By Fire Frog.

Egon was relaxing in the entertainment room's wing back leather armchair, reading the latest edition of 'Baby and You Magazine', feet resting on the matching brown ottoman. Peter crouched beside him, lavishing him with a thoroughly elaborate foot massage.

They were nice feet, Peter felt, kind of elegant and long, and the arches were just right for him to run his thumb over in an easy back and forth motion that reminded him of that time he and Angie Forthren....

Peter quickly finished up, wrapping the too alluring feet away in a clean white towel, then placing them carefully back on the ottoman.

Without looking up from his reading Egon held out a hand and Peter obediently shuffled his way up to take it. He began massaging the long fingers, wondering idly why the tip of the index one was stained purple as he caressed his way down to the strong palm and supple wrist. He let the rhythm of the strokes take him, his eyes travelling restlessly down over Egon's sprawled form.

A growl of mental frustration whispered through his mind. How he wanted to touch that body, to caress it and stroke it and cradle it in his arms. The interrupted interlude at the wharf had stirred the fires of Peter's desire and now he struggled to keep his mind above his waist.

He'd suggested a soothing massage to appease in part his body's demands. He knew that if he couldn't touch the scientist soon he was going to burst. Not something he wanted Spengler to have to see.

Egon had been curiously relaxed about the whole thing. He'd agreed to what was a hell of a lot of intimate physical contact, considering. Peter had concluded that Egon's feet must have been bothering him again. Putting aside his lecherous thoughts he'd taken care to keep things therapeutic and not, ah, seductive.

Oh, but Egon looked so good. The top button of his shirt was undone and the glint of blond hairs peeked through, masculine and oddly enticing. Peter licked dry lips, remembering how he had ghosted over that scratchy thatch unnoticed in his search for the hotspot of Egon's delightfully tight nipple.

Next time he'd have to spend more time there, slicking the hair down with his tongue, driving Egon insane while he tried to direct Peter down, damn it, down. Peter's eyes automatically tracked lower again, stopping at the gentle swell of his partner's belly.

"You may look, if you wish to." Egon's deep voice froze Peter in place. He realised that he had stopped massaging the other man's hand and simply sat staring at Egon's waist. The Scientist peered at him over the top of the baby magazine and lifted one blond eyebrow.

"You can even touch. I was not adverse to what occurred earlier today at the wharf, quite the opposite, in fact. And this," he gestured at his belly with the magazine, "this is only going to occur the once, so you had best enjoy it while you may."

Peter just sat and blinked at him, unsure as to Egon's intent. Was this a test? Alerted to Peter's hesitancy, Spengler narrowed his eyes at the brunet for a moment then rolled them in exasperation, having once more read Peter Venkman like a book. "Yes, I do mean it. Much as I appreciate your reluctance to view me as a sex object and eschew any fears that the pregnancy alone drew you to me, I really don't mind. Kindly indulge yourself, Peter. Now. Touch me."

The spark of humour that danced in Egon's blue eyes couldn't hide the glow of smouldering lust buried deep inside them as well, and Peter's indecision melted away. He imparted a kiss upon the palm of Egon's hand, then trailed his fingers down the shirt until he reached the spot that marked the apex of what Egon had now firmly established as 'the bump'. He moved his hands over the gentle swell of the stomach, then undid the buttons and rested his hands on warm skin.

For awhile he stayed that way, wishing the moment could stretch out forever. This was what he wanted most in the world. This, right here, under his hands. With a shock he realised he was close to tears, so blinking rapidly he bent down to hide his face from Egon's questioning eyes and rested his head over Egon's heart, looking down at the rising bump.

Instead of taunt skin over rippled muscle the tummy area was as curved and featureless as a boiled egg. The puncture mark left from Egon's medical ordeal remained and Peter stretched to kiss the ugly bruising, some vague idea of making it better wriggling up from his hind brain.

The lizard part was about the only functional bit of his intellect right now, strange instincts were pulling at him and unthinkingly he obeyed. He followed that initial healing kiss with another, and then another, open mouthed and greedy. He lathed the skin with his tongue, stopping to nestle his nose in the unpopped bellybutton, causing Egon to snort and laugh aloud in surprise.

The sound brought Peter back from an almost primal state, reminding him abruptly that he was not alone with this and that he wanted Egon to enjoy it as much as he did. Peter ghosted one hand down to rest over Egon's fly, stroking over it firmly. When he received no protest he slid the zipper down and with shaking hands peeled back the covering thin material of the tucked in shirt and looked, just looked. Reaching out again he carefully released what he found there and stroked it with his finger tips.

