This darling little plot bunny is going to be rabbit stew if it ever dares to bite after nine o'clock again. This idea is solely MissCongeniality's, and I would like to really thank her for that, because it provided a nice respite from the norm. I hope it goes over well. Just a last little note, I'd planned on this being a one-shot, but if anyone really wants to see a continuation on it, let me know, and I'll see what I can do, okay?
Disclaimer: I really don't own the show, but I really really wish I did…I also own only half of the only OC in this fic, Kylie Jackson, who is also the brain child of my friend Tabby, and I really hope she doesn't mind me borrowing her again. :)
Dedication: This is dedicated to all Don and Terry fans, but mainly to MissCongeniality for providing the awesome plot bunny. It was tons of fun to write, and I hope it is an okay read. Thanks for the idea!
Secrets"Terry's late. Terry's never late. What's going on?" I storm into the office, glaring at the clock on the wall as if daring it to tell the wrong time, then check my watch to be sure that the clock is correct. "She was supposed to be here at eight. It's nine now, what is her problem?"
"Don, would you relax?" Agent Kylie Jackson, the newest addition to my team, glances up from the mound of paperwork in front of her. After studying me for several long moments, she pulls the I-pod cords from her ears and sets the tiny player aside. "I'm sure it's explainable. Maybe she got caught in traffic. Maybe she got held up somewhere. Did you try to call her?"
I feel a disbelieving look form on my face and Kylie shrugs in answer. "Of course I did!" I exclaim. "I've called her house, I've called her cell, then I called both again, and she's not answering any of them."
"There's got to be a reason." Kylie tucks strands of soft dark blonde hair behind one ear and gives me another sunny smile, but it falters slightly, and that doesn't help to erase my convictions. David, who has been downstairs doing something important for the last half-hour, chooses that moment to arrive.
"Hey, everybody…Terry's still not here?"
I throw my hands up in frustration. "See? Something's going on."
"Don, Terry is a competent, trained agent. I'm sure she can handle anything anyone throws her way. Just…trust her." David tries to smooth over the waves his question has created.
"I'm getting worried." I confess, dragging a hand down my face and tapping a pencil against the desktop with my other hand. "She's never late."
Just as I'm about to get in my car and actually drive to her apartment, the elevator doors ding and slide open. A disheveled, harried Terry steps inside the room, heels clicking smartly on the floor. Her purse dangles precariously from one elbow and she is clutching a disorderly stack of folders to her chest.
"Terry!" I hurry across the room, remembering just in time not to throw my arms around her slim shoulders. "Where have you been?"
"I wasn't feeling very well, I'm sorry. I think I ate something last night that didn't sit well…then the traffic was awful and I almost hit someone on the freeway and then--" She rambles, obviously nervous.
"Why didn't you pick up your phone?" I turn her toward her desk and follow her as she makes her way there.
"My home phone line is down and my cell is dead. I'm sorry." She apologizes again. "It's just been one of those mornings."
"Don't worry, it's alright. Are you okay? You look really tired…maybe you should go home and rest." I study her, taking in the dark circles beneath her normally bright eyes.
"No, I'm fine, I've already screwed up the schedule for this morning. Where am I supposed to be?" By this time, we've reached her desk. She secures her purse in one of the drawers and drops the pile of folders onto the desktop.
"If you're sure you're up to it, we could use you in interrogation, but I really think—"
"I'm okay, Don." She gives me what she's obviously hoping is a reassuring smile, but even that looks tired and strained to me. I swallow a sigh as she scoops up one of the files and bolts for the elevator, hoping to avoid any more conversation.
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It's been nearly two weeks since that morning, and Terry hasn't calmed down much. In fact, if her behavior all day today is any indication, she's gotten worse. She obviously isn't sleeping well, she doesn't eat much, she's nervous and edgy, and I've caught her several times staring blankly into space…very un-Terry-like.
I have tried and tried to get her to open up and talk to me, but she simply brushes me off. Last Friday night, that was what set off one of our worst arguments ever. The evening started off innocently enough, just a trip to Fazoli's and then back to my apartment with a rented movie, but by the end of the night, she had lapsed into a brooding silence and I was fed up with it.
Friday Night, 1:35 a.m.
"Terry, you know you can talk to me, right?" I sigh and lean back against the couch cushions, bringing her with me.
"I said I didn't want to talk about it, Don." She replies, folding her arms protectively around herself. We sit in silence for a few minutes, her trying to avoid the conversation and I trying to figure out how to press it.
"I'm not trying to pressure you, I just don't like seeing you like this." I finally defend myself, holding up my hands in a gesture of surrender. She chuckles, but it sounds fake and strained.
"Like what?"
"Like…this. You're quiet, you're moody, you're distracted, you don't want to talk to anyone, you're on a short fuse, you're…"
"I get the point." She growls, staring stubbornly at the TV screen. I catch her jaw in my hand, turn her face, and brush her lips with mine.
"Talk to me. I'm getting worried."
"What do you have to be worried about?" She pulls away.
