Chapter 3

After storming upstairs to the bedroom, making sure to slam the door behind me, I found myself at a loss as to what to do. So I simply slid to the floor and hid my face in my hands. That had not gone well. I'd expected a bad reaction. I'd thought he'd maybe yell a bit, get angry, probably mostly with himself, possibly storm from the house for a while. That I would have been able to deal with, because I'd know he'd come back again after he'd cooled off and be ready to talk things through, sort things out. And that's what I needed right now, the Derek with a plan… not the one who was downstairs right now pretending our conversation had never happened… and making dinner? Was that what I was hearing? It certainly sounded like it. Cupboard doors opening and closing, the clatter of metal on a worktop, the sound of water running… yes he was making dinner.

I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands. I was approaching a mental breakdown up here… and Derek was cooking dinner. This wasn't how things were meant to have worked out at all. With a sigh I dragged myself to my feet and walked over to the bed. I fell back onto the mattress with a flop. It had been a really long day.

After an hour or so of staring at the ceiling I heard a knock at the bedroom door. When I ignored it a gruff "Chloe?" followed. When I ignored this the door swung open slowly with a creak. With a sigh I pulled myself up onto my elbows and saw Derek hovering in the doorway. He looked vaguely apologetic but I wasn't going to get ahead of myself. Once Derek had decided on something… well there was no shifting him. And he'd sounded very sure of himself downstairs.

"I made dinner." He told me, his eyes searching my face. For signs of what I wasn't sure. That I was about start yelling again maybe? Well that wasn't going to happen.

"That's nice." I said as calmly as I could. If he could pretend nothing had happened so could I.

"It's lasagne."

"Ok."

"Are you coming down then?" he asked, his eyes still boring into mine.

"In a minute." I told him.

"Ok." He said and he turned for the door.

"Derek…" I called after him.

He turned back, expectant…

"Can you check you locked the door properly when you came in? I don't think you did." See… I could pretend everything was normal just as well as he could.

The next morning I woke to find a piece of paper on Derek's pillow, the words 'Thursday, 11.15.' scrawled across it. I rolled my eyes. He had said last night over dinner that he would see about getting me a doctor's appointment. I'd thought he'd at least wait until I was awake to do it. Oh well, silly me. Well I supposed that meant swinging some time off work. And speaking of work I needed to be getting up, it was nine o'clock already and I was due in at ten.

The next two days passed in a blur. I went to work, came home, had dinner with Derek and went to bed then repeated the sequence again. Derek did pretty much the same and neither of us said a lot about anything, let alone my upcoming doctors appointment. In fact the only thing that had been said was that Derek had gotten time off work himself to come with me. I wasn't sure if this was a good thing or not. On the one hand it meant that when the doctor referred me on to the midwife he'd hear it first hand but on the other… well I was pretty sure there was going to be no actual test. I'd read up on the internet that the tests doctors used were the pretty much the same as shop bought tests and if I'd taken one of those and it was positive the doctor would probably take my word for it. I didn't think that was really going to help.

I scratched agitatedly at my jeans as I looked at the clock. Five past eleven. I was sitting in the cheerless green waiting room of my doctors office, Derek in one of the dated, strangely nauseating pea-green chairs beside me. I'd only been there five minutes but already it felt like an eternity. And I had ten more minutes of it to go.

I glanced up from my uninteresting jeans and looked around the room trying to find something to distract me. I didn't have much luck. There was a boy of about sixteen sitting opposite us wiping at his nose with his sleeve, a tired looking old lady in the corner and a fish tank with about three fish. Three miserable looking fish. Was it even possible for fish to look miserable? Probably not. Which meant I was letting my imagination get carried away with itself. I shook my head and turned my attention to the pile of tattered magazines on the table in front of me. I picked one up and looked at the picture of Jennifer Anniston on the front. The old lady in the corner started up a hacking cough. I hastily put the magazine down and turned my attention back to my jeans. Maybe the waiting room of a doctors office wasn't the best place for me to be. Who else had touched that magazine? What had been wrong with the last person who'd sat in this chair?

A hand wrapped itself around my fingers bringing my increasingly more furious scratching to a stop and I almost jumped out of my skin. Then I realised it was only Derek and relaxed. I didn't know if he was trying to calm me down or if he just found the scrape of fingernails on denim irritating but either way I found myself happy enough to let him leave his hand where it was. In fact it was oddly comforting to have Derek's hand on mine. Odd because I was still angry with him for being so dense about this whole situation. Having him there shouldn't be making me feel better, it should be making me feel worse. I should feel like throttling him not like lacing my fingers through his and leaning my head on his shoulder which is what I inexplicably found myself doing. I expected him to shrug me off, we'd not purposefully touched each other in days, the closest we'd come to hand holding had been when he'd passed me the milk that morning at breakfast and his fingers brushed mine, but he didn't. Instead he tightened his grip on my hand. And I had the crazy thought that maybe, just maybe, he did believe me, that he had believed me from the moment I'd said 'I'm pregnant'. But if that was the case why had he been so adamant that I wasn't? I looked up at him then and saw the way he was resolutely staring at the wall and came to a staggering realisation. He was scared. Just as scared as I was if not more so. Why I hadn't realised this sooner was beyond me. Of course he was scared, he had plenty of reason to be. And of course he wouldn't admit it, I mean this was Derek.

I opened my mouth to say something, I wasn't sure what, maybe just 'how was work yesterday?' or 'did you read that story in the paper this morning?'. Anything that would take his mind off whatever he was brooding about, get us talking again even if it was only about something trivial but before I could the door to the waiting room swung open and I looked up to see the blonde girl from reception in the doorway. "Chloe Saunders for Dr. McKay." She trilled cheerily.

I resisted the urge to glare at her and instead let Derek pull me to my feet. "That's us." He mumbled as he started for the door. He still hadn't released my hand and I didn't plan on letting him. It had only been two days that we'd not been talking, but I'd missed him. And I wasn't about to let that happen again. We were going to go in there and hear whatever the doctor had to say together. I wouldn't let Derek shrug it off and I wasn't going to mope around feeling sorry for myself. We were going to deal with this like adults this time.

Author's note: A week late I know, and a bit of a filler chapter, but life's been a bit busy lately. Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far. This is turning out to be really fun to write and I'm glad other people are enjoying it too. Hopefully get some more up soon…. Niccy-bx