A/N: Dear readers! Thank you for your many kind and encouraging reviews, your feedback is much appreciated. I didn't mean to keep you waiting this long, but life got in the way. I cannot promise that it won't happen again, but I want you to know that I intend to continue and finish this story, no matter what.

Ch 40 – Sticks and Stones (4)

Jonathan hadn't opened his eyes yet, but he knew that Harry was staring at him from across the room. He liked to do that to make Jonathan feel guilty, and it wasn't even uncalled for.

"I knooow," he grumbled in Harry's general direction.

The weekends were always tough for Harry because everybody slept in, and he got his food much later in the day than usual. At least Ralph was nocturnal, and Ziggy only needed to be fed once per week. Snakes were such easy pets.

Jonathan yawned and stretched, listening for sounds from the hallway. He did have to go to the bathroom, but he was in no mood to run into anybody. His mom and Tony would try to talk to him about the baby, and he still didn't know what to say.

Last night, when they told him and Sam – with flushed cheeks and goofy, self-conscious smiles, holding hands on the tabletop – an icky feeling had settled in the pit of his stomach. It was the same feeling he got when he had stayed with his dad and Heather in California for Thanksgiving, only ten times worse.

He couldn't explain it. For some reason, it made him angry to think of the babies that everybody would soon be going nuts over. At least his new sister would be far away in Los Angeles. But this baby would live right here, in the room next to his.

Why couldn't things just stay the way there were? Their new family of four (well, five, if you counted Mona) had lasted for all of three weeks.

Jonathan felt so stupid for having talked to Tony before Christmas, and for believing him, even though he knew full well what he and his mom were doing behind closed doors. It was not something he wanted to think about, for a whole handful of reasons. Sam sometimes teased him with what he had said when he was eight and set Tony and his mom up on a blind date at Chez René. That they should just have sex already to get it over with.

Well, now he had his wish, and all the consequences. He groaned. This wasn't even about the game room or whether they built it upstairs or in the basement or on the moon or not at all. For all he cared, Tony could stick it up his-

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

"Jonathan?" asked Sam's voice, and his eyes rolled back at the memory of her excitement last night. Ever since before Christmas, she had turned into such a suck-up.

"What do you want?!" he shouted, hoping she wouldn't come in.

"Breakfast is in ten minutes, no thanks to you."

He sat up in bed but didn't say anything.

"Did you hear me!?"

"Yes! I'm not deaf!"

"Alright, whatever." She delivered what sounded like a swift kick to his door, then her steps moved down the hallway.

Jonathan slumped back against his pillow. He turned his head to one side, and there was Harry again, staring unflinchingly, his whole being a silent accusation.

'Feed me!'

Jonathan pulled the covers over his head.

ooooooooo

"You were in an accident?"

There was genuine worry in Michael's voice, and Angela's heart beat painfully against her ribs. In moments like this, she remembered why she had once loved him.

She cleared her throat. "There was black ice when Tony and I were on our way back from Brooklyn on Friday night," she explained, twirling the phone cord around her left index finger, too nervous not to do it, in too much discomfort to make the loops very big.

"But you're okay?"

"Yes. More or less. I've got two broken ribs, and Tony hurt his knee. The van is a total loss. But aside from that, we're fine. Well, we're going to be fine."

"Wow. Sounds like you were pretty lucky. Under the circumstances."

"We were," she agreed and took a deep breath. "Ah, listen, Michael, actually … I didn't just call to tell you about the accident. There is- there is more."

"Oh?" She could hear him raise his left eyebrow. "Did you want to wish me a happy new year?"

She laughed. "Yeah, sure, that too. But no, that's not it. Do you remember when we spoke after Thanksgiving? About your and Heather's news, and how Jonathan didn't take them so well?"

"Of course."

"Well, as it turns out, Tony and I … and I realize I should have talked to you about this before telling Jonathan, especially after what I said to you back then, and I apologize for that. But after the accident, we just went ahead and-"

"Are you pregnant?" Michael asked, straight to the point, gently amused, mildly astonished.

Angela felt heat rise to her cheeks and was glad that he was far away in L.A. Just like the last time Michael had asked her this question, she gave a simple answer.

"Yes."

On the other end of the line, Michael chuckled, but it didn't sound all that amused anymore.

Angela tightened her grip on the receiver. Pushing her tongue against the roof of her mouth, she thought back to their bitter middle-of-the-night arguments that started when Jonathan wasn't two years old yet. They usually began with Michael pushing himself against her from behind, nuzzling her neck and pulling the straps of her nightie off her shoulders. They usually ended with them trying to fall asleep at the outer edges of the mattress, facing away from each other.

Michael wanted them to try for a second child. And while having another baby sounded lovely in theory, something deep inside of Angela balked at the idea of another pregnancy, not to mention day-to-day life with an infant and a toddler underfoot.

Everything was exhausting enough as it was, her whole existence a precarious, fast-paced juggling act between the demands of work and trying to meet Jonathan's needs, cast against the backdrop of Michael's unpredictable schedule and frequent overseas assignments.