"What do you mean? I'm worried about you! I love you, Terry! I hate seeing you like this. It scares me."
"You have no idea what it's like to be scared, Don! No idea!"
"Terry, I'm scared all the time. I'm scared when we go out on the field, I'm scared that something will happen to you or to Charlie when we're working, I'm scared that—"
"That's not what I'm talking about! That's different!"
"What's different? What are you talking about?" I've never been so confused and worried in all my life.
"You don't understand. You can't possibly understand!"
"Terry, listen to yourself! It's no wonder I'm worried about you! This doesn't even sound like you! This isn't anything like you…"
"You don't have any idea—" She shouts, jumping to her feet, but I interrupt her.
"Maybe I would, if you would tell me!" I feel awful when I realize that I'm yelling back at her. I've never shouted at her in all our time together, not when we were dating at the Academy, not since we'd started dating again eight months ago.
And then, just as suddenly as it started, her violent mood is over. She drops back to the couch beside me and buries her face in my shoulder, taking a few long, deep breaths. I freeze for a moment, then pull her into a gentle embrace, whispering nonsense words into her hair and running a comforting hand up and down her back.
She doesn't cry, but then, I don't expect her to.
Now I stand at the doorway of our office, watching her as she bends over the desk reading a file, her blonde hair falling from its untidy ponytail and brushing the sides of her face. She winds a strand around her finger and flips the page, and I take a small amount of comfort in the smirk that spreads across her lips. Whatever she's reading, it must be good.
Glancing at my watch, I realize that it's nearly nine o'clock. I haven't eaten all day, and I know she hasn't, either, so I hurry across the half-lit room to lean over her shoulder. "What are you working on?"
"Going over the files from the Stimmel case." She replies. I reach over her and gently close the folder. "It'll be there in eleven hours when you get back. Let's go get something to eat, okay?"
"Only if you're buying." She grins.
"Always." I take in her smile, all too rare these days, and head for my desk. "I have to get my keys, I'll be right back."
By the time I locate the keys and return to her, she's talking on the phone. "Are you sure? No chance of a mistake? How long?" She sighs and wraps her free arm around her middle. "Okay. Okay, yes, I'll be there...Friday at eight. Thanks." She closes the phone and draws a shaky breath. "Don, can I take a raincheck on dinner? I…I need to get home."
"Sure, Terr. No problem." I can see…something—fear, worry, something—in her eyes. I'm getting that scared lump in my chest again. "Let me drive you home."
"I'll be fine to drive."
"Please, just…let me do this, okay? To make me feel better?"
She shrugs. "Okay, then."
Once we're in my car, headed for her apartment, I give her a sidelong glance. "Who was on the phone?"
"No one." She avoids my gaze by staring out the dark window at the gentle droplets of rain that chase each other down the glass.
I'm about to snap a response when I catch a glimpse of her face. I'm sure it's not a trick of the light—her eyes are brimming with tears. My heart breaks, and I swallow my words. Obviously, she needs some time alone. And, as much as it hurts me, I'm going to give it to her. I pull to the curb at the front of her apartment building and turn to her. "When you feel better, would you give me a call?"
"'Course." She reaches out to touch my face, cupping my cheek in her cold hand. "I love you, Don. Remember that." And before I can answer, she throws open her door and darts out into the rain. I watch her until she disappears into the elevator in the lobby. Then I turn around and head home, where I curl up on the couch and nurse a beer, trying to focus on a random movie on TV and waiting for the phone to ring.
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I don't know when I fell asleep, but I do know that when the phone rings, the sky outside my living room window is beginning to lighten. I scoop up the phone and press it to my ear. "Eppes."
"Don? It's me. Could you come over here for a while?" Terry's voice is shaky and choked. She's been crying, I can tell, and that scares me more than anything. Terry doesn't cry.
"I'm on my way." All my questions can wait, I decide, as I hang up my phone and reach for my car keys. At least she called early enough that I can beat the traffic. With that semi-cheerful thought in mind, I make my way down to my parking space and peel away, my tires making a bloodcurdling screech and shattering the silence of the morning.
I drive nearly sixty all the way to her apartment, subconsciously praying under my breath the entire way. Whatever it is she has to tell me, it's not good, and I'm not sure that I'm ready to hear it. When I pull up to the building, however, I don't hesitate to hurry inside and take the elevator up to her floor.
Outside apartment 4C, I rap on the door, and she opens it immediately. She must have been pacing right on the other side.
She looks terrible, but I manage to bite my tongue before unwisely saying so. The circles beneath her pretty eyes are darker than ever, her dark eyes are red-rimmed and swollen from her tears, and she's still wearing the clothes she had on at work yesterday. Stepping inside and shutting the door gently behind me, I waste no time in pulling her into my arms. She doesn't argue, just falls against me and wraps her arms around my waist.
For a long while, I hold her, letting her collect her thoughts and make the first move. Finally, she pulls away and tips her head back to meet my gaze. "Don, I've got something to tell you."
