So it's been a while since I wrote some RoLex. And even longer since we heard from Lex herself. So this all Lex.

I'm also trying something a little bit new. Well, I essentially challenged myself to write something that didn't centre around smut. Sorry to disappoint, guys! This is also quite a serious one-shot and an emotional one at that. I apologise in advance for the huge amount of angst I'm about to unload on you all.

The wonderful LetItReign has been (as always) the best sounding board ever for this. And she suggested that I should really put a Kleenex warning on this.

In addition, I've put together a full list of stories across all my series in my profile - if anyone is new to RoLex or any of the others...

WARNING: Hints of smut (see, I'm not leaving you completely high and dry!) and you may want some Kleenex as suggested.

DISCLAIMER: I only own the OCs

Italics - flashbacks

I hope you like, no matter what x

The heel of my shoe taps nervously against the leg of the chair. The sound echoes around the semi-empty waiting room, but I can't bring myself to stop. It's the only noise, aside from the occasional rustle of paper as other occupants peruse the range of magazines on display. I'd much rather watch the clock, my eyes glued to the second hand as the minutes tick closer and closer to my appointment.

My nail joins the shoe-tapping, clicking against my blank cellphone screen. Blank because I kept checking for non-existent texts and emails. Blank to keep the urge of calling him at bay. Even though I should. Or not. I've had this argument with myself a thousand times over already and each time I've come close, I've deliberately held back. It's far easier to convey fake emotion through text. It's impersonal, distant and exactly what I need right now.

I don't want to disturb him. I don't want him to worry. I don't want to build his hopes up.

Because mine are already sky-high. Even with double-confirmation, I want a final, third check. Just to be sure. Just to be extra sure.

I'm late.

Sat in traffic, I thumb through my cellphone, mentally ticking off my day's to-do list. Calls made, emails sent, meetings attended, notes filed. Scrolling ahead, I take in the following day's plans, my heart pounding with excitement as I realise it takes me a step closer to seeing Roman again. Five more days stand between now and then.

I never thought I could miss someone this much. If it was hard before we got married, then it's only become worse. I love coming home on a Wednesday, to find him lounging on the couch or cooking dinner in the kitchen. I love the feeling of his arms curling around me as he kisses me and holds me close. I love sitting across from him at the table, eating, drinking, chatting. Like a normal couple. For three days, we get to be normal. For three days, I get him to myself.

And then Saturday rolls around all too soon and he's holding me and kissing me and whispering goodbye. Ever since we moved in, all that time ago, there hasn't been a Saturday where he's left me and I've not closed the door, leant against it and struggled not to break in two. I feel like part of my body is repeatedly ripped away and stitched back together. I doubt I will ever feel differently. I doubt that the wound will ever truly heal. I doubt that I will ever feel whole when he's not around.

I'm not bitter. Not at all. I knew what I was getting into, I took the chance, made the choice and I don't regret it for a second. I'd rather get three days than nothing with this man. An incredible man, at that. A man that knows my mind better than I do, a man that would do anything for me. A man who I'm honoured to call my husband. A man who I wish only happiness and success for, no matter how hard it gets or how many sacrifices we have to make for that to happen.

But that doesn't mean that I can't feel the way I do sometimes. It's only natural. I listen to my colleagues talk about their significant others, discussing the highs and lows of their lives together and it makes me want to scream and shout and punch. What I would give to have a husband who I see every night, no matter how many times he forgets to put his dirty boxers in the laundry basket or forgets to put the trash out or would rather spend his evenings playing video games than watching some trash TV. I'd swap with them for a lifetime of all of that, as long it mean that I had Roman with me every day of the week.

I chuckle as I recall one particular lunchtime, where one girl was confessing to another about the lack of sex her and her husband were having. I had almost leaned across the table to share my own experience in that department, about how I was surviving on late night phone sex with my husband, that batteries are now a regular in my grocery shop to keep me going through two week tours, how no matter how tired I am, there will always be time for a quickie wherever and whenever with my husband because when you've only got three days with each other, you've got to make them count. That would've wiped the sour look off her face with her 'we only fuck four times a week, if that' bullshit.

