Summary: Patrick is pregnant but there's something weird about it.
Spoilers and/or Warnings:mpreg
Title, Author and URL of original story: You're Lucky, Lucky, You're So Lucky! by megyal
The first thing Patrick noticed was that he was gaining weight. It wasn't exactly unexpected; they were back on tour and no one ate healthy on tour. Tour was the worst time to decide to be a vegetarian because that meant lots of cheetos and fries, and sure he could have gotten the salad at McDonald's instead, but seriously, who actually got a salad at McDonald's? He could do the diet thing again when they weren't doing shows nearly every night of the week.
So Patrick was gaining weight and Pete was being a dick about it as usual, poking his stomach and grabbing his love handles and calling him the chubster, except somehow it bothered him so much less when Pete was also curling up into him at night and leaving kisses on his belly for ages before he would even start to actually blow Patrick.
Which didn't necessarily stop him from occasionally pretending to lose his temper and shoving Pete up against a wall but what Pete didn't know didn't hurt him.
So, yeah, Patrick was doing well and he didn't at all get why there were mid-tour physicals- he'd never remembered having them before- but even Pete and Andy didn't complain about them and between Pete's habit of bitching about needles (“No, seriously, it was freaking huge and she just started jabbing me with it-” “... Pete, shots don't work that way.”) and Andy's habit of starting a lecture about the coming apocalypse (“When we get rid of the modern blah blah blah"- Patrick tended to tune out in the middle of Andy's lectures on the glories of anarchy- there will be no oppressive medical regime”) the two of them going in without complaint was a minor miracle. Patrick wasn't going to risk setting them off by pointing out how odd it was.
“Okay, Patrick, we're just going to need you to give us a urine sample so we can run some tests,” said the doctor- she'd told him to call her Chris but he couldn't quite manage; something about her put him off.
He laughed a little; Pete had probably enjoyed that. They were lucky he hadn't decided to try and drink it again instead of handing it over.
The doctor didn't quite get what he was laughing at; she said, “Don't worry if it takes you awhile, you can take as long as you need,” and then turned her back, which, okay, was weird. It's not like it was a drug test or something; half the bands on the label would fail a drug test. Heck, the fumes from having had breakfast with Joe would probably keep him from passing a drug test. But Patrick was used to peeing in weird situations; it was hard not to be when he was dating Pete Wentz- he was actually almost surprised that Pete hadn't mentioned getting to pee in a cup.
The doctor had a fucking creepy look on her face when Patrick handed her the cup, but he just asked, “So I'm good?” and waited for her to leave before grabbing his clothes. Seriously, he was going to make sure that next time they got someone else to do the physicals. Anyone else.
When there was a call from the doctor, Patrick let the call go straight to voicemail. It was probably a secretary or whatever, but he'd rather listen to the voicemail than have to talk to them. Of course, after that, he listened right away.
His first thought was that it had been a good choice- it was the doc- Chris calling. After that, he tuned into what she was actually saying.
“We've run the tests three times, Mr. Stump, and there is no doubt about it. You are pregnant. Please contact me as soon as possible so that we can figure out how you want to deal with this.”
Patrick laughed. God, Pete played the weirdest practical jokes.
Except that Pete didn't seem to understand what he was talking about at all, and if there was one thing Patrick knew about Pete Wentz, it was that he was a genuinely shitty actor. No one else would care enough to try to pull this either, not unless Ashton was involved and Patrick was pretty sure he would have noticed someone filming his reaction to the phone call.
Or would he have? He looked around the room but if someone had hidden a camera they'd done a pro job. No, this wasn't a joke. But that didn't mean it was real either.
There was one way to find out. Luckily they were stopped for the night so Patrick grabbed a ride into town with some of the techs.
“Sorry Pete!” he waved as Pete watched them drive off; he'd to shove himself in but there was no way, Patrick had taken the last spot.
Once in town, he'd made some excuse and gone towards the drugstore. He had to duck down when one of the techs followed him, but they made a quick stop in the condom aisle and then left. Patrick thought about grabbing some himself- he and Pete had run out- but then thought about how that would look with the pregnancy test and passed on them. It was Pete's turn anyway, fucker deserved to do without sex if he couldn't pick up a fucking box of condoms.
He refused the offer of the bag and just shoved the test into his pocket- cargo pants were awesome- before heading back to hang with the crew until they went back to the bus.
It was actually a few days before Patrick took the test. As long as he didn't take it, it was just some weird figment of the doctor's imagination. He came up with a zillion and one reasons, including the possibility that she was one of those crazy fans and she was playing with him. Except then on the second day, she started calling him, over and over, until Pete grabbed his cell and checked the number and asked, "What, do you have someone on the side?" jokingly.
