and now, a time warp. Let's say... fifteen years or so beyond...

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Peter sat in the dark living room, staring out toward the front window. A flash of headlights finally rolled across the room and he squinted against them, hands tightening into fists as he shook his head, wondered how long he could keep from yelling. He had promised Elizabeth that he wouldn't yell, but the later it got, the worse he felt. He wished she hadn't talked him into doing this alone.

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"There's something going on with Mattie and that girl, Peter. I can tell."

"Did he say so?"

"No. I just think… maybe he needs to talk to you."

"Me? I don't know. We haven't really been talking lately."

She appeared to ignore the tone behind his statement, and nodded. "All the more reason to, then. Just be nice."

"I'm always nice."

She smiled at his affronted look and kissed his nose. "I know, dear."

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He heard the back door open, close, heard a lock clicking. Then, keys in the bowl on the counter. He inhaled a breath to call, but Matt walked into the living room.

"Dad? That you?"

"Yes."

"Where's Mom?"

He fought the urge to get up and shake the seventeen year-old by the shoulders. "Are you kidding? Do you have any idea what time it is?"

He heard a sigh in the darkness, and his son walked over, sitting on the couch near his father's chair. "Yeah. I'm really sorry."

"This is the third time in two weeks. If you can't respect the house rules about when you're supposed to be home, then –"

"Dad?"

Something in his son's voice cut through his anger. He paused, staring at the darker shadow of his son in the dark room. "What." There was no answer, although he heard the boy take a shallow breath, sounding a little ragged. His shoulders tightened as he felt the wave of worry hit. "Matt? What's going on?"

The voice was smaller, somehow, and quiet. "I'm sorry I was late."

Peter waited, realized he was going to have to milk this conversation out of him. He wished again that El had stayed up. "You have a reason for it?"

"Yeah."

"You went to Sandy's after work?"

"Yeah."

"All three times?" Sometimes Peter hated his experience in interrogation.

"Yeah."

"When you know that you've only got the night license for working? When we told you that –"

"She's pregnant."

There was another pause, longer. More silent, somehow. Peter's hand darted to the side table and snapped on the reading lamp, his dark eyes flashing in the light. "Is it yours?" He stared at the downcast face of his son, who eventually looked up to meet his father's eyes, an oddly familiar defiance echoing between their expressions.

"No."

"Listen, Matt. If it's yours, then you have to take responsibility -"

"It's not mine, okay?" The words came out a bit louder than the boy would have liked, a little more out of control.

Peter shook his head, keeping his anger in check. "How can you be sure?"

Matt croaked an ironic little laugh, his head dropping back as he looked at the ceiling. "Because I believe you actually have to have sex with someone for that to happen, and I was being absolutely fine about her wanting to wait until 'she was really ready', even after she…" he trailed off, his voice cracking a bit.

The FBI agent exhaled a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "I see." The relief that he felt evaporated as he saw tears in the eyes of the young man in front of him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen his son cry.

"It's just… I really… I really liked her, Dad. I thought we were… I mean, I didn't mind waiting because I really thought…" He stopped abruptly, pushed his hands back through his hair. "She's only a month along, and we've been seeing each other for almost two." He stopped, looked down at the rug again, his shoulders shaking. "I'm such an idiot. I feel so stupid."

Peter stood up and moved to sit on the couch next to his son. He hesitated a moment, then threw an arm across the boy's shoulders. Matt didn't exactly lean on him, but sort of slouched in his direction. For a moment they sat there, until Peter spoke softly. "You're not stupid." The boy continued his story, not really hearing.

"She told me last week that she needed to talk to me, tell me something important… but when I came over, both times she just wouldn't tell me what was going on. Tonight I showed up at her house, and Randy Bennett was just leaving." He wiped the sleeve of his coat across his face and took another breath. "So she told me. Flat out. Because evidently Randy kind of freaked out. And her parents just found out, and they said they won't throw her out of the house yet, but they're not speaking to her right now."

Peter took a breath, thoughtfully, and rubbed his hand over his son's arm. He paused a while before speaking. "So. What'd you do?"

Matt coughed a self-deprecating laugh, his eyes still downcast. "I told her that we're finished, but if she needed anything she should call me." He turned to look at his father with deep brown eyes, wet like stone on a rainy day. "I mean, no matter what, no one should have to go through that alone, right?"

The father restrained himself from hugging the boy until he broke him in half. Instead he just stared, expressionless, until his son finally lifted his eyebrows in a confused frown, quite reminiscent of his father's. "What?"

Peter took a deep breath. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. "I want you to know, Matthew. I'm very proud of you." He pulled Matt into a hug and took a breath, ruffling the boy's hair as if he were much younger. They sat there for a couple minutes, both turning when they heard a quiet cough at the door.

"Everyone okay in here?"

"Yeah, Mom."

She looked at his tear-streaked face and then at her husband. Her eyebrows peaked. "You sure?"

"It's all good, El."

"Well… okay." Peter nodded imperceptibly at her, and she smiled gamely. "Then, since we're all up anyway, how about some hot chocolate?"

The men looked at each other and Matt shrugged. "Sounds good, Mom."

"Okay. Good." She walked into the kitchen, and the men stood up to follow.

Matthew stopped to wipe a sleeve across his face again, take a deep breath, and push back his hair.

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"…Thanks."

Peter sighed. "Don't thank me yet. You're still grounded." He tried to look sternly at his son, but couldn't really hold it long before he started to smile.

"Yeah, I figured." Matt gave a resigned grin in return. "Nowhere I really want to go right now, anyway."

Peter watched as the boy walked ahead of him into the kitchen and shook his head. Then he caught Elizabeth looking back toward him with a steady gaze before she turned back to the stove. Walking behind her as he came in to help, he rested his hands briefly at her waist and whispered in her ear. "Fine. You were right. No need to gloat."

She grinned and leaned back to kiss him. "Please. I never gloat. It would get boring." He gave her a look that she ignored deftly. "Mattie, can you please get the cookies from that shelf?"

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…please feed the author…