Choices
A/N: Hi everyone! Here's my new story. With Matt and Alesha, of course. Hope you like it. Just for the hell of it, I thought I'd start with a nice long opening chapter. Enjoy!
Spoilers: Set after episode 1.07 "Alesha".
Disclaimer: Not mine. Really. No, really. I checked. Oh well…on with the story…
No! Oh no! Nononono!
This is not true, can't be true, can't possibly be for real.
You must be dreaming. That's it. Just a dream. A freakish nightmare. You've had enough sleepless nights lately to bring you such a deep sleep, you're bound to get creepy dreams. Anytime now, you'll wake up and all you'll have to do is change the sheets and take a nice, refreshing shower.
Just to make sure, you pinch yourself. Hard. And yelp out in pain.
Wide awake after all. Damn it.
Okay. Just breathe. Calm down. It still doesn't have to mean anything. Perhaps the thing was faulty. It happens all the time. You bought a second one, just as a precaution.
Hands shaking, you take the second package and after some wrestling to open it up, you repeat the process, making yourself stop trembling long enough to do so without spilling. Ew.
A few agonizing slow minutes later, praying this next test will belie the outcome of the first one, you tentatively open your eyes to stare at the small stick in your hands.
And groan in defeat as it confirms what its predecessor already tried to tell you.
There's no denying it any longer. No need to desperately ignore all the signs, reason them away, making up excuses for something so glaringly obvious. No matter how many times you don't want it to be true.
Hands still trembling, you pick up the phone and call in sick, claiming a stomach bug has gotten a hold of you. You feel like a fraud when James wishes you well with an almost fatherly care laced in his voice. Before the rest of your meagre courage leaves you altogether, you dial another number and make an appointment with you family physician. You're in luck, someone cancelled their appointment and you can come over in an hour. It's the longest hour of your life, but as you're lying in her gynaecological chair, you wish to be anywhere but here. Chairs like these bring back some very bad memories.
You refuse the glass of water offered to you and insist the assistant stays close, even if your family doctor is of no threat to you in any way.
Dr. Gibson (no relation), a sturdy woman in her mid-fifties, does the usual poking and prodding and some simple blood tests and after getting the results, again confirms what you dreaded to hear. You're pregnant. Eleven weeks to the day. It helps that you know the exact day you conceived. The only day you could have conceived.
You're having a baby. By the man who raped you.
You start to cry and Dr. Gibson, sensing these are most definitely not happy tears, hands you a box of tissues and sits down next to you. Just because she does not start to ask the difficult questions right away, you trust her enough to tell her the story. True to both her calm nature and her years as a doctor who's seen and heard it all before, she doesn't interrupt even once while you speak and cry and sniff and blubber.
Only when you're done with your little emotional breakdown, does she start telling you about your options, purposefully using a rather businesslike tone of voice to indicate she does not want to influence your decision in any way.
"Okay, basically, there are three options: abortion, keeping the baby or giving it up for adoption. You're just at the start of your tenth week so from a purely medical point of view it's not too late should you choose for the first option. Usually, we can conduct a safe abortion until the 24th week, but we do advise to do it before the twelfth week, so that means you have two weeks to decide.
In your situation, you can make a strong case for a legalized abortion. But it does come with some physical risks and mostly it causes some emotional distress too. But as I said, there's two weeks time to think it through. I can give you some literature to read about it, but if you want to take a piece of friendly advice from me: you might want to consult a friend too. This is not something you want to have to face by yourself."
You nod. Abortion has crossed your mind, to be honest and you're glad you're not too far along should you decide it's the best thing to do. At least now you have some time to think it over. As easy as it sounds, for some reason, the thought of yet another medical procedure to go through makes you hesitant. You're by no means a delicate pushover who's afraid of any pain, but you've just about had your share these days.
And then of course there's the idea you're killing a potential human being. Your possible son or daughter. To think about it as merely a clump of underdeveloped cells makes it sounds like you're having a tumour, which is a point of view you can't easily resign yourself to. You've never really condemned women for their choice for abortion, but that doesn't mean you ever wanted to become one of them. The stigma, the guilt; legal or not, it's all there and frankly, you've had enough labels pasted on your forehead these past weeks to last you a lifetime.
Yet, thinking of it as it a son or daughter makes it harder to distance yourself from what is essentially still a salvageable situation. And how convenient it would be. Once you would get over it, you could basically pull yourself together and pick up where you've left off. Resume your life. As if nothing has happened. You don't even have to tell anyone.
Question is: how long can you pretend? Won't it come back to bite you in the arse one of these days? Or later, much later, when you're more vulnerable? And what if you can't have children later in life, when you've found a good man who would make a perfect daddy? Will you then come to regret not having this child?
