Hello, folks. Just a little AleHeather oneshot, because I'm really bored. (What's freaking new?)

Well…actually, I'm probably supposed to be studying for my stupid chemistry exam. But whatever. :P

This is set in the future, so maybe they're in their twenties or so. Enjoy! :)

DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN TOTAL DRAMA. IF I DID, ALEHEATHER WOULD NOT HAVE HAD THAT STUPID CONFLICT.

The first thing that greeted Alejandro Burromuerto after a long day's work was a loud crash from upstairs, followed shortly by a frustrated scream.

Worriedly, he quickly closed the double front doors and rushed upstairs, not even bothering to remove his coat despite the strong rush of warmth emanating from the furnace. Another crash and screech was heard, as if someone was being murdered with a sledgehammer.

Realizing that the 'someone' could possibly be his wife Heather, he quickened his steps, almost tripping three times. "Heather?" he shouted.

"AUGHH! GO AWAY!"

Alejandro followed the sound of the protest, which led to the door of the bathroom. He tried the doorknob, but it was locked. "Dammit, Heather, open this door!" Alejandro yelled, panic laced in his usually calm voice.

The crashing noises stopped almost immediately. But another sound took its place.

Sobbing. Loud, heartbroken sobbing. And that was enough motivation for the Latino to kick in the door.

The sight that greeted him was pretty horrible—the shower curtain was yanked off and in tatters on the bathtub, a gaping hole on the medicine cabinet as if someone slammed a fist on it, and a bunch of beauty products strewn all over the ground.

But the worst sight was the lady crouching next to the toilet, crying her eyes out. It was a picture of pure despair.

"Heather?" Alejandro said hesitantly, gently laying a hand on his wife's shoulder. "What happened, mi amor?"

In response, she shoved something in his hands, and he caught a sight of her face. She looked nothing like herself. Her dark hair was unkempt, pointing in different directions; she wore no jewelry or makeup, which definitely was unlike her. Worst of all, tears were streaming down her pale face, accompanied by the occasional hiccup or sniff.

That was when Alejandro realized that the situation was bad.

Heather never cried, never showed emotion that strongly before. (Well, there was that one time on top of the volcano, but Alejandro was sure that she was just acting, for she kneed him in the groin five minutes later while laughing maniacally. Ah, good times. Not.)

Crying shows weakness. Crying meant defeat.

Crying meant that you're a pathetic loser.

At least, that's what Heather always said. But now, she lay limply on Alejandro's arms, while he rocked her back and forth like a newborn child, muttering reassuring words and stroking her dark hair.

It went on for what seemed like eternity. Eventually, Heather calmed down, wiped her nose on her sleeve, and shot him a puffy-eyed glare. "Well?"

"Well, what?" Alejandro responded, looking confused.

The Asian woman rolled her eyes, letting out an audible sniff. "Look at your hand, loser."

Alejandro looked down and realized that he was still clutching the thing that she shoved to him earlier. It was a white stick.

"What the hell is—" Suddenly he spotted the little plus sign.

Nothing registered in his brain for a minute. He just sat there like an idiot, staring at the white stick.

"Well?" Heather repeated. She untangled herself from her husband and sat on the floor right next to him, gazing at him expectantly.

Finally, Alejandro's jellied brain began to function. "You're…pregnant," he said slowly, staring at Heather with an almost vapid gaze.

"Y-Yes." Heather began to lose her composure again, and a tear slipped down her cheek, which she wiped away quickly.

"Pregnant," Alejandro repeated. "You. Are. Pregnant."

"DAMMIT, YES, OKAY?" Heather screeched, nearly destroying his delicate ears.

Alejandro regained control of his senses. He blinked a few times and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Okay, okay, mi angel. Relax. Are you completely sure—"

Heather leapt to her feet. She shot him a withering look, reached under the sink, and produced the wastebasket.

It was brimming with pregnancy tests.

"How did you even manage to produce that much urine?" was the first thing that popped into Alejandro's mind, so he blurted it out.

He regretted it immediately as Heather's gray eyes nearly pierced him with just one look. "Glad you see the importance of the situation," she said sarcastically. She took a deep breath. "Look, idiota, you're going to be a father. And I'd really like to know what your reaction is to all of this."

