“You need to see a doctor,” Peter suggests gently, rubbing a warm hand over Stiles’ back. They’re both in the bathroom, with Stiles kneeling in front of the toilet and Peter crouching right next to him, offering comfort.
It’s the third day in a row of Stiles vomiting in the morning and at random intervals through the day. Or well, it’s been the third day Peter has been there to see it, since he spent most of last week in Oregon, hashing out the alliance with the Loretti pack.
He has a burning suspicion that Stiles got sick sometime during his absence and “forgot” to mention it during their daily phone calls. He used to do it when he was away at college, too, never letting Peter know he’s been sick until either he’s gotten healthy again or it got so bad one of his roommates alerted Peter.
Peter really thought they’ve been past it, but then again, they haven’t been separated for longer than a day or two since Stiles graduated and they moved in together.
Stiles, done for the moment, rests the side of his head on the cool porcelain. Peter smooths back a few strands of hair from his sweaty forehead and looks at his lover carefully. He’s still a little pale, his eyes wet, but he doesn’t look sick, exactly.
It’s still concerning, though, these bouts of nausea, and Peter would rather they deal with it now than wait for it to get worse.
Stiles, being Stiles, smiles at him, but doesn’t speak until a few minutes later, once he’s brushed his teeth and washed his face.
He leans back against the sink and catches Peter’s hand in both of his, playing with the ring he’s put on him a few months before.
“I really should see a doctor,” he finally says, which should be worrying, but his smell confuses Peter, because while Stiles seems a little nervous, he’s also obviously excited. “But…”
Stiles stops there and tugs Peter closer, presses both of Peter’s hands to his stomach and Peter might have been confused until now, but this-- he’d never-- what--
“How?” he finally chokes out.
“You know, when a werewolf and a Spark love each other very much,” Stiles says in a teasing tone, he’s grinning at Peter, his eyes a little misty. “I didn’t know I could until it’s already happened, but I’ve talked to Satomi and her emissary after I’ve spent the better part of a week suffering from morning sickness, and then went and got a test to pee on it, because that’s our life now, and--” he laughs a little, wipes a tear away when it falls, and then says a little hushed, a little reverent, “We’re gonna be dads.”
“Dads…” Peter repeats a little dumbly, then again, “We’re going to be dads. Stiles .” He wraps Stiles in a hug, clutching at this beautiful, amazing, powerful man - his fiance, his pregnant fiance. “Thank you.”
If he sheds a few tears, well, why would he care? He’s going to be a father.