Carefully, you get up, accepting a clutch of files and folders and a prescription for pre-natal vitamins, just in case you do want to keep the baby. Plus, they might be helpful against morning sickness which is sure to come while you make up your mind about what to do.
Armed with all this information and the guarantee you can call in at any time, either for an appointment or just to talk, you leave the doctor's office. Outside in the mild breeze, you contemplate going home. You do have the day off after all. But quickly you decide to just go to the office. Sitting at home with nothing else to do but think yourself crazy won't help you now. So office it has to be. You'll make up some excuse later. Besides, it won't be the first time you've called in sick and arrived at work anyway. Neither James nor George will think anything of it.
Hopefully.
You needn't have worried. When you come in, George's door is closed as he is having a conversation with an earnest looking man you don't recognize and James is nowhere to be found. You do find an e-mail in your inbox that states he'll be out of the office for the rest of the day and that you should take it easy, despite of reading the message while you're supposed to be resting at home. You smile. He does know you very well.
Until lunchtime you actually succeed in burying yourself in huge stacks of paperwork. Only when your stomach rumbles, do you realize how hungry you are. And that you're eating for two.
Right, the pregnancy.
The problem that still needs a solution. Though you still have some time to decide, you don't want to wait too long, knowing it won't make things easier, neither the decision nor the procedure itself.
Should you choose the abortion.
Suddenly in need of some fresh air, you take your purse, lock your computer and head for the park, where you buy yourself a coffee and a sandwich, refusing to ponder over the reason you ordered a decaf latte instead of your usual, preferred strong caffeine boost.
Finding an empty bench, you sit down, taking small sips and small bites from your lunch. The weather is beautiful today. Not too warm and with a friendly sun shining. Trying to relax, you take in your surroundings. Being surrounded by the evidence of people at their worst all day, you love to watch people being relaxed and, well, normal you suppose.
Today, something's off though. You've heard pregnant women or those struggling to get pregnant, say it all the time, but you never really believed them. How odd to now be proven wrong. You do see pregnant women or new mothers everywhere when you're hormonal enough to take notice.
A biracial couple walks past, a black woman and a white man. The woman's proudly pushing a pram, the man walking next to her with the air of a stud. You can't help but smile and before you can think it over, you stand and approach them.
"May I take a look?"
As any proud new mum, the woman nods eagerly, awaiting your ooh's and aah's over her offspring.
Actually, the small, sleeping baby girl inside is worth the praise. She is an absolute angel, with soft mocha skin, a full rosebud mouth, lashes a model would kill for and the tiniest of hands clasping the soft pink blanket which is carefully tucked around the small, deeply breathing body. A small pink teddy bear is keeping vigil next to her head.
"She's beautiful."
"She is, isn't she?"
The mother adjusts the blanket, the dad just beams with pride.
"I'm a lucky man with two such pretty ladies in my life."
"She's a perfect blend between the two of you."
The man nods in agreement.
"And she even has my blue eyes. The doctor said it probably won't last, but I secretly hope it will."
"Perhaps my own baby will look like that too."
It's out before you know it. You startle yourself. Not knowing of your inner turmoil, the couple reacts enthusiastically.
"You're pregnant? Congratulations! The father's white too? Oh, you'll get such a pretty baby, I'm sure."
"Not as pretty as our little Tessie here, though. She's one of a kind."
You nod, suddenly unable to get any words formed. As quickly as you can without insulting this lovely couple, you bid them farewell. You turn back to the park bench you just vacated and slump down.
That was a mistake, going over to see that baby. Seeing it feels like it gave your own clump of cells an identity, a face. It's a person now, a small boy or girl with café latte coloured skin and light, European eyes. It's impossible to go ahead and kill it now.
But can you fathom the consequences of doing what seemed unthinkable just this morning? Have this baby? Keep it? Raise it by yourself as a single mum? And never hold the painful circumstances surrounding its birth against it?
True, you know you have enough means to provide for it. Never a big spender, you have a nice sum of money on a separate savings account, plenty to turn the spare bedroom in your flat into a nice, cosy nursery. The CPS offers its employees a full day care service nearby and you're sure your mother won't mind chipping in.
And you have friends. Both male and female, so your child does not have to miss out on father figures, sugar daddies and male role models. You can't think of a better role model than a man like Matt. And Ronnie makes a very respectable substitute grandfather.
You wonder how they'll react when you tell them, though you're sure you'll have their full support no matter what you choose to do.
Though right this very moment, your heart tilts toward keeping it. Thanks to seeing little baby Tessie. But little baby Tessie was planned. By two parents who both love and support her fully. Who never had any doubts about wanting her.
