The Chronicles of James Pete Smith and Alysia Urie-Ross

September 9th, 2004
"You're all out of school now?" Pete blew on his fingers again, trying to get the damn black nail polish to dry faster. "Mhm... great. Alright." Great. Time for the paperwork part of getting this kid's band signed. Oh, paperwork. How fun.

A "holy shit" sounded from the bathroom down the hall, and Pete vaguely wondered what his boyfriend was on about now. Probably another Prince tour, but that would warrant more of a delighted holy shit than what he'd heard. Maybe that wasn't so great, then.

"Hold on." he covered the phone receiver and ran in the direction of the distressed yell. "What?" Patrick was standing there, looking in the mirror. He looked confused, upset. "Patrick?" Silence. "Patrick..." he put the phone down and hugged him quickly. "What's up?" Patrick held up a stick. Pete knew that stick. He knew exactly what it was. He knew that look. That "holy shit." And he knew that plus sign. And then they were both staring in the mirror. Confused.

"This can't be happening," Patrick whispered, looking away. He felt that he should have been excited, but all he could feel was dread. It welled up deep in his stomach and he felt sick. Was it just his emotions, or was it the clump of cells dividing and building somewhere inside of him? That was a scary feeling. Something living off him, in him, growing into a fully functioning human--inside of him. What the fuck, nature.

Pete bit his lip and looked at their reflections. What he saw would be put into another person. Living, breathing person. Patrick was uneasy, and he knew it. "Hey. This...isn't that bad." He put his hand on Patrick's belly and smiled faintly. "Is it?"
Patrick's response was short, sweet, and to the point: "It's fucking freaky."
Pete frowned and let his hand fall.

"Why me?" Patrick whispered, leaning on Pete. Not fair. When the doctor had handed him the test, he'd tried to pretend that it was something else--the doctor hadn't elaborated on it, anyway, certainly not saying what it was for. He wished he could pretend it was something else, too. But the look on Pete's face sealed it. He was pregnant and there was no going back.

Pete held him closer. "I dunno," he murmured, holding Patrick's uneasy hands in his own. "But don't think about it. It's science, it's confusing, fuck it. I mean..." he chuckled. "What if it's like, meant to be? Like, magical." he laughed a bit more and glanced up at Patrick's slightly smiling face. "We're doing the world a favor, alright?"

"As long as it doesn't turn into a bad sci-fi film, I guess that's good." Patrick smiled a sad, small smile and buried his face in Pete's neck. "Maybe there's something good about this."

October 31st, 2005
It had been a rough couple of months. Money was super tight. Too tight to support a four person family. The smallest member was more of a curse than a blessing, but they wanted her there. She was their porcelain doll, their ray of sunshine. Rita wouldn't let go of her, either. Her dimply smile, her little giggle, her lacy dresses and porcelain skin. Will didn't come to see his daughter for the last time. Travis stood beside his mom and plucked his sister out of her arms. "Mom," he whispered, his face blank. She was shaking. But they had agreed to this. The paperwork was all done. She was handed to the adoption lady, and the family left with no words.

"What do you think she'll be like?" Ryan asked, bristling with energy, grinning ear-to-ear. Ever since the papers were accepted and it was formally recognized that this baby girl--Alysia by name, though Ryan wasn't exactly sure how to say that, opting to call her Ally--was legally the child of him and Brendon, Ryan had been more energetic than anyone had ever seen him in a year.

Brendon chuckled at Ryan's enthusiasm and hugged him to make him stop bouncing. "I don't know. We'll have to see, won't we?" He had the papers in his hands, looking them over. It was the first time he had seen them since getting them from Ryan. "Her original last name was...interesting. Actually, that whole name." He giggled a bit. "She's adorable, from the pictures." He was grinning widely, himself.

"Alysia," Ryan stuttered over the pronunciation. "Ally." A determined grin. "Ally Urie-Ross." He kissed Brendon on the cheek.

Brendon started bouncing around, too. "Ally Urie-Ross!" he squeezed Ryan and looked back at the papers, beaming.

There was a significant chance that Ryan had never grinned like that in his entire life. "We're, like, dads, Bren!" A small chuckle. "And neither of us had to get knocked up."

"Or deal with doctors. And get tests. And get sick. And go through pregnancy. And push a football out of our crotch." He laughed a bit to himself. "Why can't they just get here with her already?"

"Dude, I think he got a C-section." Ryan made a face.

"Ew..." Brendon frowned. "Poor guy."

Ryan winced in sympathy. "I just feel bad for him in general, I guess. Girls are only pregnant for 9 months but that was like, a year."

"And then...didn't the baby grow in like...his stomach? He couldn't eat for a while..." Brendon looked disgusted. "I don't wanna know where that kid would have been pushed out if he didn't get a C-Section."

Ryan gagged. Just a little. "At least the kid's okay. They said he's supposed to have fucked up DNA or something, though." He squeezed Brendon's hand.

He squeezed back and frowned. "I hope he can have a normal life. I hope it's not too fucked up-"

Knocking at the door. Both of them practically ran. The lady, Mrs. Smith by name, stood there. In her arms was the girl--now called Ally Urie-Ross. Mrs. Smith was smiling as Ryan held up the papers with a shaky hand. Brendon looked at her with awe. He looked at every little bit of her. Her little patch of soft blonde hair, her chubby arms, tiny fingers, her cute little legs and tiny feet. He saw every little bit of her as perfect in his eyes. She grinned at him and he beamed.

"She's yours, boys."

Ryan gently plucked her from Mrs. Smith's arms, looking at the girl up and down. "Bren..."

"She's..." he couldn't find words. Her short little chub of an arm reached for Ryan's nose, and Brendon giggled. "She's ours." Mrs. Smith left and the two sat down on the couch, swapping their angel back and forth, just admiring her and playing with her.

"Hey, Ally," Ryan whispered. "Welcome home."

September 27th, 2005
Patrick stared, half-awake, at the ceiling. Thinking was the last thing that he wanted to do. He was bloody and drained and felt better than he had in nearly a year. His child--his son--was in another room, under close observation. Fuck. He'd never felt that tired, not in his whole life.
Pete was sitting beside him, stroking his hair back, just watching him. "Patrick," he murmured. "We have him now. Isn't that great?" He was beaming. "He's just...different."

"Yeah. Different." He was drifting off. "Like us."

"I guess." He kissed his cheek. "You rest. I'll check on James...James." He grinned a little and got up to watch the kid through the window. "My sweet lil' dude."

"Our sweet lil' dude," Patrick corrected. "Love you."

Pete grinned and looked back at his drifting boyfriend. "Our sweet little dude," he agreed. "I love you too." he looked back at James. "Both of you."