"Egon," he said conversationally, "you appear to have some kind of power tool stuck in your pants." He'd meant to end there, on a teasing note, but couldn't help himself adding, sotto voiced, "God, no wonder your girlfriends never lasted."

Egon frowned at him over the top of his reading material. "I'll have you know my measurements in that regard are well above average."

"Yeah, I know, that's what I meant. The girls probably took one look at this thing and ran screaming for the hills." Peter rested his hand over the warm length, turning hot green eyes up to meet equally hot blue. "I won't run for the hills Egon. Far from it. You're gonna have to beat me off with...well, this thing." And he cupped the thing in question possessively, giving it another stroke.

"Mmmm." Egon tried to stifle the moan as he disappeared behind the magazine again. Nervous, Peter also went back to his previous occupation, kissing and worshipping the bump, but more than half his mind was on what he felt his fingers involuntarily curling around to loosely grasp and caress. Taking a tiny nip of soft belly skin he applied suction, tightening his hand until he had a firmer grip. He then began to stroke the growing shaft that rose somewhat higher to meet him. Encouraged Peter unconsciously pulsed his sucking with the movements of his hand.

Curious to see what Peter was up to Egon dared peek over the top of his magazine again. The phycologist was creating tiny love bites in a ring around his navel, licking each one lazily as he was done. The sensation this created was incredibly pleasant. His body hummed with growing excitement and an equally strong lassitude, causing Egon to lean back, veiling himself behind the privacy of the magazines glossy pages. He closed his eyes and sighed, moving his freehand to reach down and wind itself into Peter's thick dark hair.

Peter meanwhile was contemplating his next move. /Okay, if I am ever going to freak because Egon's a man, now's the time to do it. I've got my hand on his cock, for gods sake. His 'above average' cock!/

And it felt great. Good enough that he was contemplating slinging his lips down south. He had this weird urge to touch it, take it in and feel it slide over his tongue. Just then the damn thing gave a little jump and Peter jumped with it. Wow, it was alive!

Could he trust it not to go off if he did put it in his mouth? Would he choke to death on the size of it even if it didn't spit cum down his airway? It had started out impressive, and gotten bigger since then.

What the hell, a Venkman loved a challenge.

Peter found his own pants were getting a little tight as he contemplated his next move, so he loosened them off one handed and petted Peter junior hello. The, relatively, little guy responded enthusiastically.

Peter made his move. He slid downward, bringing the heavy rod of Egon's erection towards himself. He licked the head, and heard Egon gasp from behind his shielding book.

He licked again, ran his tongue over the entire length, making it good and moist so his hand could slide freely along it, then he returned his attention back to the head. He suckled and felt the aborted thrust of Egon's hips.

/Wow, restraint, even at a time like this. I'm impressed!/ Right now Peter was glad his friend could hold himself still, but one day he was going to make it his business to have the man writhing all over the place in erotic ecstasy. A worthy goal, he was sure.

As Peter felt his excitement growing his hand grew firmer on Egon's shaft. The swell and pulse of the cock in his mouth excited him more and the worry of dealing with Egon's ejaculate grew further from his mind. This was good! Way better than going down on a woman, he could really see (and taste, and feel) his partners arousal. No guessing here, Egon was definitely turned on, and that in turn turned Peter on something fierce. Oh god, this was gonna be so....

"So Egon, this is what I had to come all the way from Ohio for?" The voice was both sad and deeply angered at the same time, and it belonged to Mrs Spengler, Egon's mother.

....

The Spengler matriarch stood stiffly, taking in the tableau with angry blue eyes. Her son, the boy that she had nurtured to adulthood, reclined in an armchair casually reading a magazine while his 'friend' knelt besides him, servicing him. It was like something out of a pornographic novel. Was that perhaps what Egon held in his hand while he played carelessly with his partner's hair, tawdry pornography for the masses?

Almost unable to believe her only child would do such a thing, Mrs Spengler felt her world tip. But she forced it upright again, albeit on a somewhat different axis. This was no way for a Spengler to behave, and it was time for her son to realise that.

"My dear, when you are finished here I will be downstairs, waiting. Do not keep me waiting long." She tightened her grip on her handbag and gave the couple one last scathing look before turning and marching down the stairs.

....

Talk about your dash of cold water! Both men stayed frozen as waves of embarrassment crashed over them. Peter finally came round enough to ease his hold on both their shock deflated members and eased the tabs of their pants closed, buttoning and zipping hastily.