My stomach flips as envisage the carnage that will take place when I finally see him. When he's in Europe, calls are harder to arrange, the time difference meaning that we're at odds with our needs. I've been reliant on my imagination, rather than his voice in my ear. His voice, which can command me to do anything and everything. His soft uttering of 'baby girl', followed by a throatier 'Lexi'. But in five days, I'll not only have his voice, but his body too. I shiver, my mind conjuring up the thought of him sliding into bed next to me, sinking into his embrace, his lips on my shoulder, my hand reaching back to clutch at the back of his head, holding him to me, never wanting to let go ever again.

He has this power over me. I am putty in his hands. I can hold my own for sure, but I marvel at the way he can command my body. My legs will always stretch that little bit wider, just for him. My arms will always hold on a little bit tighter, just for him. My mouth will always take him a little bit deeper, just for him. He's always so determined to get me off. Whether that's with his tongue or his hand between my legs, or if he's buried inside me, angling my body just so I can cum first. I'm not complaining, but sometimes I get lost in the haze of post-orgasm. I can still feel him moving my body, twisting me onto my stomach or flipping me onto my back, but my mind is a little too fuzzy to take in the details until he's growling and pushing me for another release. Would it be wrong to suggest filming ourselves, just so I could watch those brief moments between one orgasm and the next?

I blush at the thought. Perhaps that would be a step too far. Although our boundaries are pretty limitless, his more than mine by far. But he's always so cautious, constantly checking that I'm okay. Like on honeymoon, when he pulled me against him, his hand over my eyes and whispered in my ear, making sure I wanted to go through with whatever he had planned for me. Or checking that I remembered our safe word when I was offering him the opportunity to use any part of my body as he saw fit. And afterwards, when he gathers me in his arms, kisses my forehead, makes me tell him how I feel, checking that I'm not in pain. It's possible that those moments mean far more than more traditional ones.

Aside from one. One that has been playing over and over in my head for a while now. When we stood on the beach and he told me how much it would mean to him if I were to carry his child. His eyes were alive with a love that made my heart pound loud and fast. Of course, we'd discussed children before then, it wasn't a new conversation by far. But now it feels like an almost reality, something within touching distance rather than a far off thought. And whilst we were both happy to keep practicing, there were moments where I knew we were both thinking if we should get more serious about the possibility of a child.

So I came off the pill. Five months ago to be exact, my head full of my doctor's words about it potentially taking a couple of months for my body to settle back into a natural cycle. And sure, there was a part of me that was slightly disappointed when I got my period a few weeks later. And then the time after that... And again and again. And...

I frown. What's today? Thursday? The traffic is moving forward and I try to count the weeks, my mind muddling slightly as I desperately try to recall the date of my last period.

Fuck.

The cashier lazily slides the items past the scanner, the noise of her gum chewing setting me on edge as she hands me lemons, tomatoes, chicken, a pregnancy test... I flinch as I pick it up and try to act casual as I drop it into the paper bag, followed by toothpaste and bananas.

I had sat in the parking lot for a good 10 minutes, consulting my diary, counting and re-counting. Two weeks late. How the hell did that slip my mind? Without the pill to keep me in check, I had been careful to mark up my due on dates, ticking them off as they came and went. The idea was to eventually calculate the optimum time of each month, to see how well it coincided with Roman's trips home. He'd joked about me setting up a spreadsheet to track my body's activities and then kissed my nose when I had scowled.

I swipe my card in a daze, mumble a goodbye to the gum chewer and make my way back to the car on auto-pilot. One week late could mean nothing. On the other hand, it could mean everything. Hence the test. Hence the endless thoughts about other possible symptoms. I mean, I don't feel pregnant. But does anyone this early on? Because it would be early. A few weeks at the most.

