Chapter Two: I Know the Sun is Still Shining…

Pietro sat nervously in his seat, rubbing his hands to warm them of the lingering chill from outside. The small diner was warm around him, the smell of fried food thick in the air. The waitress, a middle-aged lady with dyed red hair and thick ankles, came by to fill his coffee for the third time.

It was 1:04. That meant Marty was 4 minutes late. Any normal human being would have found this acceptable, but Pietro was as far from normal as one could be and four minutes was a long time to wait for someone whose heart beat twenty-five times a second.

He picked up his coffee and took a long gulp, nearly scalding his tongue. It was sleeting outside now. He shivered involuntarily, and wrapped his hands tighter around his mug.

He looked at his watch. It was 1:05. Where was she?

Finally fed up with wait, Pietro pulled some change out of his pocket to pay for the coffee and began to pull on his coat. He was dreading this meeting anyway…

Just then Marty pushed open the door, a blat of cold air following her in. She stood shaking of her umbrella and stamping the dirty slush off her boots.

Making her way to the booth, she sat down across from him, smiling grimly. Taking his coffee, she gulped down the rest and began to peel herself out of her coat, two sweaters, a sweatshirt, gloves, scarf and hat.

"What the hell took you so long?" Pietro asked hotly, snatching back his now-empty mug.

Marty glanced at her watch. "It's 1:07!" she said incredulously, looking at him in disbelief. Gesturing to the winter attire beside her, she added, "It takes a long time to put on all this shit!"

"What are you wearing all that for, anyway?" he asked. "It's not THAT cold outside!"

"Well, seeing as I'm pregnant," she spat (taking satisfaction in the way Pietro winced at the word "pregnant"), "my mother seems to think getting sick wouldn't be the best course to take!"

Then she smiled at the waitress, who was staring at them both with a look that said, "Honey, I've heard it all before, so shut up and order."

Once the waitress had stomped away, the fat around her calves rippling sickeningly, silence stretched between them. Cheesy 50s music drifted around the diner, and much to Pietro's annoyance Marty began to sing along softly, just as she had done in the car. The fingers tapping along on the table were like Chinese water torture to his already-drifting mind. He was beginning to wonder why he'd gone to bed with her in the first place. Because you were plastered off your ass, his conscience stated blandly.

Reaching out suddenly, he pinned Marty's tapping fingers against the table. She looked up at him, obviously surprised.

"Could you not do that, maybe?" he asked tartly.

She looked down at his hand on hers and muttered, "Yea, sure."

It took him a few moments to remember to pull his hand away.

The silence stretched on again, but this time there was no tapping: only a gentle hum. Marty looked at him once or twice, perhaps wishing he would speak.

Finally, with a deep sigh, she said, "Okay, we need to talk about his."

"Agreed," Pietro answered, playing with his fork.

Running a suddenly-shaky hand through her hair, Marty said softly "I dunno what I'm going to do. How am I ever gonna go to college if I have to raise a baby?"

Feeling suddenly malicious, Pietro said, "You could always just get an abo-"

"Don't you dare even suggest it!" Marty broke in, hissing vehemently. "Don't you dare!"

"Just trying to help," he said sarcastically.

"Christ Almighty!" Marty cursed, glaring at him. "Could you be serious about this for one fucking second?!" Putting her elbows on the table, she rested her forehead in her hands. For an instant Pietro thought she was going to cry again. Then she took a deep, collected breath, and looked up at him.

"Alright, in any other circumstances I'd be more than happy to let you hate me," she said, putting a hand protectively over her still-flat abdomen, "but we need to start getting along for the sake of this baby. I'm not gonna ruin her life by not being there, and I refuse to let you do the same thing." When he made no move to argue, she continued, "Which means you see her at least twice a week, you pay child support, and you treat me and her like human beings!"

"How do you know it's a 'her'?" Pietro asked suddenly, still playing his silverware. "How do you know it's not a boy?"

"Gut feeling," Marty answered immediately.

"Fine," he said, setting down the knife and fork and finally looking up at her. "Be involved, right, I getcha."

Frowning at this much too chalant answer, Marty opened her mouth to reiterate everything she had just said, but Pietro cut her off.

"Look, I know I'm the last guy on Earth any woman would ever want to have kids with," he said seriously, suddenly feeling very young. "I can't promise anything spectacular, but I… I know what it's like to not have your dad there, and no one deserves to go through that."

Marty relaxed visibly and almost smiled at him. He took a shaking breath and almost smiled back.

Then the waitress brought out their food.

They ate in a silence broken only by the soft clinking of forks, and Marty asking Pietro to "stop monopolizing the salt and pepper."

The waitress brought their bill, and stomped off again, not even bothering to gather the finished dishes.

Pietro waved off the money Marty was beginning to pull out of her purse.

"Don't worry about it," he said, taking a few bills out of his pocket. "And no tip for you!" he added, shaking a finger across the diner at the back of their inadequate server. Marty laughed softly and began to pull on her winter wear, opting to leave off the hat, and one of the sweaters.

Pietro pulled the door open, and together they stepped out into the week afternoon light. It was bitter cold, but at least it had stopped sleeting. The concrete was slick and icy, but the wind had ceased it's howling. All in all, the day seemed to be growing more pleasant.

"Did you ride the bus here too?" Pietro asked, tugging his gloves on hurriedly against the chill air.

"No, my uncle dropped me off on his way to the office," she answered, struggling to pull on her own gloves while not dropping any of the other things she carried. "He wanted to come in and meet you, but he was running late. I'll have to ride it back though."

Pietro nodded and silently thanked whatever god was still looking out for him. He would have given her another ride, but he had walked himself.

"Do you need some help?" he asked when she had spent two minutes putting on one glove.

"No, no, I've got it," Marty answered absently. She had almost succeeded in her task when a wind sprang up, pulling her scarf out of her grasp. The red thing landed in a large puddle of half-frozen slush, instantly becoming soaked. She cursed softly and bent to pick up the now-dripping wool item. "Well, I won't be putting this back on…" she grumbled softly.

She turned back to Pietro, who took the soaked scarf from her and immediately looped his own over her head. For a moment she gazed down at the soft, light-grey wool, thoroughly befuddled by this sudden act of kindness. She looked up at Pietro, and was slightly amused to see that he looked uncertain about what he had just done.

"Can't have you getting sick, can we?" he said, feeling slightly embarrassed.

"No, I suppose we can't," she answered, turning to walk down the short block to the bus stop. She focused on the bus coming down the road. Being close to Pietro was beginning to addle her wits, and that was the last thing she needed at the moment.

Barely three minutes later, Marty stepped onto the bus, but was pulled out as Pietro suddenly grabbed her hand.

"Come out to dinner with me on Friday," he said, looking her straight in the eye. It had not been a request. All hint of uncertainty was gone from him.

"Alright," Marty answered softly. She looked back at the annoyed bus driver, then turned to give Pietro a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Maybe there is a heart under all that rock," she commented gently, smiling at him.

Then she stepped onto the bus and was gone.

Pietro wondered how he would explain his new scarf, or the absence of his old one.

On his way home, he smiled at a bassinet he saw in a shop window, and the little, pastel-colored mobile hanging above it. He was already feeling much better about this whole parenthood thing. He was still scared, as scared as he'd ever been in his life, really, but suddenly it didn't seem like such an impossible task.

With Marty's scarf tucked in his pocket, and a new outlook beating in his heart, he hummed all the way home.

End Chapter 2

Another one over and done with! Keep 'em coming, folks! I love reviews!