"Oh my god!" Came a strangled cry.

Egon and Peter turned to stare as an unhappy Winston Zeddemore sat up from the couch with a shocked look on his face, murder mystery book clutched to his chest in both hands

"Zed! What the hell are you doing back there? You're supposed to be on a call with Ray!" Peter yelled. "We were having nookie over here!"

"In my rec room, pal. I look up, having been dropped off by Ray after a fairly hectic bust, and you two are going for it. What was I supposed to do? Besides, I think you've got something more important to worry about." Winston motioned and Peter looked at Egon's stricken face.

"Sweetie?" Peter asked, concerned. Dazed blue eyes turned to look at him.

"My mother," Egon said in an even and inflectionless voice, "saw me being fellated by another man."

"Yeah but," Peter's mind naturally gravitated to one of his own more important issues, "...was I any good? Anything you want me to do differently next time? I'm gonna work on that whole deep throat thing...."

Egon blinked at him. "....." he said. Winston made an annoyed choking noise and stood up.

"Pete - you're not helping." Zed put his book on top of the TV before coming over and offering Egon a hand up. When he was standing Zed slipped a friendly arm around the scientist's waist and moved him towards the door. "Lets go talk to your mom, I'm sure she'll calm down when she's over the shock." he murmured reassuringly, then glanced round at Peter. "You coming?"

Peter bit back the response that he probably would be if Mrs Spengler hadn't walked in just then, recognising the retort for the hysterical babbling it was. "You think she'll want me there?" he asked tentatively instead, staying where he was.

Egon paused, standing away from Winston's supporting arm a little. "No," he said, keeping his eyes facing strait ahead, but something brittle coming through his demeanour anyway, "but I do."

Strong fingers entwining with those of Egon's free hand was his answer, and much relieved he started walking again. Together the three of them went down to face his mother.

***

"She hates me." Peter moaned, bitting his thumbnail and looking out despondently at the busy New York traffic. He and Zed were currently on an urgent mission to get Egon a take-away carton of sauerkraut, a number two scalpel and some fish paste for Egon's favourite mould. They had learnt fast that when Egon gave a list like this the other items were superfluous, so long as they brought back the sauerkraut in rapid order all would be well. All else could be forgiven, so long as the craving was met. They would get another list, possibly the same one, on the midnight run for peanut brittle ice-cream.

"She doesn't hate you." Zed said patiently, breaking a little to let a city bus cut in front of him to avoid colliding with a van. "She just really, really wishes you hadn't got her son knocked up."

This was true. Hearing about her son being in a relationship with another man had been tough enough, the baby issue had been far worse. Especially as it may be 'her' ovum that had been used. Or, as Mrs Spengler had put it - the egg that had been taken without her consent, then been immorally placed inside her son.

Mrs Spengler had then calmly told said son that she loved him, but for the sake of the family name he had damn well better start claiming to be a hermaphrodite. He was to keep the supernatural, and the homosexual, aspects of the pregnancy a secret.

Egon had responded equally calmly that he would not. He had been brought up not to skew his findings under any circumstances and he was not about to start doing so now.

His mother had called him a fool, declared Peter Venkman a womanising charlatan who was using her son's gullibility to fuel his own publicity craving and would undoubtable forsake him the moment the baby was born. And when that day came Egon was not to come seeking refuge or sympathy from her.

Egon replied that she was blind not to be aware of the admirable nature of his chosen partner. And furthermore, seeing as she had married who she had simply to acquire access to the superior Spengler genes, he didn't expect her to understand that he was doing what he was doing out of love.

Blue eyes locked with blue eyes. The others in the room were suddenly reminded how tall they both were, how steel like their personalities could be in a crisis. There could be no backing down now.

In unison, without another word spoken, mother and son had turned away from each other, Egon to ensconce himself in the laboratory, Mrs Spengler to hail a cab and give it brisk directions back to her hotel.

"She hates me." Peter said again. Egon hadn't come down from the lab except to issue his shopping 'list' and he was worried. Luckily, Zed could see this.

"Come on, you don't really care if she hates you or not. Everyone hates you at some point, it's your life calling. What's up?"

Peter smiled humourlessly at his friend. "Actually, this time I do care. Spengs...he doesn't need this right now. It's been hard enough on him with thinking he might be seriously sick and me acting all psycho about it. Then there's the pregnancy and the two of us starting our relationship like its for the baby and not just us, and the thing at the hospital and now this. It's a lot to have gone through, in, you know...his condition."