She couldn't get pregnant again, not now, not anytime soon. Not if she wanted to keep working, to stay her own woman. And she wanted nothing more than that.

Back in January of 1989, Michael found his voice. "Congratulations, Angela."

She swallowed. "Thank you."

"When's the big day?"

"In August." A smile took over her face, and she relished it for a moment before continuing. "We didn't mean to tell people this early. But the accident put some things into perspective."

"Yeah. I can't even imagine."

Angela had never been to Michael and Heather's new house in L.A., but she had a mental image of him right now, sitting on a barstool in an open-plan kitchen, talking on the phone and watching his pregnant wife doing morning yoga out on the patio. Just like he had once watched her in their little Manhattan apartment.

"We were so relieved that nothing worse happened, I suppose we let ourselves get a little carried away last night when we talked to the kids."

"So, they're not jumping for joy?"

"Well, Sam is happy. But Jonathan, not so much."

"Mhhm," Michael hummed. "I can't say that I'm surprised."

"I think this is all too much for him."

Michael clicked his tongue. "Heather and me, you and Tony getting married, another baby … It's a lot of change. Not our son's favorite thing in the world."

"No," she agreed. "He didn't want to talk about it last night, and he didn't come down for breakfast this morning. Now he's downstairs at least, playing with the Nintendo. But we're giving him space for now."

"Mhhm," Michael hummed again, and Angela wondered what exactly she was hoping to hear from him. Michael didn't know their son nearly as well as she and Tony, he was in no position to help her with this.

She blinked and let go of the phone cord. "I suppose I just wanted to let you know what's going on, so you wouldn't hear it from Jonathan the next time you two talk."

"I appreciate it. And I was going to say that Jonathan is welcome to come out to California anytime he wants to. But I'm afraid our situation here isn't much different from yours. Worse probably." Michael snorted drily. "We're knee-deep in wallpaper and carpet samples, and since we found out it's a girl, Heather started buying all these-"

"It's a girl?" Angela gasped.

"Oh, yeah. Didn't Jonathan tell you?"

"No, he didn't. A girl, that's wonderful, Michael. Congratulations."

"Thanks. Heather is over the moon."

"Little girls are such a joy."

"How would you- oh, yeah. Of course, Samantha," Michael course-corrected. "Anyway, yeah. Jonathan is welcome here anytime, if you think a change of scenery would help."

"Thank you. But I think he just needs some time. And it's like you said, right? There's a baby sibling on the way on both coasts."

"That's true. It's almost funny, if you think about it."

"Almost," she agreed.

Michael was silent for a beat. "Maybe if he got out of the house more? When he was here in November, I got the impression that he's kind of a homebody. Does he have many friends?"

There was Todd, but as far as Angela knew, that was it.

"You know that that's been an issue for years," she said in a low voice, adopting even more of a whisper before she continued. "He's a year younger than the other kids in his grade, he's at the top of his class, and he can be a bit of a know-it-all."

"Yeah, I wonder where he gets that from."

"Ha-ha."

"I was kidding. I'm sorry. But seriously, he's eleven – maybe if he got involved in more activities and found a friend or two, he would be a little less focused on what's going on at home?"

Angela didn't believe that what Jonathan needed was distraction. On the contrary, she suspected that he felt unsure of his place within their family and the last thing she wanted to do was push him away.

But still, she had to admit that there might be a grain of truth to Michael's observation: Jonathan didn't have many friends, he spent most of his time alone in his room, or – recently – playing video games. Maybe more after-school activities and new friends would provide some balance and help him feel more secure somehow?

"Maybe you're right. Tony and I will talk to him."

"Thank you. And Angela? Take good care of yourself, okay? Although I'm sure Tony has that covered already. Tell him congratulations from Heather and me."

"I will. Thank you."

"You know, I could see it from day one," Michael said in conclusion, "you and Tony, you're good together." It sounded a tiny bit smug, but Angela was quick to forgive him because he was right.

"Yes, we are." Much better than you and I ever were.

ooooooooo

Tony peered through the half open kitchen door. Jonathan was sitting cross-legged on the couch, completely absorbed in his video game. What was it called again? Super Zelda? Mario World? Something like that.

The wise, patient part of Tony's brain knew that now wasn't the time to try and talk to him. Also, he and Angela had agreed to let Jonathan come to them. But the anxious, worried part didn't feel bound by this agreement.

Last night's conversation with Mona kept echoing in Tony's head, and he felt bad about having lied to Jonathan, even in a roundabout way. The empty seat at the breakfast table had unnerved him, and he didn't care for a repeat performance at dinner tonight. He wanted to fix this situation sooner rather than later.

And so, before he could think better of it, Tony set himself into motion and wrestled his way through the swinging door.

"Hey, b- Jonathan," he said as he approached the couch. Every step on crutches felt like a knife to his bad shoulder, but what choice did he have? He wouldn't be walking without them for another five weeks or so.

"Hey." Jonathan didn't take his eyes off the TV screen.

"Can I talk to you?"