I feel so un-informed. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing. I've never had the need to even take a test, let alone deduce other symptoms of being pregnant. I was always careful, in my teens, in college, all the times before I met Roman. And this is something we both want, yet now that I'm here...

The drive home is full of thoughts of what ifs and whys and hows and whens. They blur into one, making me want to pull over and wretch on the side of the road. Because fuck, I'm nervous. As much as I want his child, as much as I want to experience everything pregnancy brings, the ups, the downs, I'm scared. I'm so fucking scared.

My hands shake as I fumble with the keys in the door, my purse slipping from my shoulder, bashing into the grocery bag as my hands shake and I have to bite back an angry sob. My frustration breaks through as I slam the door behind me and then slump against it in defeat.

I didn't think I would feel like this. All the times my period came and went, I had this weird feeling in my stomach, a pit of disappointment swallowing me up. I thought that when the moment came, I would be over-joyed, looking forward to telling Roman, watching his face light up. But instead, all I can see is fear and anxiety and questions.

So many questions.

I put the grocery bag on the kitchen counter and draw out the pregnancy test with shaky hands. I clutch at it for a second and then drop it onto the counter and stare at it. As if it will suddenly provide me with all the answers.

I guess in a way, it will. Only one though. And a simple one at that.

My stomach twists as I stow away the other items, my eyes wandering back to the pink and blue box on the counter. It feels so intimidating, with its glossy packaging and reassurances about accuracy. The only thing it can't seem to provide is comfort. There is nothing comforting about this moment. And I doubt I will feel any comfort afterwards, no matter what the result.

If only he was here. I would feel better if he was here. We could sit together, count down the minutes and look together. Being alone means I have no-one to verify the result. Being alone means I have no-one to hold or vice versa when the result is finally revealed. No, I'm all alone.

And that's a funny thing because this would only be the start. I have no problem with my own company, but I can keep myself busy and occupied. Roman's possessions are everywhere around the house, but I can somehow block them out if I'm feeling particularly morose about the situation. With a baby? That's a constant reminder of how alone I'll be. There will be no-one to help with night-feeds, to reassure me when they teeth and cry, no-one to remind me to eat and to rest and to enjoy every moment. No-one to share every moment.

The bitterness takes over for a second and I let it. I let it wash over me, I close my eyes and cling to the anger that rushes through me. And then I breathe and remember everything else that makes this all worth it. The bitterness fades as quickly as it rose and I grab the test.

I read and re-read the instructions, tapping the white stick with its blue tip, against the vanity. And then I set it down and take a step back, trying to find the urge to pee and realising that peeing on demand is nigh on impossible. Especially if the act itself will determine a result that is about to affect our lives. The nerves creep up on me again and all of a sudden, the need to pee is urgent.

I set the timer on my phone and leave the test in the bathroom, not wanting to look at it until absolutely necessary. I change my clothes, remove my make-up, brush my hair out. Anything to keep me from thinking about the time ticking down and what lies in wait in the bathroom. But five minutes passes in no time, my phone happily alerting me whilst my stomach twists.

I flip over the test and stare at it dumbly.

Two red lines stare back up at me.

I took the second test, just to make sure. Two more red lines. One a little fainter than the other, but definitely two. I stood and stared at them both for a long time, my hand reaching out to my phone every so often and then drawing back. I wanted to tell him, but I knew this wasn't a conversation to have over the phone.

Five more days. That's all I needed to wait. Five days. Enough time to go to see the doctor, to get it verified. Five days to prepare myself for whatever was to come.

I roll onto my back and stare at the dark ceiling. I'm pregnant. That feels weird to think, let alone say. I had picked at my dinner, poured away the half drunk bottle of wine from earlier in the week. Lying on the couch, I had absentmindedly rested my hand on my stomach and then flinched and shook my head. It didn't feel real. It still doesn't. I kicked myself for not purchasing a second pack of tests.