I sink down onto her white couch, pulling her onto my lap and holding her eyes. "Go ahead."
"You're not going to like this." She warns, winding her hands together in her lap.
"I can handle it." I promise, though I'm not nearly as sure as I sound. I catch her hands in mine and hold them. She breaks eye contact and, instead, looks down to study our twined hands. I rub my thumbs in tiny circles over the backs of her hands, trying to offer her any comfort I can.
Suddenly, she blurts out, "I'm pregnant."
My hands stop cold. "You're…you're what?"
"I'm going to have a baby." She repeats in a whisper, avoiding my eyes.
"You—me—a baby?" I cry, hardly daring to believe it.
"Of course you and me." She sounds a little hurt, maybe thinking that I thought the baby would be someone else's. "It usually takes two to make a baby, Don."
The realization starts to hit fully. I'm going to be a father. This is what she's been hiding? This is what she was afraid to tell me? I wrap my arms around her and pull her to me, falling back on the couch. "Terry, we're going to be parents!" I exclaim, overjoyed.
"You're not angry?" She asks, bracing her forearms on my chest and levering herself up to finally meet my gaze.
"God, no! Terry, we're going to have a baby! I've never been so thrilled in my life." I laugh and pull her down for a kiss. Then something occurs to me. "Are you okay with this?"
"Well, I'm really getting worried about our jobs. I mean, keeping the fact that we were dating a secret was one thing, but this? I don't know…"
The thought sobers me for a moment. "We'll figure something out." I promise. "We'll make it work. I swear it." I wrap my arms around her again. It's all beginning to make sense now…her fatigue, her mood swings, her nervousness. "How far along are you?"
"Just at the end of my twelfth week, I guess." She replied. "That's what the doctor told me last night."
"So that's who was on the phone." I lean up to press my forehead to hers. "Do you want this? Do you want to keep it?"
"Not without you." She whispers.
"I'm in if you are. I can't think of anyone else I'd want to have my children."
Her eyes fill with tears, and I realize that her emotionalism is something I'm going to have to get used to—at least for the next six months. I smile before I kiss her again, slow and gentle, pouring everything I have into it and trying to let her know exactly what I think of her and our future together. She responds the same way, and I find myself marveling over what a single kiss can express.
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"Dad, Charlie…" I can feel Terry's hands in mine behind my back, and she gives them a little squeeze for encouragement. We've already called her mother in Miami, and she gave us a very long-winded congratulatory speech and demanded that Terry call her with each new update. "I will be there when my granddaughter is born." She announced. We had put Terry's phone, now fixed, on speakerphone so that all of us could participate in the conversation.
"Mom, we don't know what the baby is yet…" Terry had argued, rolling her eyes.
"Nonsense!" Her mother exclaimed.
Terry assures me after we disconnect, "She'll love it no matter what it is. If it's a boy and you dare to mention that she wanted a girl, she'll pronounce you scandalous."
Now it's time to face my family. "I've—we've—got something to tell you."
My father regards me suspiciously, and I can see the wheels turning in his head. He's probably already putting the pieces together. Charlie, on the other hand, looks as lost as ever. I pull Terry around to my side, laying a protective hand in the small of her back. "Terry and I…we're going to have a baby."
Disbelief clouds Charlie's eyes, but Dad leans forward, studying us incredulously. "A baby?"
I swallow and nod. "Yes."
He scrutinizes us for several more moments before a grin explodes across his face. "My God, it's a miracle! I was beginning to wonder if I'd ever get any grandchildren!" He laughs and hops up, crossing the room to embrace both of us. "I can't believe it."
"Wait a second…" Charlie's dark eyes flicker from Terry to me and back again. "You two…"
"Yes, Charlie, us two." I smirk at him and pull Terry closer to my side. My brother's eyes continue to process us for a few more minutes, and then he beams as well.
"Congratulations!" He exclaims.
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By the time we arrive back at my apartment at twelve-thirty that morning, Terry looks dead on her feet and I know I can't be far behind. We can barely find the drive to take quick showers and change before collapsing onto my bed. Even so, I muster up the energy to pull her to me, her back to my chest, and wrap my arms around her middle, picturing the life growing inside of her. She threads her fingers through mine and nestles close. I can smell the shampoo and soap from her shower, as well as the detergent she'd used to wash her pajamas. I place a kiss at the nape of her neck. "I love you, Terry Lake." I mumble against her skin.
"Love you too, Don." She whispers back, and this time, I hear a smile in her voice when she says it. With that, I drop off to sleep, a smile lingering on my lips.
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Yes, it's two o'clock in the morning and I should be working on Not So Far, but thanks to MissCongeniality, my #1 fan ;) , this plot bunny bit me at eleven o'clock tonight and refused to allow me to sleep until it was finished. This may not be my best work, but I tend to get extremely fluffy late at night…and I'd say this probably qualifies. If you're reading this, you probably read the fic, and I thank you for that. Now I'm going to go to bed before I start to really ramble.
Thanks, everyone!Sila