Prompt:

"S7 AU. He's missing and she's sitting on their bathroom floor with the stick in her hand and she's crying, she goes to the doctor the day after and the doctor confirms that she's pregnant. (They find him just like in 7x01)."


This isn't the way it was meant to be.

They'd talked about it, about how it would happen. Fantasised about trying and the excitement of going through it all together.

She wasn't supposed to be alone on the bathroom floor with a pregnancy test, afraid of the result.

But she wasn't supposed to spend her wedding day searching for her missing fiancé, either.

She lifts her hand, sees blurry confirmation of a fact she already knows and pushes the plastic stick across the tiles with unnecessary force.

Pregnant.

Her doctor is professional, but her eyes bleed sympathy because she knows.

That the engagement ring she can't bear to take off isn't accompanied by a wedding band, as it should be by now. That her fiancé – the father of this child she's carrying – is missing and may never return.

Everybody knows.

She refuses to stop looking for him.

The evidence is stacked against him so high it feels as though it's caving in on her, but she won't stop. Her child deserves a father, or at the very least, to know what happened to him.

She sets up a murder board at her apartment, and she chases every possibility of a lead. When the solitude gets to be too much she goes to the loft, shares the pain of his absence, sleeps in their bed, and pretends he'll be there when she wakes.

Seven weeks pass, and she has nothing.

In her darkest moments, when she's lost all faith, all memory of the man who would never disappear of his own volition, she wonders…

Would this baby have made him stay?

But then morning comes, and she stares at the ultrasound photo she keeps in his nightstand, waiting for him.

He wouldn't have missed this – any of it.

He wouldn't have run away from her, their wedding, the future they both wanted to share.

He has to be out there, and she will find him.

When she gets the call that he's alive and at the hospital, nothing else matters. Not the months spent terrified of all that might be, not the doubt that crept in during fleeting, weak moments.

But then he can't explain away the evidence suggesting that he was behind his own disappearance.

Once again, nothing is as it was supposed to be, not even when he's home and safe and going through the motions of a nightly routine that should be a comfort to her.

Everything's off, and she knows he feels it too.

"I was just thinking… I feel like I just wore this yesterday, that we slept in this bed last night. For you it must seem like a lifetime ago."

He stands beside the bed, his watch in his hands, the edge of his robe brushing against the drawer that holds proof of the time that has passed.

"Yeah, it does."

"How did you not lose hope?"

"I did lose hope, you know, but I'd get it back…"

She trails off, nervous under the power of his gaze but unable to keep it a secret any longer. She brushes past him, and he shuffles backwards to allow her the space to access his nightstand.

It's his copy, always has been, and her heart flutters knowing that he'll finally get to have it, that they'll finally get to share this.

It might not have happened according to plan, and they might be on shaky ground, but he's here.

They all are.

"Kate."

Her name is a breath of disbelief as he falls back on the bed, his eyes never leaving the image in his hands – their future.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers, the words still laced with shock. "I'm sorry I wasn't here."

"It's not your fault."

They can't just pick up where they left off, and nothing will ever be the same, but they're here, and they have each other.

She wraps her arms around him, presses her face to his chest with a promise.

"We'll find our way home."


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