Peter's shoulders hunched some more, he could almost hear Janine giving him the lecture about people in 'his condition' being a lot stronger than he'd give them credit for. She could be so touchy sometimes. The look she had given him when she overheard Winston telling Ray about his slip after Egon's mother had found 'em mid nookie then left (when he'd dazedly asked if he'd been any good at giving head) would live with him for years. Literally, she was still giving it to him as they pulled out the drive on their sauerkraut expedition.

That had not been a shinning moment in the Venkman history of love. True, he had been kind of wound up about the whole 'can I touch a dick and not throw-up' thing there. Lord knows guys had lost it over less confronting things. Mere rumours of a possibility of being gay had been enough to send some guys so far back in the closet they came out the other side. Being confronted with a live, twitching cock - that was something else. He'd focused on the experience a little too much and consequently missed the full implications of Egon's mother catching them in the act.

Poor Egon. Poor Mrs S. Poor him.

Peter looked over at the shoving, heaving mass of humanity on the sidewalk, wishing he could swap problems with someone in the crowd. He could go for a mortgage in receivership and a jealous wife/girlfriend conflict about now. But then he wouldn't have Egon and the others, and they made it all worth while. Especially Egon. What would he do if....

"I'm afraid he's gonna leave me." Peter whispered softly. "Figure out his mom was right and I'm a worthless bum and leave me. He'd be gone and I, it'd kill me, Zed. It would just stop my heart in my chest."

Winston had a sudden irreverent urge to burst into that boot'scootin Western song 'Achy Breaky Heart', the image of Peters heart 'blowing up and killing its man' almost too strong, but he restrained himself. Peter wasn't kidding around here, he sounded really serious, so he reached over and squeezed the man's hunched shoulder reassuringly instead.

"Pete, don't underestimate the feelings our mad scientist has for you just yet, okay? Remember what I said earlier, we don't know what's gonna happen in the future. And you do know how Egon is when he wants something, and right now he wants you, as unbelievable as that might sound." They exchanged grins and Zed continued more seriously. "He stood up to his own mom for you, right?"

"Yeah." Peter wiped a hand surreptitiously over his eyes and then shook his head in disbelief. "How could she do that to him? To the kid? The baby could be her child too but she didn't show any concern, not even curiosity. Just 'Don't let anyone find out'. My mom..." Peter's stilled, a sad look stealing over his face, "My mom would have loved to know about this, Winston."

Zed squeezed his friends shoulder again. He hadn't known Mrs Venkman, hadn't been there when she died of stomach cancer, but what he had heard from Egon and Ray was that Peter had been devastated by her death. Times like this, he must miss her like hell. "Where ever she is right now, Peter, and you know where I think that is, she knows," he said to his friend with conviction. "She does know."

***

Egon Spengler sat in his lab tending to the various moulds and fungi that were his special joy and delight. The newest additions were proving fascinating to study and he thought smugly about the paper he would publish on them as soon as he had all the data in.

The other Ghostbusters didn't understand his enchantment with mycology. Even Peter simply viewed his fungi collection as a source of blackmail should he need to get Egon to do something for him.

But Egon loved his hobby with a passion. Tiny worlds, perfect in their miniature structure and form, each one so varied and wonderful. Secret places where only he and a few other hardy souls dared to go. Quiet places, beautiful places, places that made him welcome without wanting anything else from him than that he record and document what he saw there.

Feeling introspective he had placed an old tape in the tapedeck and the eighth overture began playing softly in the background. The music brought back memories of studying extra algebra with his mother in the old study, the heavy volumes of advanced mathematics a constant source of learning delight.

They were in the old study because the new one was the domain of his father. The sound of the elder Spengler's typewriter keys clattering away came through the open window and mixed with the music in sharp bursts. Another brilliant Spengler paper was in the making, and in their household all was right with the world.

Egon sighed. The idyllic days of his childhood had held such promise. His father had planned his son's future out for him completely, and all he had to do was to go ahead and live it.

There had been a certain security in that simple plan, a commodity sorely missing in Egon's current lifestyle. Besides from the danger and scientific ambiguity their work entailed, the four Ghostbusters struggled to keep ahead of their many monetary problems. Ghostbusting was uncertain at the best of times and it had the added handicap of being under close scrutiny by the public and dozens of governmental agencies.

Egon was beginning to feel the effects of it all now. Not normally concerned with business issues unless he wasn't allowed the funds to complete one of his experiments, he was catching himself flicking off light switches and turning off experimental motors in order to save on electricity. And for some reason the price of food was worrying him as it had never done before and he tried to hold back on his eating binges, which made him cranky and difficult to deal with, if Peter was to be believed.