I had phoned the doctor straight away, managed to get through to the receptionist before they closed. I was in luck, she told me, there was an appointment available for first thing tomorrow morning. There would be another test, maybe some blood taken. She talked me through what I needed to do to prepare. It all felt so clinical, so unemotional.

I thought that these moments were supposed to bring joy, not anxiety. Even now, hours later, I'm still battling with my emotions. I feel like I've been mis-sold this entire moment. Those fucking commercials for these tests are utter bullshit. They don't tell you about how you're probably going to take the test alone or how you won't believe the first, so you'll have to take a second. They don't tell you how fucking awkward peeing on a stick actually is. They don't tell you that those five minutes will feel like both the longest and quickest minutes of your life. They don't tell you fuck all. No, it's all smiling women with their partners and friends, all passing around a stick with piss on.

But there is a small part of me, a very small part, that is excited. And that does make me start to smile. Watching Roman interact with kids always makes me feel giddy. With all fans, he's polite and charming, but with kids? There's this look that overcomes his features, his whole face lighting up as he talks to them and thanks them and pulls funny faces with them. He laughs and shows them how lock and load his Superman punch and I'm giggling along with them, my eyes on my husband, my thoughts on how I imagine him being when it's his child.

Said smile is creeping across my face right now. He'll be over the moon, I know it. He'll kiss me and hold me and rub my non-existent bump. I can just picture his eyes all wide and full of love and excitement and it makes me want to cry with happiness. It'll be the best gift I could ever give him and I want that so badly. The thought of him holding a little bundle of blankets at the end makes my heart swell.

All the love I feel for him and that he feels for me would be wrapped up in that little bundle. I roll onto my side and breathe in the faint smell of Roman. Even with washing the sheets, his scent still seems to remain. Not that I mind. It brings back memories of the last time I rolled over like this and collided with his body rather than cold sheets. It brings back memories of when potentially we put all our love and effort into making this happen.

Although...

There was the night before he left for this stint on the road. And now matter how you try to dress that up, it wasn't exactly traditional love making. Far from it. Not with the way he'd ripped my panties off. Or dug his fingers into my thighs as he spread my legs and ate me out until I screamed. Or the way he'd flipped me onto my stomach, pulled my hips up and slammed into me. Or when he grabbed my hair and pulled me up from the bed whilst his other hand groped and spanked my ass.

Throbbing starts between my thighs and I curse. Fuck, it felt so good though. Especially when he'd pulled me completely upright and wrapped his arms around me and pinched and twisted my clit.

"Cum for me, Lexi. Cum on my fucking dick..."

"That's it baby girl, take my dick. Suck that dick..."

"Lexi... Stop... Let me cum on you..."

"Fuck, baby girl, your pussy feels so fucking good..."

I mean, really? No fucking way. We couldn't have... Did we? Only we could conceive a child with dirty talk and spanking. Jesus. I blush in the darkness, embarrassed at the possibility. I had sucked his dick clean afterwards, his hand in my hair, growling my name as he started to harden again with my lips stretched around him. Definitely not how I had imagined this would happen. What happened to the candles, the soft music, the sweet love-making? Nope, we fuck hard and fast and say dirty shit to each other and go ahead and knock me up in the process. I scrunch up my nose and then chuckle. I can just see his face when I tell him and he does exactly what I've just done and put two and two together.

But then again...

There was the morning after. When he took me slowly and lazily, his hand on my thigh as he eased my leg back over his and then pushed inside me. I remember his mouth on my neck, his soft murmurings as he thrust into me with control and ease. His hands caressed my body, teased me with a slow determination as he told me how much me loved me, how much he would miss me. He kissed me softly, his fingers dancing over my stomach and between my legs until I shuddered and whimpered.