That was it. Pete was joking now, but he could get possessive- not that Patrick understood why, it wasn't like he was a hot commodity- and Patrick didn't feel like dealing with it. If he took the test then he could call the doctor and tell her to back the fuck off. Easy.
At least it seemed like it would be easy until he was looking down at the plus sign. Fuck. He wondered if it was defective, except even if it was, the doctor's test had said the same thing. Fuck.
"Hey, dude, I gotta take a dump," Pete said, knocking heavily on the door of the bathroom.
"Not on the bus," Patrick shouted back automatically, but Pete kept rattling the bathroom door and even though Patrick knew he'd locked it, it flew open. He could have sworn he saw something funny just as it did, but he dismissed it, in favor of trying to hide the test from Pete.
"You're such a hypocrite, Patrick," Pete said, then he added, "Hey, what's that?" as he grabbed for the test.
"Nothing!" Patrick said. “I'll be out in a second, okay?” Unfortunately, bodily fluids and the fact that a man's time in the bathroom ought to be private were not things Pete Wentz held to be truths and Pete grabbed the test.
“What the fuck, Patrick?” he said. “What the- where did you get this? Did one of the fans send it to you because that's really jacked up and I'll-”
This wasn't happening, Patrick thought. It wasn't. But thinking it didn't shut Pete up- nothing shut Pete up when he didn't understand what was going on, so finally Patrick yelled, “Quiet!” which somehow managed to do the trick.
“I took the test,” Patrick said. When Pete went to start talking again, Patrick put his hand over Pete's mouth. Pete of all people wouldn't care that he hadn't washed his hands yet. “Look, I know it sounds crazy, but that weird doctor called and said I was pregnant and I didn't believe her because I'm a guy and guys don't get pregnant, but I bought the test and. I am. Pregnant.”
Patrick kind of expected Pete to react with disbelief or scorn or something. Instead he beamed at Patrick ecstatically.
“I'm going to be a dad!” he said and Patrick couldn't hear a hint of doubt in his voice.
“Pete, you believe me?” And for a second, Patrick wished that Pete didn't. He wished that he'd had a chance to be sure it was what he wanted before he told Pete. Except then he thought about it and it was what he wanted. It wasn't like he hadn't thought maybe he and Pete would adopt some day or something, and this. It was like a miracle.
A miracle. The word seemed strangely appropriate. A wish come true. There was a thought niggling in Patrick's brain but then Pete was hugging him and saying, “Of course I believe you. Fuck, did you call Chris yet?” and it disappeared.
“You know, the doctor.”
“You don't think she's a little weird? And what kind of doctor believes a dude is pregnant.”
Pete looked up from where he had his ear pressed against Patrick's stomach and said, “The kind you need?” and okay, maybe he had a point.
Being pregnant was kind of weird and it didn't really help that no one knew. Well, Pete knew, and Andy and Joe and the obstetrician- Chris had found him, and if he seemed a little strange- especially the way he talked to the baby as he did the checkup- it wasn't like there were hoards of doctors who would even believe he was pregnant and at least she wasn't talking about publishing a scholarly paper on them or something. Other than that though, the others didn't know.
There nearly hadn't been others to not know; Pete had wanted to cancel the rest of the tour and go home and keep Patrick in a padded room until he went crazy or murdered Pete. That was another reason to like the obstetrician- he'd laughed at Pete and said, “What could be better for the chos- child than to be surrounded by music?” and somehow, whatever Chris seemed to have over Pete to calm him down, worked from this guy too.
But yeah, it was lucky that Pete was there to claim he had dared Patrick to douse his ice cream in garlic butter (“I knew he'd do a shot of it man, but I thought even Patrick wouldn't-”) and that Andy was there for when he couldn't take Pete trying to pamper him anymore (“Sometimes I just want to sit on the floor. It's comfortable.”) and that Joe was there because even though he knew he still talked to Patrick like nothing changed at all.
Patrick poked at the headphones on his stomach- they were Pete's newest idea, and actually one he kind of thought was cool. They'd recorded bits of them talking to the baby (talking to a baby that wasn't born yet had to be one of the most ridiculous things Patrick had ever done. Ever. And he'd worn a rabbit suit for Pete Wentz.) and music that they liked and that was inspiring (Pete had insisted on including some Arma and Patrick had gone along with it and then erased those songs when Pete wasn't looking, renaming some other tracks so it looked like the Arma stuff was still there. The baby didn't need to hear Pete screaming.) and made it into a playlist.
Patrick's favorite was the song that they'd written for the baby, and he couldn't help singing along when he saw it came up. Of course it was like a siren's song to Pete, who made his way back and curled up against Patrick in the lounge, his head pressed to Patrick's stomach. He was doing that all the time now, and it was weird because as much as he felt like he should, Patrick didn't mind at all.
