AN: Thanks for reading! Stay safe out there, friends.

Sadusky has somehow forgotten, impossibly, that Ben Gates is a man who says exactly what he means and keeps to it—Peter only has four minutes to go into the kitchen and reheat his tea before a quiet knock sounds on his door for the second time that night. It's either a feat of risky driving or Ben has somehow developed the ability to teleport.

"Come on in!" Peter calls.

By the time he adds some honey to the steaming mug and trundles back out into his living room, it is to see Ben stooped over Riley on the couch. Riley's posture is steel now, the whites of his eyes visible at the corner where he's looking up at Ben and, by the body language, not comfortable with this fact.

"What were you thinking?" Ben is berating. "Huh? What if you'd been jumped!"

Riley's jaw ticks. "I needed to process."

"Process…by putting as much distance between you and us as possible. Sure."

"That's …" Riley tilts the bear slightly so it's between them. "That's not what I meant, Ben."

"At least give me some warning! Were you out wandering this whole time? Did you walk all the way from the fair?"

"Maybe."

The conversation is tense, not their usual brand of snarky banter. It's blocky and stiff and not at all in character. Whatever happened shook them both in ways they haven't worked through.

Ben swears some more under his breath for good measure, then yanks a patchy woolen throw off the back of Peter's arm chair and drapes it over Riley. The young man's digits are white but starting to gain more pink, Sadusky sees now.

For his part, Ben is ruddy cheeked and still in his coat, showing that he quite literally raced to be here and his breathing is too fast to be considered composed or just from the exertion. Something in his eyes is the heaviest thing of all, an agonized weight of desperation he doesn't let show too often.

Hearing the shuffle of Sadusky's slippers, Ben turns. He backs away from the couch, running a hand down his face and looking worse than Sadusky feels. Riley eyes Ben for a moment longer, with an expression Sadusky has only seen on him a few times, assessing and wounded. Ben doesn't notice, though his own eyes fixate on the way Riley's shoulder is starting to lock up from the cold and stress.

Sadusky wants to ask, "is anybody doing okay?"

But instead, knowing the answer to this anyway, he says, "This is turning into a party."

"Sorry." Ben's apology is sincere, especially when he glances at the mantel clock.

"Don't be." Sadusky gestures to the whole scene. "I haven't had this much excitement since the last time you committed a felony."

Ben doesn't quite smile back, but some of the wound up coils inside him start to loosen.

"Is there hot chocolate in this joint?" Riley asks out of the blue. He shifts to standing and only sways a little. Ben shoots out a hand to keep him upright. It's on his bicep, and Ben doesn't let go until Riley can stay still for longer than a second. "That would go a long way towards me not feeling like a popsicle."

Sadusky smiles. "In the kitchen. Help yourself, Mr. Poole."

"Aht!"

"Sorry, Riley."

Riley, now wearing the blanket like a cape, all the way up over his now hat-free head and still holding the bear, waddles past them for the kitchen doorway. A tassel of unruly brown hair puffs out over the blanket lip and Sadusky has the weird urge to reach out and give it a twist. Which he most definitely does not do.

He merely reciprocates when Riley offers his fist, bumping it lightly.

"Thanks, Secret Agent Man."

Ben shakes his head, at his wit's end but struck into a wordless kind of frustration. Coming down off the spiral of worry, he closes his eyes. Once they're alone, Sadusky presses his shoulder. Even through the coat, his pulse beats fast.

"He's fine, Ben."

"I know, I just…"

Sadusky tucks his free hand in his pocket. "What happened? You guys were at that harvest fair outside the city?"

Ben nods, absent, eyes now on Riley's mismatched shoes. Though they've been scrubbed to high heaven, dried blood still clings to the toes from their home invasion back in May. One green Converse and one black. Shoelaces religiously replaced whenever they break. Right now, they're golden llama laces, wearing little shamrock hats.

Peter shakes his head, wondering where on earth Riley found such a thing and then deciding he doesn't want to know.

"He refuses to touch a gun and never has in all the time I've known him. He hates violence, even in video games." Ben waves a hand, helpless, at where Riley was sitting moments earlier. "And yet he's a savant with carnival nerf guns. Go figure."

All at once, Sadusky laughs, putting at least some of this bizarre night together. "He won all this stuff, the hat and the bear."

"Among other things, yeah."

"Do I want to know how much he conned game stalls out of?"