How much does the when and the how matter though? What matters is that it's done and this is it. I'm pregnant with his child and despite all the nerves and the doubt and the fear, there's a warm fuzziness spreading through me. A small glimmer of happiness pushing all the other feelings aside.

That's what matters.

"Alexia?"

I look up and see Dr Ash standing by the door. I gather up my things and quickly follow her inside, taking the seat she gestures to.

"So," she says after we go through the niceties. "I see from the appointment notes that you had a positive test."

"Two," I add.

"And you want a final confirmation?" She gives me a warm smile as I nod. "No problem."

She hands me another test, shows me where the bathroom is. Minutes later, I'm back in the chair, drumming my fingers on the arm rest as we await the results.

"How are you feeling?" she asks after a while.

"I don't know."

"That's completely normal. The reality is sometimes different to the expectation. It's fine to have all these different emotions about this, to go from scared to happy at a moment's notice."

"Roman's away," I tell her. "I... I haven't told him."

She nods. "Understandable. You want to make sure. A lot of women do the same."

She consults her watch and picks up the test. There's a pause, her brow furrowing.

"Alexia," she starts, but my heart is already plummeting. "I'm afraid this test is showing a negative result."

She passes me the stick and I stare at the single line.

"Now, this can happen. Urine tests are only one method of testing for pregnancy and I suggest that we also do a blood test, which will be far more conclusive."

I can't seem to hand back the test, I can't seem to look anywhere but at the single line. Dr Ash is moving around her work station, still talking, filling the desperate silence, but I'm barely listening.

Negative.

Gone are the nerves and the happiness. And in their place, a numbness starts to take hold. I hardly feel the needle in my arm or hear Dr Ash's voice as she offers me some leaflets for support and tells me she'll put a rush on the results for Tuesday morning.

I sit in my car, staring at the bandage on my arm, trying to take it all in. How did this all change so quickly? Yesterday I was shit-scared, scarcely believing the positive. I didn't sleep well, tossing and turning and going over all manner of emotions as I toyed with endless thoughts about how to tell Roman. But there was that faint feeling of happiness, one that seemed to grow and grow until in the shower this morning, I couldn't help but grin.

And now nothing. Dr Ash knows as well as I do that those blood results will say I'm negative too. I just know it. I didn't feel pregnant. I just didn't.

I slam my fist against the steering wheel and feel my jaw beginning to tremble.

Why did I build my hopes up? I knew it was all too good to be true. Maybe I just wanted it to be true though. In my muddled head, I must have mis-read those tests. The second line was faint on both tests, I should never have believed them. I should have waited until Roman was back. I shouldn't have panicked. I should have just got on with the rest of the week and spoken to him first. I should have shared this with him. I should have phoned him. I should have...

My resolve breaks. I gasp for air as tears roll down my cheeks and I can't stop, hunched over in the driver's seat, my forehead resting on my hands as I sob uncontrollably.

How naïve I was to think that this, any of this, would be easy? To get pregnant so soon would have been incredibly lucky. And I was naïve enough to think it was possible. I was stupid enough to get my hopes up on a drug store test. I was dumb enough to let my mind build this all up only to have it shattered barely twenty four hours later.

I take a shaky breath and desperately try to calm myself. What's the point in crying over something that never existed in the first place? I was never pregnant. It never existed. It never happened. And what would be the point in telling Roman? Why tell him about something that was never true in the first place. Congratulations, Ro, you were almost a father, but not really because surprise, surprise, I'm not pregnant.

A sharp screech of laughter leaves my mouth and I throw my head back agains the seat and close my eyes. I want to forget this ever happened. I want to forget how humiliated I feel. Sitting there in that chair, talking about how I felt about a pregnancy that didn't fucking exist. And if it ever existed, it was so fleeting, like a passing train, a quick rush of air and then gone, just as quickly as it arrived.

