Work Text:
Vicki flopped onto the bed, her groan muffled as her face collided with the pillow. The elevator was being serviced today, and it was six flights of stairs up to their apartment. Coupled with work, walking to the subway, and... other recent developments, to say that her feet were hurting was an understatement.
“That bad, huh?” Alvin asked from beside her.
She barely had the strength to push herself up enough to look at him. Alvin was sitting backwards in the desk chair by the window, the Lyon cityscape fanning out behind him as he tinkered by the light of the fading sun. His hair was pulled back into its usual scruffy ponytail, and she barely noted that he had her pink and purple polka dot bandana tied around his bangs.
“Explaining value and composition in French all day is hard,” she huffed, mashing her face back into the pillow. That was her excuse at the moment. She was ignoring how much her stomach was flipping like somebody was using the inside as a punching bag.
Alvin chuckled. “Would you rather go back to chasing me around rooftops for a good shot?” She heard the soft chink of metal settling onto the desk before the bed creaked under her. His arms were around her in an instant, and she settled into him with a sigh.
“Only if I can do it in English,” she muttered.
Alvin nodded against her head. “I’m almost done with the Lampy Language Learner for you,” he said eagerly.
Vicki laughed, turning onto her side in his arms to face him. He was grinning with his crooked teeth, the sort of smile that belonged on a mad scientist. It still fit him. “The thing that looks like a toaster?” she asked.
He rolled his eyes. “Of course not. That’s the Vicki-Won’t-Take-the-Time-to-Make-Breakfast-Before-Work-Inator.”
“One time.”
“Per week.”
Her smile was cut off by another wave of nausea, and Alvin’s goofy grin dropped into something more concerned. “Are you okay?” he asked softly. She felt him press the back of his hand to her forehead, and she let her eyes flutter closed for a second. She wasn’t okay, and she knew exactly why, but something about his concern was endearing.
How the most maniacal supervillain she’d ever known could somehow be so tender, she’d never understand. Well, no, she did understand— when Jesus got ahold of people, they could never be the same. Alvin was certainly not the exception. He was far cry from the deranged man who’d attempted to take over Bumblyburg with eyebrows. She hugged him closer, nestling her head against his chest. She loved him, the real him, who he was now. She could hardly imagine him any other way.
“Vicki,” his voice dropped even more concerned as she curled closer into him. “If you’re sick—“
“Not sick,” she mumbled.
“Then why are you all mopey suddenly?” he asked. To his credit, he didn’t pull away. She felt his hand gently rubbing her back, holding her close.
“S’nothin’,” she mumbled into his shirt.
She felt him sigh. “Bad day at the museum?”
Vicki pulled her head back a little, enough to see his eyes. His eyes had never been remotely normal— they were different sizes, for one, his right eye behind a monocle so he could see straight, and both of the irises a piercing yellow color. But somehow the yellow that made him look deranged back then had become a glowing well of sunlight. She could see the concern, the love, swirling there in the molten gold of his eyes.
Vicki sighed, her nerves bunching up in her stomach with the nausea. She had been trying to wait for something more picturesque —Friday dinner out, maybe, or new photo that captured the idea. But now she couldn’t hide it anymore, and he was looking at her like his whole world would fall apart if she did. Right now. This was the moment.
She pulled back from him a little further, twining her fingers into his hand. She squeezed it tightly and didn’t look away from those golden eyes.
“Alvin,” she started slowly. If it was possible, his eyes widened a little. He could tell whatever she was saying was important.
“Yeah?” he asked quietly.
“How much of our wedding do you remember?”
Alvin blinked in confusion, but his crooked smile returned softly. “It was three years ago at, what, one in the morning? I was a mess of ‘oh my gosh she said yes, I don’t legally exist anymore, what if we die, I've never been to Europe why are we going there, and what do you mean we only have time for one dance.’” She laughed, and he brushed a lock of her hair from her cheek. “But I remember you were beautiful. And that I loved you. Both of those are still true.” She felt her cheeks warming under his touch and his compliments. “Why do you ask?”
She took a deep breath, the excitement building up in her. “Well,” she started. “I figured since our wedding was kinda…”
“Chaotic?”
She laughed. “Exactly.”
“Heh.”
“…maybe the next part of building our family would be sort of unexpected too?”
Alvin froze. His jaw dropped, his eyes widening, searching her face for any sort of mischief, any glimmer of a joke. "Are you...?"
Vicki's excitement bubbled up onto her face, and she didn’t know what her smile looked like, but it felt like it might be something similar to his maniacal grin. His hand was still in hers, and she pulled it to rest on her stomach. “I’m not sick, Alvin.”
“You’re joking,” he muttered. His face was breaking into a grin, and suddenly he shot up, both hands threading into his hair underneath her stolen bandana. “You’re joking. We can’t be— we’re—“ His gaze shot back down to her with a breathless laugh. “Vicki, are we parents?”
She barely had time to nod before he swept her up in a kiss. He held her there, tightly, only pulling back to laugh and then kiss her again. Then before she realized it, he was standing up, his hand still in hers, his smile wide and breathless—
“Dance with me, Vicki!”
Vicki laughed and let him pull her to her feet. Alvin reached behind him and flicked on the radio on his workbench, whatever cd he had in coming on fast and upbeat. They found the haphazard rhythm like they’d been born in it. Alvin twirled her around, catching her and pulling her back to him, spinning them around their bed like they had nothing to lose. Vicki was laughing, and somewhere in the chaos and the beat she heard him singing along at the top of his lungs.
“‘Cause she was made for me, you gave 'er to me
I said I'd hold on loosely, but I so wanna squeeze you
Just right for me and for the life of me
I can't believe I get to call her mine
And she was made for me.”
Somewhere along the bridge she tripped over the edge of the bedpost, and Alvin squeaked as he half-lowered, half-dropped her back onto the bed. She pulled him down beside her, panting and laughing and wrapping her arm around his like she’d never let go because she wouldn’t.
Alvin lay beside her, catching his breath, grinning like a maniac. “Parents,” he muttered.
“Parents," Vicki agreed.