A/N: Written, and thus set, right after The Transfer. So we are AU, but I am not ready to pack up the season and move forth from the finale. Too much possibility would be lost. This fic incorporates a lovely manip by thelastpinksock (I would link to it if I could, I thought it was real for the longest time), and conceptualized under/title stolen from A Century Ends, by David Gray.


The thing about Broadway, the thing about theatre, was that it was divided into strata, but every day and every night earthquakes split and shifted rock and they all ground down into the same dirt. And things grew.

The thing was, the industry was full of Ronnies, rocketing to stardom holding on to every outreached hand, and never letting go even when they were on top. The thing was, not everyone was a Ronnie.

She hadn't used the nickname in months, no one had, but there were Iowa's out there, rising through the ranks like quartz, flourishing in a impenetrable protective sphere. Untouched.

The term had begun as a nod of respect, really, for potential. It had turned into a symbol of her rise, the mythic quality that led Derek, not just Derek, to surround her. It had become a blasphemy, the remoteness Karen Cartwright shrouded herself in.

No one is universally beloved. That fact being a universal rule. In this business you grew a thick skin, one way or another. To each their own. But there were limits to even professional courtesy, and Iowa had stepped off the edge. What had once fostered a measure of goodwill now left a brackish taste in her mouth. One she couldn't wash away with- There'd been something wrong, that night, in the bathroom, but Ivy had overlooked it. They'd both made names for themselves, it wasn't one or the other. She'd thought they could set it behind them, dust falling away. She'd always acknowledged how good Karen was.

And there was Iowa, over and over, unwilling, perhaps incapable of even pretending Ivy had ever deserved the role at all- not, at least, as anything but a poor second choice if she were around.

She should let it go, it was out of her hands. She couldn't let it go. Karen's face before her on loop, the swell of satisfaction as she saw right through the two faces with a clarity only reached after she'd forgiven and pledged herself to forget. Not even Karen Cartwright could float on forever. And when she fell and cracked open? Well, she wanted to be there to see it.

And she wanted it to be tonight. Judgment night would be Tony night but she wanted it to be now, track Iowa down and force a battle. In front of everyone who knew them both. See if precious little Karen could glance up from her own navel. This desire began to consume her, dragging her back to the place she'd been, the person she'd been the year before. The tamped it down yet let it grow, because every time the flame started to dip something bigger loomed.

Congratulations, you're pregnant!

She could grind Iowa's smug face into the dirt. The story always mattered and Karen had always had the sparkle: the understudy pulling it off despite the last minute call, her new musical practically written around her – everyone knew – and sanctified through tragedy. Rip that away from her, gifts others gave, and everyone would see how little was left.

You're pregnant!

It wasn't even that. Her career might be over as soon as it had finally taken form, and honestly that would be a relief, if that was the worst, because the pit of panic and rising nausea was for the drinks she'd been accepting (in moderation), the caffeine she'd been ordering (less moderation), what she'd been taking every single day (the pill), and the exertion she put forth eight shows a week. All the things you weren't supposed to do because you were supposed to know...

First thing in the morning she had a doctor's appointment, and then she might be out of time. She wanted to beat Iowa, before she couldn't.


"Are we sure it's Derek's?"

Good old Sam. He'd taken her to the doctor, concerned but quiet, because she'd asked. She didn't want to tell him, not until she knew- until she knew.

Everything was okay, for now. They'd even said she could keep performing, though she had to tell Eileen and Tom, tell them soon. Some things would need to be modified, soon, or she'd have to leave. It had been 6 weeks. Lucky really. They'd caught it early. Like it was a disease. She had options.

"I haven't slept with anyone else since... previews" her voice caught at the appalling truth. The one possible way this could have been worse: if it had been Dev's.

"When did you two even- I know you were talking, but you said you were done with him. What happened?"

"He came back," with the type of laugh that might be a sob in disguise. "No" had always been so complicated, with him. "I ended it. It was just a couple weeks."

Sam paced past her. "Yeah, well it only takes once." The second the words were out Sam was apologizing, wedging himself onto the couch beside her and wrapping her up, chin over her temple. "Whatever you decide, I'm here for you. You know that."

She closed her eyes and let herself imagine those words could make it alright.

As she almost started to doze, he squeezed her back into the present. "You know you need to tell Eileen, right? You can't risk-" Anything. So much shaky ground, crumbling.