Alejandro stayed still for a minute before a smile began to form on his face. "We've talked about this before, and we agreed that we can deal with kids. I don't see what the problem is," he said calmly. Now that the shock was fading and he was beginning to comprehend the entire situation, he was actually feeling rather happy. After all, he was going to be a father. It was yet another accomplishment that he can be proud of.

Heather did not share his joy. "Oh, gee, I don't know," she snapped. "We're rich, horrible people, and we're going to produce a spoiled, horrible brat. Oh, yeah, and another thing…AN ACTUAL HUMAN BEING IS GOING TO COME OUT OF MY—"

"Shhh! Will you stop shouting?" Alejandro said, clamping a hand over her mouth. "Preciosa, calm down. I don't see how we're unfit to be parents. If anything, this is great!" He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her into a tight hug.

Heather pushed him away. "You don't see how we're unfit to be parents?" She sneered. "Why don't you go watch some episodes of Total Drama?"

"We were teenagers then," Alejandro reminded his wife. "We have done a lot of maturing now. Anyway, I love children."

Heather sighed. "Well, what about buying…cribs and rattles and that kind of shit?"

"We're pretty well-off," Alejandro said, glancing around the bathroom, which was really grand (other than the items Heather destroyed during her colossal fit, of course). "We both have rather stable jobs, and if anything goes wrong—which is highly unlikely—we can always ask your parents or mine for financial support. Now then. Is everything settled, chica? We're going to be parents! You should be muy proud."

Heather stared blankly at the toilet. Alejandro frowned.

"Mi amor, please tell me what else is bothering you."

Heather toyed with a loose strand from her hair. She took a deep breath, and her voice was shaky as she spoke. "What if—what if they don't like me?"

"What?" Alejandro stared at his wife. "Ay, hermosa, since when was that an issue? You never really cared about those things before."

"Of course I didn't," the raven-haired lady said brusquely. "I don't give a fuck if our so-called friends or even my parents hate me. But…" She gently placed a hand on her womb, which was still pretty flat. You can hardly tell that she was carrying an unborn child. "…that's exactly the point. Nobody likes me. How am I supposed to raise a kid if it h-hates me?" Her voice cracked, and she lay on her husband's chest.

"Shh," Alejandro soothed her. "Don't I count as a person? I like you, far more than any other idiot I have ever encountered in my life. In fact, I love you. And if I do, then surely our little angel will as well." The man gently lifted his wife's thin blouse and planted a soft kiss on her belly.

He glanced at his wife and saw that she was finally smiling. It was nothing major, just a minute curl of the edges of her pouty lips. But that tiny smile alone conveyed love, trust, and relief.

That was when Alejandro knew that everything was going to be okay. He raised his head and pressed his lips against hers, leaving a delicate, chaste kiss in his wake. "I love you, Heather," he murmured against her hair.

Heather smiled at him, looking radiant despite her bloodshot eyes and tear-streaked face. "I love you too, Alejandro."

They just held each other for a while, sprawled on the cold linoleum floor, until Heather stood up abruptly and yanked him to his feet.

"Now get out of here, asshole." Heather sneered at him and roughly shoved him out of the bathroom. "I need to take a shower."

Alejandro smirked. He glanced at the mess Heather caused in the bathroom during her fit. "Okay, mi amor. And I'll leave you to clean up the bathroom as well."

"Now, who said that I'll be doing that?" Heather demanded playfully. "After I walk out of this room, you'll clean everything up, got it?"

Alejandro shook his head. Typical Heather. "Fine," he sighed. He placed his hand on her stomach. "After all, I can't let anything happen to you…or our beautiful baby."

Kissing her one last time, he slipped out of the bathroom and left Heather alone.

Heather smiled again the minute he walked out of the door. She fondly rubbed her stomach. Sure, she was going to get fat, and sure, the procedure will hurt like hell and her kid will probably be a miniature version of either herself or Alejandro (meaning, it will grow up to be as devious and manipulative as they are), but her husband was going to help her through it all, anyway.

And for now, that was all that mattered.

There. Is. Still. Hope. For. AleHeather. There is, okay? They'll be a couple and they'll get married and they'll have a family and—*gets slapped* Well, whatever. Please review, dear friends. :P