A glance at your watch tells you it's about time you head back to the office, so you chuck your napkin and empty cup in the bin and calmly walk back.
With George firmly planted in his office chair and James away to wherever, you have yourself a quiet afternoon. Even the nausea that triggered the purchase of the pregnancy tests and that's been your constant companion for the last two weeks or so, has subsided. If honest, you feel quite good. Could it be it's still all false alarm? Or is this baby on its best behaviour lest you change your mind about having it?
Either way, you manage to clear away a lot of backed up paperwork and filing, again only noticing it's well past six when your stomach demands some sustenance other than the half eaten candy bar you found in your desk drawer.
Just when you're about to give your best mate a ring to ask him to join you for some dinner, you hear someone knock on the doorpost. You look up and smile. As if you conjured him up out of thin air, Matt Devlin is standing in the doorway, his gorgeous smile firmly in place.
As usual, your heart gives a little jump when you see him. It's a weird thing you have going on with him. You love him deeply, you'll even agree when pushed to it that you're quite besotted with him, but from day one (and, sadly, even more so after the rape), it seemed impossible, improper for the both of you to cross the invisible barrier between friends and more than that.
But a friend he is and you cherish every moment you spend together. Your imagination fills in the blanks for you and though it's not everything you want, it's better than nothing.
"Matt! I was just about to call you."
His grin widens, your heart does a little summersault.
"Really? For a bite to eat I hope."
Your stomach agrees loudly.
"Oh I can use more than a bite."
"Great, let's find ourselves a place that serves something edible."
"And good."
"If we're lucky."
With quick movements, you shut off your computer, put your personal stuff back in your purse and switch off the lights. Matt helps you into your coat and after a wave to George (who distractedly waves back) you set out in the companionable silence typical of your friendship. You just know that your mate knows exactly when's the time to talk and when not.
On instinct, you end up at one of your favourite restaurants a little off centre, away from the noisy tourist attractions. It's small and quaint, but the food's good at a fair price. The waitresses know the both of you well by now and greet you more like friends than regular guests. The decidedly gay bartender tries to catch Matt's eye and us usual, your mate ignores him. He's in no way homophobic. Until they try to hit on him. You tease him mercilessly, though you have no idea what you would do if a lesbian woman would try to make a move on you. So far, it never happened.
And you're not the least bit insulted by that.
For the first time in weeks you actually scan the menu, aware there are some things you normally eat that you shouldn't have now, like their fine selection of cheeses. You try to be casual about it, but when you first decline the cheese and then the wine, Matt's eyebrows raise.
"Something wrong love?"
Again, you attempt to make light of the situation. So you smile.
"It seems such a waste not to try something else for a change."
"True, but I thought you loved these."
"I do, it's just…"
You choke, not knowing exactly how to end the sentence without raising any suspicion. Stupid, hormonal, emotional woman you are, you feel unexpected and very unwanted tears spring in your eyes. Quickly, you snatch up your napkin to dry them off, hoping Matt will be diplomatic enough not to ask the kind of questions you're not willing to answer right now.
Thank God, he doesn't. He merely puts his hand on yours and gives it a little squeeze.
"Never mind my bullying, love. You can have anything you want. Tonight, it's all on me."
"You're just a sucker for crying girls."
"True, but only if I can make them smile."
His own smile is so syrupy sweet it makes you laugh.
"See, it works immediately."
Your food arrives and you eat with a gusto. Never much of a glutton, it surprises your friend how much you suddenly pack away. His eyebrows, first raised in surprised amusement, shoot up and disappear into his hairline when you reach over with your fork to steal bites of his pasta salad. Before you know it, there's nothing left for him.
"Alesha, sweetheart, when I said you could have anything you want, I did mean anything that's on your own plate. How did you get this hungry? Seems almost like you're eating for two."
You immediately choke and it takes lots of petting on the back and an entire carafe of water to settle you down. When you're a little more composed and done with attracting the attention of everybody in the near vicinity of your table, you dare look into your best friend's eyes.
And see that he's put two and two together. The full penny has dropped and he looks at you with sympathy shining through his bright blue eyes.
"Oh Lesh…you're…"
You nod, knowing that really there are no words to say. It's stuck in this eerie twilight zone between 'congratulations' and 'I'm so sorry'.
"Merrick?"
Again, one nod suffices.
He stands, motions for the bill and pays with a few notes carelessly plucked from his wallet, not waiting for any change and not caring if he overdid it on the tip.
"Let's get you home, okay?"
Next chapter: Decisions, decisions…and a little help from a friend.
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