Harry/OC. No, there is not enough background story. Why? Because I wrote this for myself - I just decided to put this up on the offchance that it might bring a bit of pleasure into someone else's life like it did mine. You've been warned - check your flames at the gate.
Oh, and I own Spiderman. For real. That's why Satya's not in the new movie (Wait, I haven't seen it yet... Was Shohreh Agdashloo playing in it?) throwing off the plot. Consider it dedisclaimed.
"Satya," my grandmother used to tell me, "There is a place and a time for everything."
She was probably right, and I have faithfully believed it all these years. But I am convinced that there is no right place and time tell a rich, handsome, smart, much younger man that you're pregnant with his child. Especially if the acts that brought that child into existence could logically be considered a mistake.
Nevertheless, that is exactly what I did this evening.
I was in Harry's room, taking off my jacket. He was lounging on the bed, smiling as if the rules of the world and all it's problems were things that happened to other people. I kicked off my shoes and tried not to look as sick as I felt.
"You're happy." I turned to look at him, and blinked. He laughed, the little ass. "Well, I see a gray suit with a purple sweater... That's happy clothes right? I mean usually, you're in black sweaters and white coats...?" He trailed off, seeing my face. "But that's not a happy look. Okay, what's wrong?" He sat up, "Was one of your patients an ass again? You know I can come down and tell them to stop..." He was trying to make me laugh. And at the image of Harry in the morgue telling the corpses to be nice to me, or else, it worked. I laughed. Weakly, I admit, but it was a real laugh.
"Seriously, Satya, what's bothering you?" He grabbed my hand and pulled me down to sit beside him, put his arm around me. He was wearing the furrowed brow, puppy-dog-eyed look that makes me want to cry, or kiss him, or crawl into bed with him - not the way I needed to be thinking right now.
"Nothing, I-" and God alone knows what prompted me, but I told him. "I'm pregnant."
"You're what?" His eyes looked huge and horrified, "Oh. I guess... you're sure..."
"Yeah." I wasn't sure which he was asking, so I answered both. "I'm pregnant... it's yours."
"It's-" He stared at me, "Wait, mine? You mean it, Satya?"
"No, Harry," I was a little shocked at how happy he had looked, "I've been with Peter too, so we're at even odds right now."
"Ah-" he stared at me a moment then dismissed my badly time sarcasm with a little shudder, "I'm a father!"
"I suppose," I said, miserable, confused, and uncertain, "I don't even know if I'm going to keep it," I was lying, and he knew it. I am a coroner. I work in a morgue. I take death very seriously.
"Satya." He looked at me very seriously, "Marry me."
"What? No!" I jumped off the bed, standing and facing him before I could even think consciously. He was just staring at me, looking hurt. "No, you're... Harry, you're so young, and you have the world ahead of you. It's not right that you should be forced to have a child out of an overactive sense of morality. I would never ask that of you." I meant to sound firm, but it came out angry. I wished it hadn't.
"No, that's not wrong. What's wrong is a kid growing up without a father. I've been there, and I'll be damned if I do that to my child!"
"No, Harry," Something in me threatened tears at the way he said 'my child', and I needed very much not to succumb to it. "I can't let you give up the life you want just because you still have issues with your father!" it was a terrible thing to toss out like that and I saw him flinch a bit, but he recovered fast.
"What do you think I want?" he sounded angry. I didn't blame him. "Do you think I want to become some sort of playboy, date supermodels, never the same girl two nights running? To get drunk, and be on magazine covers, and live in this damned house alone? To have no friends?" There were tears in his eyes and he looked betrayed, "Is that what I want?"
I shook my head mutely, feeling treacherous tears streaming down my face.
"Do you know what I want?" Harry asked, standing up and walking towards me. I almost stepped back.
'No,' I mouthed, shaking my head again.
"I want..." his eyes glazed over, and I wondered if he even knew the answer himself. He reached a decision. "I want you to marry me. You don't have to, we could be all avant garde if you want... But I want us to stop making excuses, and you move in here. With me." He grinned sheepishly, "You know I can't stand this house alone."
I opened my mouth to argue. I closed it again.
"I want to open my eyes, and see your face. I want to see your smile first thing in the morning, every morning, for the rest of my life. I want to be able to say I love you without feeling nervous, for the first time in my life... Because I do. I love you, Satya, and I want to marry you." he grinned wryly, "So at least I know what I want now."
I resisted the urge to begin another treatise on the subject of marrying young.
"Satya, please say something," said Harry, looking a bit wobbly, "I feel like an idiot just standing here."
"I don't know... what to say." I felt I was swaying in the breeze like a tree. "I'm just so tired."
"Oh, yeah, yeah..." He looked concerned, "We could wait and talk about it later."
"Alright," I nodded, "There's so much to talk about. Tonight... tonight, I just want to go to bed with my fiancé." I was rather proud of that, in a faint, weak way.
Harry took it in for a moment. Then he kissed me. I don't think he ever kissed me like that before. He held me, kissed me, caressed me, made love to me until all my fears melted away. I think I cried. Harry says I cried.
There is a place and time for everything. I think I believe that.