One day later...

I tap my heel on the once-white tiled floor of the hospital just hours after checking and rechecking my positive pregnancy test. Nate will probably think I'm at the store stocking up for the coming week like I do every Monday after work. It's defective. It has to be, I tell myself, desperately trying to combat the growing feeling of nausea in the pit of my stomach. It's just the weather messing with my mood or hormones or whatever. There's no way I'm pregnant.

"Mrs. Fisher?"

I take a deep calming breath as I stand. I'm definitely not pregnant.

Two hours later...

I'm pregnant.

Shit.

I'm want to be excited, really. I'm just afraid of what Nate's going to say. He promised to stay by my side for the rest of our lives, but that was before he took off to chase after cursed treasure with that damn ring of his. It's been a year since the Iram incident and he hasn't shown any signs of wanting to stray, but... a child is a whole different kind of commitment. From what Sully's told me, he was never had any semblance of family before Sully came into the picture and he's got some sort of vendetta against his father. Suck it up, Fisher, I scold myself outside our apartment. You're gonna have to tell him eventually. Might as well do it sooner than later.

"Hey, Elena!" yells Nate from the table in the kitchen as he hears the lock click. "How was your day?"

I shrug. "Oh, you know..."

"I know what?"

"Nothing. How'd exams go?"

"Fine so far. Although it seems nobody paid attention during my roman numerals review. I can't tell which King Louis they're talking about. There's a very big difference between the Middle Ages and the French Revolution!" He holds up a stack of papers to prove a point only known to him. I hug him around the shoulders and kiss him on the cheek.

"Aw, my poor baby. Why don't I make us dinner and you can tell me all about it then?"

"Okay," he pouts.

I turn to the counter and blink in surprise when it's free of plastic bags. Crap, I don't have any food to work with. Stupid pregnancy clinic... "Uh, how 'bout pizza?"

"Sure!" he says, a little too enthusiastically.

"Hey, don't get too excited. You love my cooking."

"Oh, of course I do. I-It's just nice to have a change in pace every once in a while."

"It's okay, Nate," I laugh, picking up the phone. "I was joking. Do you remember the number?"

"It's on the fridge. Where you at work late tonight?"

"No. Why do you ask?"

"Well, you didn't go to the store."

"Oh, I just forgot. I'll go tomorrow."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine. I've just got some sort of head-cold that's throwing me off."

"Alrighty then..."