Pete jumped up right after he'd put his head down. “Did you feel that?” he asked. It had been a sore point with him that he hadn't felt the baby kick yet. Even Joe had felt the baby kick.
“No, I totally did not just feel the baby kick in time to-” Patrick checked the iPod before continuing- “We are the Pale Horse,” which was actually Ella Fitzgerald, if Patrick was remembering correctly.
Pete put his head back down against Patrick's stomach and laughed. “The baby has worse timing than me,” he said and Patrick couldn't help laughing and laughing and laughing, until his belly was shaking so hard that Pete probably couldn't tell the kicks from the laughter.
The entire thing went more smoothly than Patrick would have ever expected, if he would have ever expected to be pregnant at all. No one discovered he was pregnant, there weren't any complications, the whole thing was almost eerie.
“Not eerie,” Pete said, when Patrick mentioned it. “It's magic. Magic and our Luck.” Pete rubbed a hand over Patrick's stomach when he said the last- Lucky was what he'd decided the baby was going to be named and he'd badgered Patrick and campaigned until Patrick had given in. Or at least mostly given in; he'd insisted that they give her a real name but when Pete had suggested Lucretia, he'd given in. It was pretty and they could call her Lucky and it would be good.
Patrick shoved Pete's hand from his stomach. He'd been feeling weird for a couple hours and the last thing he wanted was to be touched. Pete put his hand back and made Patrick push him off again.
“Patrick, what's wrong?” he asked.
“Not feeling well.” Patrick hadn't had morning sickness for long; maybe it was coming back in the ninth month.
“Not feeling well?”
“It's like- I'm not nauseous exactly, just- oww,” Patrick said, moving a hand to his lower back.
“Dude, you're having our baby!” Pete exclaimed and oh. That made a lot of sense. The time frame was right and the pains were right. Patrick wondered how he could be so lame that he couldn't even figure out he was going into labour as he watched Pete start moving, getting stuff together, calling the hospital so they would be ready to run interference as necessary, before he helped Patrick to the door.
They let Pete in the delivery room. Patrick had no clue why they let Pete in the delivery room. He was bouncing up and down and pacing back and forth and he'd eaten all of Patrick's fucking ice. All of it. Patrick threw the empty cup at Pete's head and he said, in a perfectly calm voice, “I am never ever fu-- friggin' sleeping with you again.”
“Shhh, do you want me to hold the picture?” Pete asked. Christine had arranged a special lamaze class and one of the instructions had been to have a picture for Patrick to “focus on.”
“Let me have it,” Patrick demanded, and when Pete handed it over, he crumpled it into a ball and chucked it at him. “I do feel better,” he said, as Pete frowned.
Christine left the room then, choking on giggles, and Patrick said, “There's something not right about her. I don't know what it is, but I know there's something.”
“Take your time,” Pete said, surprisingly patient as he pushed Patrick's hair back out of his face.
Patrick took a breath and then another but before he got the chance to say anything more he went into actual labor. And after-- well, after it was like whatever had allowed him to see there was something strange about Christine was gone. He had a memory of her doing something and of Lucky floating but that couldn't have been real. The idea of a magic doctor-- he'd forgotten her name before long-- was even more ridiculous than the idea of a pregnant man.
Pete leaned in and interrupted Patrick's tie tying with a kiss. “Come on, hurry up,” he said, his forehead still pressed against Patrick's so that Patrick had to push him away.
“Where's Lucky?” Patrick asked.
“With Christine,” Pete said, and Patrick headed out to make sure that everything was set.
“Hey, Christine,” Patrick said. God, there was something about the baby sitter that struck him as familiar, even if he couldn't put his finger on what. It bothered him though. He dismissed it; he was probably just feeling guilty because they'd called her in so late. He'd have to make sure Pete remembered to give her a little extra money at the end of the night. It was Christmas, after all. He was surprised that she'd been free at all.
She tried to decline, and said she'd be willing to babysit any time and something familiar struck Patrick again, but they were late. He watched as Pete kissed Lucky goodnight and then did the same before Pete pulled him out the door, calling back instructions at Christine even as he tugged Patrick on.
Which was when Patrick remembered. “You have the numbers right? Our cells, the emergency contacts?”
“Yes, I remember, go on,” she said, as she and Lucky waved them off, closing the door after them.
Patrick heard a barking back at the apartment and it distracted him from the fact that they were late long enough for him to remember what he'd wanted to say to Pete. “There's something about Christine. Can't figure out what it is.”
“Crushing on the nanny, Stump? That's clichéd, isn't it?” Pete said, not waiting for Patrick to start walking again. Patrick ran to catch up. There was something. Except the barking stopped and the thought slipped away again, like magic.