He'd even started watching the News on TV, something he had never done, preferring to scan half a dozen newspapers for their science sections instead, far more informative. The world was not, apparently, in good shape. There were war's and floods and famine everywhere. The world outside his laboratory door was an even darker place than he remembered it to be.

Everything was starting to press in on him. It was a familiar, if rare, feeling. The last time this had happened Uncle Cyrus and Egon's own long ago promise to help at Spengler Labs had come to his rescue.

He had just realised that he felt more than simple friendship for his oldest friend, Peter Venkman. This had been quite a shock. He had agreed to go with his uncle to escape the feelings of hopeless entrapment his emotions had engendered within him. But he had quickly discovered he missed the team far to much and had been greatly relieved when they came to take him back. Ray had had to convince his uncle that ghosts were real to do this, not an easy thing for the older scientist to accept, but the young occultist had managed it.

Poor Uncle, he had not wanted to believe in the supernatural. Unscientific, he would say! Mmm. Uncle Cyrus, now there was a Spengler to look up to. Running the family research facility since the age of twenty-five, he was a true man of science. He had thought his nephew made a nice addition to Spengler Labs as senior assistant and Chief rat carer.

The Spengler lab rat's had been specially bred and were well looked after and never harmed. They were extremely tame and Egon had grown quite attached to them. He remembered two rat's in particular that had exhibited pole aspects of intelligence, that is one was very clever and the other was, well, less so. Yet no matter where he placed them in the lab at night they always appeared in the same cage together the next day. Most unscientific indeed!

He had pointed out this odd behaviour to his uncle and been told he was probably imagining things. Scientists could be like that, Egon knew, unwilling to go beyond the obvious, expecting life to repeat itself in an orderly fashion just like an experiment did. But life was messy and unpredictable and, if you had the right companions and were willing to give it a go, it could be lots of fun, too.

But Uncle Cyrus was probably right. He may have been inventing little stories for the rats, they did occupy almost all of his time when he had been there, after all.

The tiny creatures had looked up at him from their wire cages with complete trust, staying quiet in his big hands when he picked them up and they never ran from him if he needed to capture one of them.

Which is why what happened had been so horrible. If only he had checked the back of the instruction sheet one of his uncles assistants had handed him. Extra care instructions for the rats involved in an experiment were supposed to be filled in on the front of the sign off sheet, but for some reason had been scrawled on the back instead. Not observing this, Egon had failed to arrange for extra water to be supplied to the rat indicated and so the poor thing had dehydrated and died in the night.

The horror he had felt discovering the tiny white corpse came back to him now, it had been clutching forlornly at the dry water spout, its little mouth open in a tiny, silent scream. His glasses misted up as hot tears of remembered anguish stung his eyes.

Dear god, he couldn't even be trusted with a rodent, how was he going to cope with a child? He needed help and knew of only one source from which to gain it. With shaking hands he pulled the phone towards himself and dialled his mother's number, praying that she had not already left New York in a huff.

"Mom?" he asked when the phone was picked up.

"Egon?" Mrs Spengler's voice broke a little. "Spookums, I'm so sorry for what I said earlier. I didn't mean a word of it, darling. I'm in a cab now, coming back to see you and beg forgiveness for saying those stupid things. I just...I was shocked. Sweetie, are you still there?" she asked anxiously.

"I'm here mom."

"There's a tunnel up ahead, I'll be cut off soon. We'll talk properly when I get there." She hesitated a moment then said before she hung up, "I love you, Egon."

The connection broke and Egon replaced the telephone's handle back in its cradle. He then slid down besides the lab table and sat on the floor, wrapping his arms around his legs.

"I love you too," he said to the empty room. His head bowed and his gaze fell on the soft black loafers that the other's had brought for him to wear, to spare his swelling feet. Left to his own devices he would have simply brought a larger sized shoe, he mused.

Egon felt lucky to have his friends to look after him, very lucky indeed. Their friendship had helped him get through all manner of life's hurdles. But what Egon really wanted in times like these, was the person who had helped him learn to tie his own shoelaces.

He sat and looked at his loafers for a moment more, admiring their soft fit. Then he gingerly got to his feet and made his way downstairs to wait for his mother.

***

Mrs Spengler arranged to stay for two weeks, the longest she could afford to be away from her many other commitments. She intended, in those two weeks, to run exhaustive tests on Egon, Peter, Slimer and everyone else she could corner in the firehouse.

