N: For bitchwithabite, because of things and stuff. You know.
Bright and early, a hot Sunday morning in June.
I stumble in from twelve hours on the job, twelve hours of making sure I don’t feel anything when a twelve-year old with a gunshot wound to the chest dies right in front of me. When a night at the club turns into a fucking gang war. Goddamn it, I can’t take much more of this shit.
I strip off my clothes and fall into bed. I don’t care if Amy bitches at me that I stink like a sewer. I’m tired. I’m numb. I don’t know what --
“Bang-up motherfuckin’ job, Petrelli,” Amy spits, flinging a thin white piece of plastic at me. It bounces off my chest and hits the nightstand. I sit up, more surprised than anything else. She’s awake at 8 am and is stone cold sober. Which she’s supposed to be, but I’m not used to it. She’s fucking scarier when she hasn’t tied one on.
“Don’t fuck with me right now, Amy,” I moan, fumbling on the nightstand to find whatever she threw at me. With bleary eyes, I look at it. Two pink lines on a piece of white plastic. My next breath catches in my throat. My empathy is slowly coming back to me, but honestly, I don’t need to feel anything to know what this is.
“Amy. What the fuck,” I whisper, staring at the life-changing thing in my hand, wondering if maybe I’m dreaming.
“What the actual fuck, Pete?” she says, snickering a bit, looking quite small and fragile sitting on the edge of our bed, dark auburn hair hiding her face. Then her eyes meet mine, an amber flash. She’s the strongest woman I know, and since she’s begun controlling her alcoholism, she’s nastier than ever. But… oh, God. She’s beautiful.
And now she’s carrying my child. I don’t even know what to say.
“Are you sure it’s mine?” I ask stupidly. Well, not stupid, actually. Nathan keeps her company while I try to save the world.
“I haven’t fucked your brother in a month, Pete. Happy Father’s Day, asshole.”