"About what?" Jonathan asked, his brow furrowed in concentration. From the looks of it, he was performing a very complicated maneuver within the video game. His thumbs flew back and forth over the controller as he pushed different buttons in rapid succession.

Tony held on to both crutches with one hand and lowered himself into the armchair to Jonathan's left. "About last night."

Jonathan heaved an annoyed sigh but didn't pause the game or avert his eyes from the television.

"I mean it," Tony said, careful not to sound impatient. "I think you and I need to talk."

"Just let me finish this world."

Tony watched for a while as Jonathan kept playing. His attention began to wander. From the repetitive music to the dull throbbing in his knee to the ache in his shoulder, back to the music and Jonathan's thumbs on the controller.

He ran a hand over his eyes and stifled a yawn. After his late-night tea with Mona and the move into his old bedroom so he wouldn't disturb Angela, he had finally fallen into a fitful sleep. His leg hurt, and he felt lonely. At five in the morning, he woke up, disoriented, his heart beating in his throat. Why was he back in his bed? For a split-second, he had wondered whether the past four months had been nothing but a dream.

A fanfare sounded, and a new section of the game began.

"Jonathan?" Tony tried.

"In a minute."

"No, now. Please pause the game."

"I said in a minute." Something in the video game made an obnoxious dinging sound.

"You said that five minutes ago, Jonathan."

"I can't pause this part."

Tony inhaled. "Alright, but as soon as you can, please do it."

Jonathan kept pushing buttons, and the dinging continued. Then, another fanfare, followed by blissful silence. Finally, he put down the controller and looked at Tony.

"Okay, what?"

Tony gathered his thoughts and began to put them into words. "You said some things last night that weren't very respectful, and that make me think that you're unhappy about something."

Jonathan didn't react.

He pressed on. "I think I've got a pretty good idea what it is. But if I'm wrong … I guess what I'm saying is you can be honest with me, whatever it is. I won't be mad."

Jonathan remained silent and Tony rotated his bad shoulder in its socket.

"Look, b- Jonathan. Let me start by saying: I didn't mean to lie to you when we talked before Christmas. When you asked me if your mom and I were going to have more kids."

"But you did." Jonathan finally spoke, his expression serious. "You made it sound like you were going to wait."

Tony nodded. This was a tricky issue. He wasn't going to let his eleven-year-old stepson-to-be in on the fact that his new brother or sister was the result of failed contraception. But he also didn't want to give him the impression that he had been callously lied to.

"I know. And I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. But there are some … things and some decisions that are just between your mom and me, that we won't discuss with anyone else until we're ready, and that we don't owe any explanations for. Not to you or Sam, not to Mona, or anyone else. Having a baby is one of those decisions. It's very personal, and private, and your mom and I needed some time for us before we told you guys. Can you understand that?"

Jonathan was looking at him stoically. "Yes. Is that all?"

Tony pursed his lips. "Yeah, kind of. Unless you want to tell me what else has got you so upset."

"Nothing. I'm not upset."

"Are you sure? Because I gotta tell you, from where I'm sitting, you don't look too happy."

"I was mad that you lied, I forgive you, I understand. Okay? Can I continue this now?" Jonathan lifted the controller.

Tony wasn't a fan of Jonathan's flat, snooty tone. He couldn't let it go just yet. "Are you embarrassed because we're not married yet?"

Jonathan shook his head in a slow, dramatic fashion and made a face as if to underscore the absurdity of Tony's question. "Who cares about that? We live in the 80's."

"I don't know, maybe you do? Are you afraid the kids at school will talk about us? That they will make fun of you?"

Jonathan looked off to the side. "They do that anyway. I don't care about them."

Tony was sure that wasn't true. Jonathan did care, about a lot of things. He and Angela had been so busy trying to figure out their relationship, had they lost sight of what was going on in Jonathan's life?

"Then what is it? You were in such a good mood yesterday, helping out around here, and you and Sam did a great job with dinner. Is it about my old room? Are you disappointed that we're going to need it for the baby?"

"No. You can give the baby my room if it will make you and Mom happy."

"Jonathan, what are you talking about? Nobody wants to give the baby your room." Regret began to burn in Tony's stomach. This wasn't going well at all, he should never have started this conversation.

Jonathan looked down at the controller in his hands.

"Hey, come on, buddy. Talk to me. What's really going on?" Tony reached for his crutches. He wanted to sit next to Jonathan on the couch.

"Nothing!" Jonathan suddenly erupted, halting Tony in his tracks. "Stop! Why can't you just stop!" He jumped up from the sofa and threw the Nintendo controller onto the coffee table.

"Jonathan, I'm just trying to-"

"What!" Angry tears had sprung to Jonathan's eyes.

"… figure out what's bothering you," Tony finished lamely.

Jonathan took two steps in his direction. "It's you, okay?! You, and Mom, and your stupid baby!"

For a brief moment, Jonathan stared down at Tony, then he whipped around and stormed off in the direction of the back door.

But he never made it there because Angela had just come around the corner from the den. She walked right into Jonathan's path, and Tony watched helplessly as mother and son collided in the middle of the living room.