Yet that quick rush of air as seemed to have taken everything I ever felt with it. Blown it away as if it were nothing. I feel empty. That part of me that seems to get torn away when Roman leaves? Well, now there's a new tear, somewhere else in my body, somewhere inside that me that's slowly disappearing. A small hole, steadily growing larger as the numbness continues to spread through me.

I glance at my purse and debate calling him. I just want to hear him, to tell me that everything is okay. But calling means telling him what's happened. And I can't. I just can't. Not when he's thousands of miles away and will be as helpless as I am to do anything.

There's nothing anyone can do.

It's a negative and that's that.

The bedsheets are my only comfort. They twist around my legs, my waist, my chest, my arms. They hold me, keep me warm as I lie here with my thoughts.

I spent the weekend distracting myself. I cleaned, I went to the gym, I bought a good bottle of wine. I cooked and ate, devoured a whole series on Netflix. Yet when Monday morning rolled around, the numbness was back. I felt like I need to present some sort of front. Why? I have no idea. No-one knew what had happened on Thursday or even Friday for that matter.

And then this morning, Dr Ash's voice on my phone.

"Alexia, I've got the blood work back from the labs. I'm sorry to say that they came back negative as well. I really wish I had some better news for you and Roman, but understand that these things can take time. False positives are rare and unfortunate, but please don't let this dissuade you. And if I can offer you some advice as a friend, rather than your doctor? Talk to Roman. You need to go through this together, not alone. And if you ever want to come in to discuss this or anything else, just give my office a call."

The whole conversation was one-sided. I couldn't bring myself to say anything other than what was necessary. An 'oh' there, a 'thank you' here. Phrases like 'chemical pregnancy', 'defective test' kept floating around my head all day. I felt sick at the possibility of the first, angry at the thought of the second. All the feelings I had managed to keep at bay since Friday came surging back with greater force than before.

I bury my face in the pillows, fighting the urge to cry once again. I'm sick of feeling like this, angry even. I'm overwhelmed with utter frustration at the entire situation, at my inability to move on and look forward rather than backwards. I want to stop thinking about what ifs and move on with the present rather than relive the past few days over and over again.

Roman called me when he landed on Sunday night and was waiting for his rental at the airport. And although he didn't ask, I could sense that he knew something wasn't right. It was the same on Monday, when he called me from the arena in Atlanta to check in. But I couldn't tell him, not on the phone. Both times when he hung up, I started to cry. And then I wanted to slap myself for being weak and stupid. And then I just wanted to call him back, to tell him everything and beg for him to come home and hold me.

He text me earlier, due home around 1AM if the traffic played ball. I glance at the bedside clock, luminous digits telling me he's running late.

The door clicks softly downstairs.

Or he's just on time.

I listen to the familiar sounds of the lights flicking on, his suitcase being placed in the laundry room. The refrigerator door opening and closing. A cough. The creaking of the stairs.

"Lexi, you warming the bed up for me already?"

I twist to face the door and relief that he's finally home washes over me. Reaching out, I flick on the bedside lamp and take in his solid frame, his warm smile, his soft eyes.

"Hey," I manage to get out, but I choke on the word, my eyes starting to sting as I try and fail to keep it together.

"Baby girl," his voice is low, full of warmth, full of concern. "What's wrong?"

I open my mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a wretched gasp for air as tears start to stream down my cheeks. The bed dips beside me, Roman's hands finding me under the sheets and pulling me into his arms, letting me soak his shirt with my tears as his fingers comb their way through my hair. His lips brush against my forehead and I fight hard to pull myself together.

"What's wrong?" he asks again as my tears slowly begin to subside. "Is it work?"

I shake my head with a sniff.

"Is it... Is it us?"

I pull back slightly and lift my head to meet his eyes. "I... I was late."

"Late? Late for what?"

"My period."

The words hang in the air and I watch his eyes change from concern to surprise. "Baby girl," he breathes softly. But I cut him off before he can continue.