It's Ben's turn to grin and he looks more like himself when he does it. That restless and loyal man Sadusky has come to respect. "No, you definitely don't. And he didn't con them—he's just that good. Abigail will have a forest of stuffed animals to come home to."

Peter laughs again and takes a moment to appreciate it all, standing there in his pajamas, a ruffled, millionaire treasure hunter and his hacker best friend filling up the house, smelling of cotton candy and crisp fall air, leaving white bear fur everywhere and doodled sneakers on the entry mat. Hot cocoa mixes with the menagerie of scents, along with the sound of a carton popping open.

"That was a favourite habit of Katherine's," he says suddenly. "Putting a dash of chocolate milk in hot cocoa."

Now where did that come from? Sadusky is surprised at himself for blurting that fact, the hushed admission of happier times. He rarely talks about Katherine if he can help it.

But Ben just lights up, pleased to hear even this banal tidbit of his life. "Really? We're always telling Riley it's too rich, but he'll be pleased to know he's not the only one."

Peter suspects that Ben has dug up at least a little bit of personal information about him, though he doesn't offer any condolences or sympathetic sentiments upon hearing Katherine mentioned.

Instead, Ben looks him dead in the eye with a terribly solemn expression—"Did you feel ready to have kids, Peter?"

Funny, that he's cycling through the same conversation twice in one night, however differently they may be packaged.

"Of course not. Nobody ever does, Ben." Sadusky takes a photo frame off the mantel, one of himself many years younger, holding his baby daughter. Ben accepts it, delighted. He traces the outline of her chubby face. "I had no idea what I was doing. But if you love them, put your kids first, you work through the mistakes and problems together."

"Mmm…" Ben glances from the couch to the photo and back. His eyes are narrowed with that mile-a-minute spark Sadusky recognizes from years of puzzle solving. This time, he can't seem to decipher the answer he wants.

"Promises are a powerful thing," Sadusky offers.

Ben starts. "What…how do you…?"

"It's something Riley said when he got here."

Like Sadusky has just jabbed a pin in Ben's side, he deflates. "We're expecting. Four months along now."

Peter's cheeks are stating to hurt, from all this smiling and feeling alive business. "Congratulations, Ben. You and Abigail will make great parents."

Nodding, Ben accepts the clap on his back and hands the photo back so Peter can reverently slide it into its rightful spot. "After what happened in May…we realized life was short and we had to make the most of it."

"And you have." Sadusky cants his head when Ben's Adam's apple slides, the latent fretting in his face. "How does Riley fit into all this?"

A swollen pause follows this and something slithers through Ben's gaze, in white hot firework flashes, that even Sadusky can't read. A fuse trail of gunpowder winding its way through the room, about to reach its target and blow.

"That's just it, we, uh…" Ben's eyes flick to the kitchen at the sound of Riley's spoon clattering while he stirs. "Tonight, we broke the news and asked him to be godfather."

Aaahhh. This makes complete sense to Peter, why Riley would be bestowed such an honour and then just…sneak away.

"He made me ready." The words are blatant and bold, not ashamed or timid to be confessed. Ben's eyes glow with protective, wild fire. "Watching him get hurt, it snapped something inside of me and I knew I had to take that next step with Abigail, that I even could."

"You should tell him that," says Sadusky, and the truth of it settles around them like snow. Cold, beautiful, weighted.

"I just don't get it." Ben braces one hand on his hip. "We thought he'd be thrilled."

"He is, Ben. But he's also scared."

"Scared?" Ben's head snaps around. "Why in the world—"

"Because he's been let down so often before. Ben, come on. You offering him the position as godfather was proof he's still a part of this family, a promise that he isn't being asked to leave just because…"

Sadusky trails off to sip at his tea and throw Ben a meaningful look.

Ben visibly doesn't comprehend, not fully, but he watches Riley meander back in, licking chocolate off his lips and wrangling the bear one handed, and something in his face clears.

Sadusky taps at Riley's back when he passes by. "Is that bear for the new baby?"

Riley doesn't miss a beat. "Don't be ridiculous, Peter—this bear is for you."

"Me?" Sadusky huffs, caught off guard yet again. "What the Dickens am I going to do with a giant polar bear?"

"You'll figure it out soon enough," says Riley, horribly cryptic. He's claimed Peter's armchair this time, knees thrown over one of the arms and using the remote to browse through channels on an old black and white TV in the corner. It only gets four, and Riley settles on a rerun of Citizen Kane.