Egon's mom was a top-notch researcher and as soon as she had settled in she put all of her formidable skills into the task at hand. It didn't take her long to find the perfect place to help validate and check on her findings, either. The Swan Institute was situated on the other side of the country but that didn't stop them leaping at the chance to help out.

Their own goal was to enable gestation for men who wished to have their own baby, so anything that the Spengler's could contribute would be received with open arms. They were extremely eager to meet an actual pregnant man.

Unfortunately, while Egon allowed his mother to take many liberties with his person, he did not wish to accord such trust to others. He flat out refused to move into the Swan facility to enable full time monitoring, even when Peter asked him to do it for the baby's sake.

Egon had replied stiffly that it was for the babies sake that he wouldn't do it, and spent the night rewiring the altrositor in the underground lab while Peter tossed and turned in his empty bed feeling terribly alone. They had greeted each other in the morning with a bone creaking hug and Peters whispered assurance that he'd never make Egon do something he didn't want to.

Life had become less worrying for Egon personally, having his mother around. She took charge of his eating habits, throwing out almost everything they had in the cupboard and starting anew. She told her son what to expect physically and emotionally as time went on and the baby grew bigger, a special relief as he had wondered if he was going a little mad. But apparently worrying over money and the state of the world were natural pregnancy occurrences.

Egon did plan on making at least one visit to the Swan Institute with his mother, to please her and allow the facilities medical team to verify for themselves that he really was pregnant and not pulling some kind of elaborate hoax. If only he was, he thought morosely.

He was musing on the Swan's medical teams likely reactions to the genuine-ality of his situation while packing a small carry bag for the trip when he felt arms come around him from behind. Startled he looked over his shoulder to see who it was. To his surprise he found his mother clinging to him, pressing her face into the space between his shoulder blades. Through the thin material of his shirt he felt something hot and wet...tears? She was crying?

"Mother, what is wrong?" he asked, myriad's of problems leaping to mind, not least of all his current encumbrance. Had she and Peter had words, he knew they had been avoiding each other for his sake, but they were both very verbose people and unused to keeping their opinions to themselves.

His mother sighed and held him a little tighter before at last speaking in a soft and troubled voice, "Janine took me on a tour of the building today; I asked her to, your work is so interesting and I wanted to see it all. She showed me the containment unit. It is an impressive construction, Egon. Your skills are beyond even what your Father and I hoped for you. When I saw what you had managed to capture inside it, no wonder Cyrus tried to steal you away for the family business."

She paused to gather herself then added very softly, so that Egon had to strain to hear her, even close as she was.

"I saw it, Egon. That thing. I...you have no idea how sorry I am that we didn't believe you when you came to us..." her voice trailed off and the patch of moisture between the physicists shoulders grew.

Ah. At last, Egon thought, his mother had seen for herself the monster that had emerged for so many nights out of his closet. The terrible thing that had haunted his childhood and been the driving force behind his interest in the supernatural. The Bogeyman. Egon closed his eyes and sighed.

"You both made a natural assumption, Mother. Neither of you can be blamed for not knowing that he was real. Many children do make up imaginary monsters to gain their parent's attention. You were not to know." He gripped her hands where they clasped round in front of him, giving the knotted fingers a reassuring pat.

Unfortunately those forgiving words were delivered in a voice that sounded stiff, even to himself. He did blame them both, just a little. All those nights of terror, crying out for the rescue that never came. After that first embarrassment laden night when his father told him to grow up and act his intelligence quota, they had never come to his room again. He had been left to cry in the dark, on his own, with a monster.

Holding on to her son with all her might, Mrs. Spengler remembered those long ago nights as well. She heard again her husbands reassurance that answering the frightened calls from the small child's bedroom would only strengthen their sons belief in 'the monster', and thus lead to never-ending demands for 'rescues'. Why the hell had she listened to him? She was the chief caregiver, he left the boys education in her hands after all. These were her decisions to make. Why had she that one time taken his word over her own instincts? A mothers instincts. God, what had she done?

So long, it had gone on for so long. And every night it had become easier to tune their child's cries out, to ignore it as background noise, just little Egon having a problem with the dark, the loneliness of the night. Nothing to be concerned over. Her hug tightened compulsively until she felt sure she must be hurting the man in her embrace, but her son was strong. He could take all her strength in a hug and not protest the strain.

He took the pain and said nothing at all. Just as he had said nothing when his father had confronted him over his choice of schooling. Spengler Senior had told him if he went to Columbia University he would be cut off with only the inheritance from his Grandmother to support him.

