A/N: Originally posted on AO3.
Watching Laurel waddle into the classroom, swollen belly turning her usually graceful gait awkward, Michaela's first thought is, 'Thank God that isn't me.' She sees Wes rush ahead of his girlfriend, both their bags thrown over his shoulders, to pull out her chair before aiding her in slowly descending into the seat, and smiles, heartened by the soft expression shared between the couple.
It isn't that Michaela is oppose to having a child—she had imagined forming a family with Aiden, after all, back when times were simpler and her biggest problem was trying to please her future mother-in-law—but the idea of having one while toiling through their remaining years of law school and while coping with the threat of arrest (for their involvement in multiple murders, among their many other crimes) hanging over her head is terrifying, to say the least. She commends them for their strength, the united front they present, though she's sure Laurel's wealth eases much of their burden.
Drawn from her musings by Annalise announcing the start of class, Michaela redirects her attention to the board, ready to receive her money's worth in criminal law knowledge. It isn't until much later that it occurs to her that she could soon be walking in Laurel's shoes.
One of her classmates attempts to argue PMS as a defense strategy, and after rolling her eyes Michaela stills for a beat. Her head tilts and eyes narrow as she racks her brain, finally coming to the realization that it's been some time since she's last dealt with the cramps and overwhelming fatigue brought on by her monthly visitor.
Once the first waves of panic as subsided, the more reasonable portion of her brain imploring her to relax and gather the facts before succumbing to fright, Michaela reaches into her bag. She withdraws her planner—something Asher, in light of technological advances, has repeatedly teased her for—and opens it to the previous month. She looks for the notations that she routinely makes to depict the start and end of her menstruation period. The page is devoid of the markings, as is the one for the month prior to that.
'Is it all right to start panicking now?' the fear-soaked area of her mind asks, dripping with sarcasm. There's no answer, and, at least, Michaela can celebrate that she hadn't completely lost it, having conversations with the voices in her head. She feels a manic laughter bubbling in her chest, but clamps it down, glancing around as she remembers that she's in public.
She's startled to find her classmates packing up their things and chatting as they leave the lecture halls in pairs and groups. Michaela was so lost in thought that she missed the conclusion of the day's lesson. Movements, sluggish, she begins to do the same, snapping the planner shut then placing it in her bag along with her laptop.
Connor comes up behind her, talking as she rises from her seat. She watches his lips move, but doesn't hear a word he says, her ears ringing. After awhile she pushes past him
"Not now." There's only one person she needs to speak to, and it isn't Connor. It's the man who has gotten her into this predicament. She knows it's irrational (the proverbial phrase, it takes two to tango, coming to mind) but Michaela angers at the thought of her boyfriend. Part of her wants to keep this information to herself—buried in the recesses of her mind, where she can deny its existence until it's absolutely necessary—but her more brash side refuses to handle this on her own.
Stalking out of the room, Michaela finds Asher waiting for her outside of the doors, cell phone in hand as he leans against the wall. She approaches him and, without a word, takes his arm to drag him down the hall. She tries doors, twisting the knobs, until she finds one that relents under her grasp. Pushing in, they find themselves in an empty maintenance closet, and though the chemical smells are off-putting it serves her need for privacy well.
"Ohh, you want some afternoon—no, midmorning—delight," Asher assumes, pressing in close to her, his cell phone abandoned in favor of fondling what he can reach of her.
Michaela shoves him back, voice shrill as she exclaims, "I'm late."
"Late for what?" The confusion on his face is palpable. "Torts doesn't start until—"
"I'm late for my period!" The, you idiot, is unspoken, dying on the back of her tongue in her attempt to keep her promise to be less callous when referring to him.
"Oh, my God… You're-you're pregnant!" The delight on his face is incomprehensible to Michaela, leaving her aghast as Asher lifts her into a tight hug and spins her to land at the opposite end of the closet.
Feet back on the ground, she watches, eyebrows creasing as Asher's hands move to her abdomen. There's wonder on his face as he caresses her flat stomach.
"Our kid will be almost the same age as Wes and Laurel's. They can have play dates together. What if we have a boy and they have a girl—"
"I'm not pregnant!" The words rip through Michaela, the force of them causing her to step back from him. She's shaking, eyes welling with tears from the intensity of her fear and worry. Her voice lowers and she turns away as she continues to speak, "At least I don't know if I am." She sniffs. "All I know is that my period is late, but I'm on birth control so nothing's for sure." She may have been remiss in tracking her monthly cycle, but she has taken her pill at the same time every morning, like clockwork.
Facing him once again, she lifts her gaze to meet his. His expression has changed, cleared of the enthusiasm and trained blank.
"I'm scared, Asher. I'm not ready for this. We're not ready for this." She places the emphasis on their still budding relationship.
Asher nods his head. "That's true," he admits, voice strained. He pauses as though choosing his words carefully. "I just want you to remember that we're in this together." He lifts an arm. Michaela is sure he intends to touch her, but he hesitates, hand hovering awkwardly between them.
She meets him in the middle, fingers clinging to his and trembling as she breathes a faltered sigh of relief.
"Good because you're going into the store to buy the pregnancy test." Michaela attempts a smile, trying to bring some levity to the situation, but, instead, tears fall and her face crumbles.
Asher pulls her into his arms, rubbing her back in a soothing manner.
"Everything's going to be okay." The whispered words calm her, and, after a moment, they leave, hand-in-hand, steeling themselves to learn their fate.