Sadusky lowers his voice so it won't be heard over the sound of the movie and an Orson Welles monologue. "Are you finally going to tell me how you two met?"

It's becoming a joke, how much he asks and how they never deign to tell him. Just one of their many secrets.

Crinkles appear around Ben's eyes, muted white light from the TV turning them an almost golden colour. They look the way Peter feels, bronzed and worn and hopeful. Sure enough, Ben answers the same way they always do—

"Not a chance."

"Are you at least going to tell me about the MIT hoodie?" Sadusky nudges his ribs. "Ben, he was expelled from MIT during his graduate degree for hacking a local police department database. I still have yet to figure out the secret of why he did it in the first place and better yet why he was never arrested for that."

Ben's smile only grows. "Some mysteries aren't meant to be solved."

Both of Peter's brows shoot up. "Is the great Benjamin Franklin Gates admitting there's a puzzle he doesn't want to decode?"

"I never said I didn't know the answer," he fires back. "I just don't think the world needs to know everything. Some things are too rare, too private."

Sadusky catches Ben's fond look at Riley and the giant bear.

"Yes," says Peter in a gentler tone. "They are. Have you decided on a name yet?"

"We have, but that's a secret too, unfortunately."

"One that I happen to know," Riley sing-songs, still slurping his hot cocoa.

He says it with smug pride, a brave move since his nose is dotted with melted marshmallow. Peter didn't even know he had marshmallows in the house.

Ben makes a warning sound. "No, you don't, you liar. And even if you did, that secret is one you will keep to yourself if you want to live to reach thirty."

"Yippee." Riley raises his mug. "Cheers to getting old."

This stops Ben in his tracks. "Was that an aging joke?"

"If the shoe fits, gramps."

"I'm going to be a first time father, not a grandfather."

"A grumpy old man would say that."

Ben points his thumb at Sadusky. "What does that make him? No offense, Peter."

Peter hides his smirk with another sip. "None taken."

Riley mutes the movie and cranes his neck to peer at Ben with a surprisingly serious expression. "He's wizened, Ben. There's a difference. He has that sentient-tree-from-Pocahontas vibe. No offense, Peter."

Sadusky wags his head back and forth, lips pursed in hyperbolic thought. "I think that's a compliment, actually. Or at least I'm choosing to take it that way."

Riley takes one hand off the bear to snap it into a finger gun. "Exactly! See, Ben, Peter gets it."

There's a shrewd look on Ben's face that melts into something warm when he looks at Sadusky. "I'll have to take some pointers, then."

Sadusky almost chokes on his tea.

"Anytime," he manages to say without sounding like he's just run a marathon, without giving away his pounding heart. "I've dealt with every parenting blunder under the sun and I'm more than happy to be a helpful tree."

Riley raises his arms in satisfaction, spilling hot chocolate onto the blanket. "You're the best secret agent ever."

"And you're making a mess." Ben's tone is blunt but his expression indulgent. "I hope you're going to clean all this before we go."

Nope. Ben Gates does not need one single parenting tip, Sadusky decides in that moment. He's had plenty of practice so far.

"Oh, don't worry." Riley points to the kitchen. "I did all of the dirty dishes a minute ago. And…I'm sorry for scaring you, Ben."

Ben lets out a breath, a slow one, like he's finally powered down and has to expel any lingering fear. "I'm sorry we broke both pieces of news to you all at once without any prep. That we didn't preface the offer with a disclaimer that you'll always be a part of this family, Riley."

Riley goes quiet. His lips thin, white with pressure.

Ben comes over to take one of those cold hands, bending to see Riley better and put them at eye level. "You're not my co-worker anymore or even just a friend. You're like a brother."

"A very irritating little brother, or so Abigail tells me." Riley's tone is cautious but hopeful, a perfect match for Ben's expression.

"Got that right. I want you to understand that this baby…that nothing—no one—could replace you."

"Well, duh. I knew that." Riley's skittering eyes betray him, as does his sudden flush. "You guys wouldn't survive five minutes without me."

There's a sudden, odd droop to Ben's shoulders, like he might fall over from something bowling into him at great speed. His features smooth with a mixture of love and amusement. He nods with a sombre gaze. "That we wouldn't. I can only hope you don't teach my daughter too many illegal things."

"Daughter? Daughter?" Riley sits upright and swivels, both feet on the floor, so fast it makes Sadusky dizzy just looking at him. "You're having a girl?!"