Eileen. She wasn't looking forwards to that conversation. There was a conversation she was looking forwards to less.

"Tomorrow. First I have to tell..."

Derek. Neither of them said his name, but Sam stiffened.

"Don't let him pressure you into anything. It's your choice. Not his." Like the prednisone had been her choice, not his. Look how that had turned out.

"Derek's not like that."

And Sam had to believe that.

She wasn't sure she did.


She couldn't face watching Hit List. Probably could have even if she'd wanted to, between Kyle and their new angle tickets were impossible to find. But she milled in the lobby at intermission, lost without her own stage but she couldn't go on before she'd told Eileen, angling for their stage manager. They knew each other, a little, she'd make sure she could find Derek after the show.

After he'd blown past her the night before- she could have texted, called, but if he didn't respond she-

"Ivy." That particular bland blend of thinly veiled disgust. "What are you doing here?"

She couldn't do this right now.

"This isn't about you."

"Of course not. But here you are."

Always the problem. Everywhere she went, there had to be-

"Ladies." And then Sam was there, arm around her waist, lips pressed to her hairline. "They're calling places."

"I have to go." How could she fool anyone? "Some of us have audiences paying to see us onstage."

It was hollow, this proof, as Karen flounced off. Rival actresses at feud.

Sam whistled. "What's her problem?" She could only shake her head. She hadn't told him what had happened at the bar, just fled. "Okay, look, I have to go too, but I'll make sure Derek's around. I'll text you, okay?"

The lobby emptied around her. She stood until the ushers stared, and then wandered the streets, pretending to think as hard truths played over and over in her ear.


"Hey." The soft greeting made her jump, she had another block, a few more minutes only she didn't. "What's wrong?" He dropped his phone into his pocket and she couldn't hear if the concern was real or if Sam had told him or why he was blurry, one arm halfway to her face when she blinked and a tear tickled down her cheek.

She was supposed to have more time, and she shook her head to settle her thoughts into place. Her chin hit his fingers and he withdrew fast. Anyone else, this would be easier. If it had just been a one night stand. If it had been someone like Sam – not gay, but stable and supportive... Actually a gay guy would work beautifully. It wasn't as if it had never happened before.

Index fingers drawing lines came away gray. The one time she couldn't be in stage makeup. She wasn't waterproof. Hysteria rose. She swiped harder, with her palms. If only her biggest problem was walking around New York with raccoon eyes.

"C'mon," as he ushered her against the building, impersonal pressure through two layers of coat sleeves.

There should be a better opening, she'd composed a few, but they only worked when he wasn't looking at her, living memory of all the times he'd surprised her. She threw her shoulders back, as tall as she could stand, and took a breath:

"I'm pregnant."

There. It was done. She could move on only it wasn't over.

He'd gone blank, blinking at her, and it was understandable but she didn't want to understand because she was the one this affected. Her career at stake, the rest of her life. Her stomach was dropping, in the silence. Of course this would affect him, if anyone found out, another scandal with a year and for a production already-

"Derek! There you are!"

Slamming a hand over her mouth, she bolted. Not far. The nearest garbage can. There wasn't much to bring up, she hadn't had an appetite, (something else you shouldn't do, not eating), and it hurt, body trying to get rid of everything it couldn't. Pricks of sweat broke at her temples, and she couldn't fight hands pulling back her hair, finger stroking the nape of her neck.

Karen. Of course.

"Everyone's looking for you. A bunch of fans want to do something. For Kyle. Everyone's waiting."

"Not now."

Damn straight not- A last hiccup and she thought she'd be okay, pushing herself upright. But then, it could be a saving grace. Rescue them from uncomfortable attempts at a conversation they didn't want to have. "It's okay, Derek. I'm fine."

"See? She can wait. This is about The Show." With such perky finality, entitled ease, maybe she hadn't heard and they could go their separate ways- "Really, Derek? This is more important than another actress stupid enough to get herself knocked up."

Guess she'd heard.

"Not now." Another half-protest but enough low force behind it that she let herself drift closer. It was true, pills and condoms yet she'd gotten herself in trouble and Karen had never allowed Ivy was anything to him but an easy lay when he wasn't good enough for her. Nothing.

And then the question, dripping. "Are you sure it's even yours?"