#future fic exploring vegaspete and their emotions post-canon

[peachym00]

Pete looked at his phone to find it was half past three in the morning. Knowing he would lie awake until the sun came up unless he could adequately distract himself, he rolled out of bed, careful not to disturb Vegas.

Tiptoeing to the kitchen, he made some tea and sat at the counter until he finished it when the sudden creak of the door made Pete violently jump. The cup he was still holding fell to the floor and smashed against the unforgiving tiles.

Pete turns to look at the intruder, and they stare at each other in stunned silence.

“Shit,” Macau whispers loudly, which would have made Pete laugh if he was in a better mood, “Don’t move; I’ll sweep that up before you cut yourself.”

“Be careful,” he frowns as Macau sweeps up the mess even though he’s also barefooted.

“P’Pete, please don’t mother me whilst I’m saving you from the impending doom of tiny pieces of ceramic stuck in the bottom of your feet; my heroic work can’t afford distraction.”

This makes him smile, and he pretends to zip his mouth shut. When he’s finished, Pete thanks him, and he watches Macau hunt through the fridge.

“Is that what brought you down here in the middle of the night, your stomach?” He teasingly questions, watching him grab some leftover food and settle beside Pete on the counter. The heathen doesn’t even wait for the food to cool down after re-heating it; he just shoves it straight into his mouth.

“Yeah, my stomach is no joke when it comes to food,” he flaps his hand in front of his mouth in an apparent attempt at cooling down his mouthful, “when it’s hungry, I listen. Or I turn into a hangry beast.”

“You definitely get that from Vegas,” he snickers, ignoring the look he gets.

“What brings you to the kitchen in the middle of the night?”

“Oh, just couldn’t sleep, the usual.”

Macau nods knowingly, continuing to eat. “Nightmares?”

He pauses, almost denying it but deciding to be honest.

“How did you guess?”

“I know you’re jumpy, but that was a bit much, even for you.”

“I guess that was a pretty solid giveaway,” he smiles, embarrassed, but Macau just smiles back, kindly, in a way that Pete knows is completely sincere.

The door creaks for a second time, yet again making Pete jump, though not quite as violently this time.

“We need to oil that door,” he exclaims, making Macau snigger, placing a hand over his chest to feel his heart racing.

“What are you two doing?” Vegas asks, squinting his eyes in the dim light of the kitchen. His hair was messy like he’d been running his hands through it. Pete thought he looked cute.

“Nothing, just hanging out,” Macau chirps, swinging his legs under the table for good measure.

“You should be asleep.”

“You’re right, it’s late,” Pete says before Macau can reply; he doesn’t look Vegas in the eyes as he gets up to leave. “I should get back to bed.”

He can feel Vegas looking at him as he walks past, the weight of his stare bearing down on him. “Well, goodnight then,” Pete calls, faux cheerfully and awkwardly leaves the room.

He stops outside the door, cursing himself for acting so uncouthly. As he moves to properly leave, he catches their conversation.

“What was that about?” he hears Vegas ask sullenly.

“P’Pete smashed a cup because I scared him when I came in.”

“I know; it woke me up; he left the bedroom door open.”

“He had a nightmare,” Macau says pointedly.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” More silence. “That’s all you have to say? Aren’t you going to see if he’s okay?”

“He probably doesn’t want to talk to me right now.”

“I wouldn’t even want to look at you if I were him, but this is P’Pete we’re talking about; I don’t think there’s anything you could do to stop him from talking to you.”

Vegas doesn’t reply.