"Yeah." Ben laughs. He pats Riley once on the cheek. "You scrammed before I could tell you that part."

"Dude. She really will be Pocahontas."

"Does that make you the raccoon?"

"Don't push it."

Ben perches on the arm of the chair to ruffle at Riley's hair. "So? Does this mean you accept the job offer?"

"Last time you made me a job offer, I almost got blown up in the Arctic Circle." Riley leans his shoulder into Ben's hip. "But your kid needs someone to save her from the boredom of academia and dust that lurks in your home."

"Yeah?" Ben's smile is ecstatic now.

Riley mirrors it. "Yeah, Ben. I'd love to. I also don't trust anybody else to be godfather."

"I completely agree. That's why we asked you specifically."

Beaming, like someone just handed him a Nobel Prize, Riley sits a little straighter.

Ben exchanges a glance with Sadusky and then wraps his left arm around Riley's shoulders. This is so he can check on the bullet scar and its swelling, where Riley's pectoral meets his deltoid muscles. It's a gesture he does often now, subtly gauging the wound's progress since the tendons weren't healing right at first and Riley could barely hold a cup, let alone move the shoulder. Even now, Sadusky will catch him having trouble pulling open a door on cold mornings.

"Hey." Riley's eyes flare, animating with an idea. "Do you think I could use her when she's in her carrier for ops? Nobody ever checks a diaper bag or baby pockets for microchips."

Ben freezes. "Uh, over my dead body—"

Sadusky finishes that thought before he can. "Are you really going to propose that in front of an active federal agent?"

"Oh please." Riley snorts, not phased in the least. Peter wonders when he lost his intimidating agent aura that used to scare criminals so much. "You're too cool to bust me for something like that."

Ben continues the chewing out, already making a list of things he is not allowed to do when Riley's niece comes. There's the word 'sister' blurted out in there too, a telling slip up on both their parts, that Peter isn't sure they're even aware of. Perhaps that's for the best.

Sadusky doesn't join in, leaning back against the wall to just watch this play out, the noise and life swelling in every nook of his house. The dismal emptiness of earlier is banished by Riley's clashing clothes, his chirped protests, and how Ben can't seem to resist touching him, pulling him close with a hand hooked around his chest, Riley's elbow on his friend's knee, even while arguing over whether it's dishonest to use a baby to pick up girls at the park.

Peter's eyes stray again to Katherine's photo—he realizes he's smiling just as wide now as he was in that picture.

Maybe his doctors are on to something.

It isn't until Friday that Peter walks into his office and sees at least ten agents huddled around his desk, giggling. He stops, briefcase hanging from one lax hand, and squints. They're not pale or concerned, so no threat or higher ups here to fire him. In fact, the agents under his command are all whispering and pointing at something.

A package, perhaps? Some embarrassing photos or a weird sandwich prank to make fun of his eating habits?

He gathers himself and drops his case to the floor. "Someone want to tell me when my desk became the office water cooler?"

All ten or so agents whirl around in a completely unison motion to stare at Peter like squirrels caught by a flash camera. It's endearing and disconcerting all in one.

Peter's lips twitch. "A room full of experts who've faced bombs, bullets, and terrorists and no one can give me an answer?"

Since they're all in a circle, Peter has to part them to get to his desk. It takes some shoulder angling and shuffling.

One of the agents shakes herself. "We think you have a secret admirer, boss."

Thoroughly intrigued now, Peter finally makes it within eye sight of his chair—

Only to see one very giant, very white polar bear sitting upright in it, wearing a helicopter hat and sunglasses.

A warm meteor of tenderness crashes into Peter's gut and winds him for a moment. He knows he's probably grinning like a sook and doesn't much care. If all the fireworks in the state went off at once in his belly, he thinks it would feel something like this, would explain the faint tremble of protectiveness and affection in each limb.

"Not quite." His voice is soft, like his gaze.

There's also a tag around the bear's neck that reads: 'for the best honorary grandfather and sentient tree ever. Give it to some other kid with no parents, one less fortunate than this girl is going to be. They need it more than I do.'

"Boss?" one young agent tilts his head in confusion. "Not a love interest, then?"

Sadusky clears his throat to cover up a sudden sheen over his eyes, already mentally planning a trip to the hospital or nearest group home after work.

"Actually…yes." Sadusky's heart pops with heat and life, the verve of newfound expectation. Of family, and all the forms it comes in. "Something like that."