Nothing, Egon had said nothing, asked for nothing. He had simply dealt with the problem on his own. As he had learnt, so well, to do.

***

"Look what we got you, Egon!" Peter smiled, laying down half a dozen lemons and a bottle of white vinegar. Egon, sitting at the kitchen table with the remains of an onion and cheese sandwich looked on as Peter grabbed a sharp knife and a glass. "This is the stuff you need to fight off those cravings you've been having. You just suck on a wedge of lemon," he deftly quartered the sour fruit, "and drink a nip of vinegar. Ray read about it last night. Here you go, pal, some nice...."

Peter moved towards his partner, the glow of accomplishment warming his heart. He was quite pleased with himself; the intrusion of Mrs S had left him feeling powerless in the face of her superior knowledge. But he had found this, he and Ray, and it would be his parting gift to his man before leaving tomorrow morning.

"Move away from the table, doctor Venkman, and drop the lemon." The disapproving voice of Mrs Spengler sounded from the doorway and Peter hastened to comply. The annoyed woman eyed the items on the kitchen table with undisguised revulsion. "Now take a minute to look at what you want my son to ingest, no doubt for his own good."

Peter looked. A lemon and some vinegar, what was the big deal? Okay, so it wasn't the most appetising of combinations, but if it was good for the baby...oh. The term 'good for the baby' wasn't really any kind of excuse to feed a guy with a tendency to barf at the smell of strong aftershave a strait lemon and vinegar shot.

He was suddenly grateful Mrs S had come to stay, she didn't let him think of Egon as anything but a 'person', never as 'the incubator'. An easy trap for him to fall into, and one mistake he was very, very glad to have been stopped from making.

"I have brought provisions to deal with the cravings." The Spengler matriarch declared, pulling out a large container of lemon sorbet and bunches of garden fresh herbs. "I suggest you take yourself down stairs and help Raymond with the baby's high-chair, before he goes ahead with his plan to build in an electric lifting device for the food tray."

"Damn, I told him not to do that. Uh, I'd better go stop him." Peter sidled towards the kitchen doorway and escaped.

"Thank you mother, that was a timely rescue." Egon told her, straitening up in his chair.

"For you or for Peter?" she asked him with a knowing smile. "Yuk, just look at this. How anyone could eat a raw lemon is beyond me. Would you like some sorbet?"

"Yes, very much, thank you." Egon got up and grabbed two bowls and two spoons then watched as his mother dished up the delicately flavoured dessert. "Was Father as much of a pest as Peter has been?" he asked her curiously.

"Heavens, yes!" Mrs Spengler put the remainder of the sorbet away and placed some herbs by the blender for later preparation, then settled herself besides her son at the table. "Especially at the birthing."

"He was there?" Egon asked, surprised.

"I insisted upon it. Why do you think there was only the one of you? The man had plans for a whole tribe, that experience stopped him in his tracks." she nodded her head with satisfaction and took a quick bite of the dessert.

"I'm not sure I see how that would convince him not to...." her son began tentatively.

"I grabbed a certain part of his anatomy every time a contraction hit me and squeezed hard." She stabbed at her lemon ice and took a larger mouthful with glee.

"Oh. I see." Egon pushed his glasses more firmly in place and squirmed. Then he grimaced at the odd creaking pain that stabbed him in the hip.

"I hated being pregnant," his mother confessed. "It was the worst 27 weeks of my life. It was a miserable experience and I loathed it."

"I too." Egon acknowledge readily. "I am loathing it, that is."

They eyed each other and nodded conspiratorially, before both taking another scoop of dessert. They ate silently for awhile.

"You were an angel, though." His mother eventually continued. "Such a sweet baby. Nobody told me, but babies smell nice. When they are clean, of course." Mrs Spengler gave her son a speculative look from the corner of her eyes, then decisively set down her now empty bowl.

"It wasn't easy, being a mother. My own parents sent me to boarding school when I was six and I had Nanny's until then. I determined that such a fate would not be your's, but it wasn't easy. For instance, I tried finding out about motherhood from books. Do you remember my Yiddish phase?"

"Oh, yes. You still do it, occasionally. Remember the time you asked the guys if they were wearing clean underwear to a bust? I thought they was going to expire from embarrassment." Egon smiled contentedly.

He had reached the end of his dessert too and sat reflectively resting the empty bowl on the slight swell of his stomach. "You did an excellent job, as a mother, mother. Who else could have taught me Sumerian, Latin, French and Ancient Hebrew like you did? And your decision to keep me in school with my peers was a good one. I regularly meet my less socially adept fellows in the science fields, they have no friends except their computers and occasionally the odd aquarium full of exotic fish."