"I took a test. Two tests. Well, three in the end. Four, really."

"And?"

"They... The first two. They were positive." My voice is barely a whisper. I remember the mixed emotions, I remember finally settling on happiness. I remember thinking about this moment. And then I remember that moment wouldn't include my next words. "I saw Dr Ash too."

He nods encouragingly.

"But... She tested me. Twice. And they were... They were both negative."

Gone is the fleeting look of happiness in his eyes, the look of surprise. I can feel a lump in my throat and when I blink, fresh tears threaten to spill.

"Oh, Lex." His arms tighten around me. "It's okay."

"No. It's not."

He presses his lips to my forehead again and I grip his shirt as frustration rushes through me. "It will be okay," he says softly. "Our time will come, baby girl. You just gotta give it time."

"I was scared."

"What for?"

"I was scared, I was worried, I wasn't feeling anything that I thought I would feel. All those other times, I was so fucking disappointed." Anger tears through me. "And when I saw the two lines, I felt sick. I... I thought I'd feel differently."

I shake my head at my stupidity. "I thought I'd be instantly excited. And I was. Later on, anyway."

He's quiet, letting me vent, letting me tell him everything I've been feeling over the weekend. How this tiny ebb of happiness was snatched away on Friday morning. How grief for something that had barely existed had consumed my life over the last few days. How I tried to push it away, to pretend it never happened. My words eventually slide into silence. A long, deafening silence where I'm afraid to meet his eye, where I continue to stare at his grey shirt and my fingers relentlessly trying to smooth out the creases.

"Hey," he finally murmurs, nudging a finger under my chin and raising my gaze to his. "Please don't beat yourself up over this. These things happen and I know it's never going to be easy, but you can't let it consume you like this."

"You weren't here."

I could kick myself, watching the guilt flicker through his face.

"I know," he exhales slowly. "And you have no idea how much I wanted to be. I wish I could have been with you on Thursday and on Friday. And over the weekend and this morning. It kills me to know you went through this alone, Lex. And I know it's pointless to say it now, but you can always call me. You know that, baby girl. You can always call me and I will always be there for you."

I nod slowly, my face starting to crumple again as I realise how goddamn stupid and stubborn I've been.

"Hey, no more tears," he whispers, his lips finding my cheeks as my eyes glisten and my vision blurs.

His mouth finds mine and it's a relief to finally kiss him. My fingers curl into his shirt as I cling to him and silently beg him not to stop. I want to feel something other than pain. I want to feel his love for me.

His hands find mine and he curls his fingers around my own and pulls back. Rolling me onto my side, he wraps his arms around me, one hand finally settling on my stomach. His fingers stretch wide as he cradles me, his lips on my shoulder as I sigh into his embrace.

"We can't rush this," he murmurs. "We can't put pressure on ourselves. It will happen when it's meant to. Not before, not after, but when it's supposed to happen. And that might be next week, it might next month, it might be next year. Please, Lex... Don't knock yourself down for this."

"I just want to make you happy."

His arms grip me a little tighter. "You already do, baby girl. Whether you're pregnant or not, you make me the happiest man alive." His fingers flutter across my hairline, pushing my hair back so he kiss my neck, my cheek.

"I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for," he tells me. "None of this is your fault, Lex. Tell me you understand that. You aren't to blame for any of this."

I nod into the pillow, but he nudges my cheek with his and I twist my head back to him.

"Tell me," he says.

"It's not my fault," I whisper.

"Good girl," he breathes, his lips ghosting over mine, sweet in their touch. "I love you, Lex."

"I love you too."

"I got you, remember? I got you, no matter what."

Fin x

A/N: I would like to point out that I have never been in Lex's position, so I hope that I've done this justice. I also did a helluva lot of reading about pregnancy testing online and it's quite possible my husband is going to have a heart attack if he takes a peek at the browsing history lol.

I promise that future RoLex updates will be far more happier than this!