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"Liz," he says, overnight bag on his shoulder, "Can I stay with you?"
He's done this before (once, after a particularly bad fight with Paula, sometimes when his in-laws are in town ("They think I'm away on business," he announces, proudly, and she shakes her head, wonders how where they think the producer of a failing variety show is, exactly)), so she doesn't push.
"I have Chinese food," she says, instead, and he actually brightens at that.
"This day just got better," and he's Pete, so he's only half-joking.
He drops his bag inside her door, and she waves at the kitchen. "Help yourself," she says, settling back onto the couch cross-legged, picking up her plate (it's her third tonight, but he doesn't need to know that).
"The chow mein," Pete calls, "Is it chicken or pork?"
She chews, thoughtfully, for a moment. "You know, I can't really tell."
He snorts, and she smiles at the television screen.
He brushes past her, props his feet up on the coffee table and balances his plate in his lap. "What are we watch-" the question dies on his lips as the Late Night with Conan O'Brien intro starts up, "Oh, Liz," he says, disgusted. "Come on."
"I - it's a thing, Pete," she says, and he stares at her, incredulously until she blows a raspberry at on-screen Conan.
"Boo," she says, flatly, giving him a thumbs down, "You suck," and Pete actually laughs a little.
"He was an idiot," Pete says, "to let you go."
There's a semi-awkward pause until she reaches over and squeezes his arm. "Thank you," she murmurs, then adds, normally, "But I already said you could stay."
*
"Paula's pregnant," he finally admits, over breakfast, and she puts down her coffee.
"Pete! Congratulations," she leans over, punches his shoulder, and he looks almost haggard.
"Yeah."
"It ... is yours, isn't it?"
"Liz!" he protests.
"Sorry. Then what's-"
"Five kids, Liz," he moans.
"Yeah," she says, dryly. "Poor you."
"She wants me to get a vasectomy," he says, morosely.
"I can't imagine why," and the sarcasm's all but lost on him.
"I just ... need a break," he admits, and she reaches out, touches his back, between his shoulder blades, for a moment.
"You can't stay here," she tells him, pulls her hand back.
"Why not?"
"Go home, Pete," and - is he growling at her? "You're a good dad," she says, simply. "You love Paula, and you love your kids." He sighs, says nothing, and she raises a finger. "You know I'm right."
(And maybe she is, but he stays another two nights).