Egon winced in sympathy for his peers and his mother patted the back of his hand lightly. "I was not always the ideal child, as I recall. Remember the year I blew up the garage? And the unfortunate occurrence in the pink petunia bed."

"Mmm, yes, lets not remember that." His mother smiled at him indulgently. "But we, we did have some good times, as you said." A lock of her white blond hair fell forwards into her eyes and she swept it carefully back into place.

"One of my fondest memories" Egon continued, "is of that Easter we painted eggs as if baby dinosaurs were peeking from them. And of building models of the pyramids from cardboard and white paper." He remembered too how big the project had grown, until he could lay down and hide himself in it and pretend he was far, far away.

"Not all the memories are good, though." His mother said softly. "We failed you with the Bogeyman. Even if he had been just night horrors, I should have gone to you, offered comfort. We thought we were doing the right thing...."

"Nobody is perfect." Her son told her forgivingly.

"No." She hesitated awhile, then turned to look at him, cocking her head to one side and frowning slightly. "Egon, are you sure Peter isn't just...just a phase or something that you are going through?"

"You mean like my fascination with trephination in collage?" he asked.

"Mmm. Do you still get those headaches?"

"No, Peter helped me find another way of dealing with them. He helped me then, he helps me now, he isn't so much of a phase, Mother, as a life statement."

"Oh." She looked at him. Who was this man before her? He had changed. Years of knowing him shifted as she saw him against the backdrop of what she had seen in the containment unit this morning and what she had witnessed in the recreation room days before.

All parents had trouble coming to terms with their children's sexuality, she had read. At least Peter hadn't come as a complete surprise, it would have been worse to be confronted by some unknown Romeo in her child's bed. She had known Peter Venkman for some time herself and had judged him...well, while not good enough for 'her' son, at least he was an intelligent man with a likeable nature and a steady, if somewhat unusual, job.

And he would always take care of Egon, as he had since collage, that much was true. Mrs Spengler wondered what else were mothers expected to worry about when their children told them they were homosexual. Public rejection? Water off a ducks back to any good scientist. Family rejection? Not if she had to lock Cyrus and the cousins up and feed them subliminal tapes for a month.

She had set herself a task upon returning to Ohio, to see that the Spengler clan treated Egon with the respect he deserved as an adult male making his own choices. Not for nothing had she been gathering blackmail material on the lot of them over the years, this looked the perfect opportunity to use it, that is - if it proved necessary.

The only other thing to worry about with having a gay son was grandchildren, and that wasn't to be a problem in this case. Or, was it?

"Egon, what are you going to do about the baby? Your job is so high risk, and there is such a lot of research yet to be done in the field of the para normal." Egon lowered his head, his body language showing that he had thought about this, but been unable to find a solution.

"I may be able to help." Mrs Spengler offered. "The house is quite large for just one person. I would enjoy having a little visitor, whenever the business gets to hectic and you needed a baby-sitter."

Egon looked up in surprise. "Are you sure a small child wouldn't disrupt your life as much as mine? You have your own research, and your hobbies...."

"Pish, you don't seem to realise young man, but you are about to offer me one of the greatest gifts in life - a grand child. A chance to relax and have fun with a small human being, who's every fault can be blamed happily on the parents, while I go ahead and spoil the little thing rotten."

"Theoretically the child is yours as well." Egon pointed out, visions of trumpets as Christmas presents and overdosing on sweets (as had occurred upon his own grandparents rare visits) running through his mind.

"Oh no - this kid is your's. I'm going to do the easy job of baby-sitting, but when the tears start to fall, they'll be coming back to you." She gave him a cheery grin. Egon found himself grinning back at her. Then his eyes mysteriously filled with tears and to his humiliation one escaped to run down his cheek.

"I'm sorry." He murmured as his mother stood and drew him into her arms. "I just, I think I feel...."

"There, there, my little Spookums. You don't have to tell me, I know." She brushed back his unlikely forelock and kissed his brow. "You're sad but you don't know why. Don't worry, its all part of the process. Mothers here, just let it all out."

"Uh, thank you." Egon said in a slightly muffled voice.

"I'm trying to hard again, aren't I?" she asked, tutting to herself ruthfully. She'd began to rock gently as she held him, her fingers soothing his hair, her presence soothing his heart. Egon looked up at her and shook his head.

"You're doing just fine, mother. Just fine."