TITLE: Reactions and Revelations
RATING: PG (nothing too risqué--for now anyway)
LAST EPISODE SEEN: "A Little Help from My Friends" 9.11
TIMELINE: Post-Ep to afore mentioned, so same day.
ARCHIVE: Go ahead. Make my day. Seriously though, it's all good, just tell me first.
DISCLAIMER: Kerry, Sandy and Abby belong to Warner Bros (I'll give them back unharmed when I'm finished). No infringement of their copyright is intended. This story was written for the enjoyment (and closure) of ER fans everywhere, and may be downloaded for your own pleasure.
SUMMARY: Kerry's POV; Kerry tells Sandy about her miscarriage, and it just goes from there.
SPOILERS: Major for 9.11, I guess for early S.9 as well.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Feedback is your friend. Mine too. ;)
SPANISH TRANSLATION: If you haven't taken Basic Spanish, "¡Ay! ¿Qué haces? " means, in context, "Hey! What are you doing?"
Chapter 1: Revelations

I sat in the passenger seat of Abby's Corolla and tried not to cry. My hands were clenched in fists, my arms across my lower abdomen, desperately clawing at my sides, hoping it was all a bad dream. However, I knew better. There wasn't a heartbeat. Only 14 weeks after the IVF. That put me at, technically, 14 weeks, though the OB said 16 for my due date. I couldn't even feel my child within me until I began cramping. I had tried to feel around for a lump, anything, to prove to me that my little miracle was in there, alive. Nothing.
I kept staring out the window, at the unbroken white line next to the curb. I followed it with my eyes, and then suddenly it stopped. I looked over at Abby in the driver's seat. Abby had stopped the car, and was looking down at her lap.
"Dr. Weaver, would you like me to walk you in?"
Oh, did I ever wish she would. But she couldn't. Then Sandy would know something was wrong immediately. I had to do this on my own.
"No, thank you, Abby." I guess she saw the tears building in my eyes, because she handed me a tissue, and replied, softly, "Feel better, Dr. Weaver."

~/.:*:.:*:Flashback:*:.:*:.\~

I had been sitting with my feet up against the wall opposite my back when I felt the worst cramp I had felt all day. It hurt so bad, and it lasted longer than the others too--a few minutes, though it felt like hours, of excruciating pain, more than I had ever felt with my leg. Only he or she was dead.
I made my way, painfully, into the bathroom, where I sat in the stall, curled up in the corner, avoiding everything. Oh god, it hurt so bad. Then I felt it. Again. That horrible, terrible pain that meant an end. I began to breathe very fast--short, quick breaths had always been the way for me to avoid the pain of cramps. As I exited the stall, Haleh saw my reddened eyelids and pale expression.
"Dr. Weaver, are you okay?"
"I'm not sure, Haleh. Probably not." I sounded sick.
"What's wrong?"
"I don't want to talk about it," I replied weakly as I left the bathroom and walked across the hallway to the drug lockup, hoping to find something for the pain, something that would let me finish my shift. Suddenly I got another cramp, and assumed my original position on the counter, my back pushed against the wall, my legs bent, and feet pushing against the opposite wall. My lower back hurt like hell.
My fourth (or was it fifth? I didn't want to count anymore.) pad of the hour was leaking; I could feel the warm wetness against the underside of my lower buttocks, soaking into my panties. I didn't want to be here. I wanted to be home, doing this naturally. Nevertheless, Kerry Weaver won't let anyone or anything stop her. Nope, not ever. Not pain, not pregnancy, not that damned crutch, nothing. And certainly not miscarriage. I'll go see my OB tomorrow, I mused to myself. Make sure it's all done and over with.

~/.:*:.:*:.:*:.:*:.\~

I stood in front of my door, not wanting to go in, wanting for Sandy to savor these moments of impending motherhood a few minutes more. Sighing, I pulled out my key and opened up the only barrier between me and her.
"Kerry, that you?" I heard from upstairs. Damn. I had completely forgotten that Sandy was home. I had been hoping for a few hours to compose myself, to finish my tears and to figure out how to tell the woman I love that our little miracle was no longer.
"Down here, love!" I called.
"Well, then get up here!" I could hear the smile, the laugh in her voice. Oh, Lord, she was going to hate me. My body had killed a child that we had created. How could I tell her now? I wearily set my crutch down next to the front table and limped over to the staircase, grabbing the railing as a cramp hit me. I didn't care how much it hurt; the pain made it more real. I needed to feel the pain, if for no other reason than to know that it was not just some horrible nightmare.
"What's taking so long?" Sandy called. The playfulness in her voice was evident. "I know you're pregnant, but you're not THAT pregnant yet!" Oh, if only she knew.
"I'm coming, I'm coming. Don't rush me." That came out wrong. It sounds snappy. Rude, even. I sounded like I was talking to colleague, a subordinate, and my lover was anything but a subordinate.
"Either you had a bad day or that's hormones talking. But either way, this will cheer you up." I exhaled and let go of the railing as the cramp passed, limping up the stairs to see what Sandy had planned. As I got to the top of the 4 stairs, Sandy came out, her white shirt covered in pastel green paint, and took my hand. "You gotta see this, but all at once. Close your eyes."
"Just don't let me bump into anything."
"Kerry! I wouldn't do that..." She paused. "Not now anyway."
"Sandy, you're hopeless."
As she led me along, we came to a door. As she opened it, she announced, "Okay, open your eyes!"
My eyes fluttered open and before me, I saw the nursery. The walls covered in the same pastel green the covered my love's shirt, the rocking chair with the stuffed white dog on it in the corner, the mobile above where the crib was to go--the crib was coming in next week. The little accent rug in the center of the room in the shape of a big yellow duck. I looked over at Sandy, tears in my eyes, and murmured, "It's beautiful." She was so proud of her work, a huge smile on her face. I couldn't tell her now. Just then a beeper rang out. Both of us looked down.
"It's me." I saw the pained expression on her face. "And to think we were gonna celebrate too. We can do that when I get back, okay?"
"Of course, " I heard my voice reply emptily. Sandy went into our room to go get her stuff, as I stood there, still staring at the room that was no longer needed as a nursery.

~/.:*:.:*:.2 hours later.:*:.:*:.\~

I sat in the darkened living room on the couch with my vodka, wondering how to tell Sandy. If it was a fire, she'd be out for at least another hour. I had been practicing.
"Sandy, I lost the baby." No, too blunt.
"Sandy, I miscarried this morning." Didn't sound right.
"Sandy, the baby died." Nah, too morbid. How do you tell the woman you love that the child you planned in love, is no longer?
"Sandy, I don't think we'll be needing the nursery." That still didn't sound right. I sat there pondering still, as Sandy walked through the door and turned the light on just in time to see me take a sip of my drink.
"¡Ay! ¿Qué haces? What the hell are you doing? Is that liquor? Kerry!! You can't drink! You're pregnant! You're a doctor--you should know that! And nobody should be drinking alone in the dark anyway." She angrily took the glass out of my hands as I struggled to hold in my tears. This was it. Now or never.
"What were you thinking?" She asked as she stroked my hair, playing with my ear. "You're pregnant. Our child's well-being depends on how well you take care of yourself. No caffeine and no liquor."
"That's just it," I sobbed. "I'm not." I could feel the lump in my throat.
"Not what? Not thinking when you drank that vodka? I wouldn't doubt that," Sandy joked.
"No, not pregnant." I choked out, tears drowning my last syllables.