A/N: HOLY CRAP, it's been FOUR YEARS! I sincerely apologize to those who read this so long ago and never got to find out what happened. Life (epic writer's block, lost flash drive, school, work, baby, husband) got in the way. Three days ago, I was suddenly inspired. Then I found a mostly written chapter on my flash drive.

This chapter may evoke strong feelings in some. Please read my author's notes at the end.

Thank you. Enjoy.

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In her bedroom, away from Hikaru and all the anxiety of the day, Haruhi took a deep breath. It escaped as a sigh. She realized that this was the first time she had had any contact with Hikaru in over half a year. Their final encounter had been so tumultuous, so hopelessly entangled in misery and heartache.

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The procedure was called a vacuum aspiration. It was an ordeal, to say the least, both physically and emotionally taxing and painful. There were speculums and dilators, poking and prodding and probing. There were anesthetics and analgesics, and a compassionate staff to make it all bearable. However, there was one thing that Haruhi knew she would never get over: the sound of the vacuum. There was something about it that was absolutely nauseating to her.

"Hey, are you sure you're alright? Are you in pain?" Hikaru asked as he pulled out of the parking space. He glanced over at her, trying to gauge her response, before shifting and moving through the lot toward the street. He had not been allowed to be in the room with Haruhi during the procedure, but whether that was a clinic rule or per Haruhi's request he was unsure.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she answered quietly, staring at her hands as they gently thumbed the sleeves of her oversized sweater. She was still trying her hardest to get the clinic out of her head. She focused on the sound of the car engine and the soft texture of her knit sleeves .

Hikaru pulled out onto the street, and replied without turning to her, "You know, that's the third time you've said that... like that." He attempted to put his hand on her forearm, but she jerked it away as soon as he made contact. His hand retreated back to the shifter. It was painful to see her like this. He felt utterly impotent, able to change neither her feelings nor the situation.

Haruhi realized her actions and saw the sadness on Hikaru's face. "I'm sorry; that was a reflex. I'm still a little on edge," she half-lied. She was still on edge, but it was not an edgy reflex; it was an aversion to Hikaru's touch.

He seemed to accept the statement though. His features visibly softened. "It's ok."

Haruhi turned her gaze to the window. It was not his fault, and she was not angry with him. She was sad, and relieved, and angry with herself, and confused- and he was directly connected to all those feelings- feelings she was trying to escape. It was numbing and maddening at the same time. In the back of her mind was the reality of the fact that she had just ripped a life from her body. (The sound of the vacuum saw to that.) However, outside knowledge of that life would have ruined the lives of at least three people. Ruining her own life would have been one thing, but to wreck Hikaru's, and, more importantly, poor Tamaki's, was something that she just could not do. She was relieved that it was over, but angry that she had caused this chain-reaction in the first place. A loop of guilt and justification had begun to spin, and she began to tremble as the emotional assault threatened to overwhelm her. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and returned her focus to the white noise of the car.

Apparently she had fallen asleep because she was jolted awake by the sound of Hikaru's voice. It was not that he was being loud, just that the sound of his voice sent reality crashing back into her consciousness, and it was startling.

Her reaction must have been obvious, because concern creased his features. "Are you sure you're ok? Come on, I'll walk you upstairs." He moved to get out of the car.

"No, really, I'm fine," she stopped him. Her voice was soft, but clear, "I can make it up to my place on my own. Thank you for taking me."

He was clearly uneasy about letting her leave by herself. He hesitated, but something resigned him to silence. A sadness creeped through him as he let her leave. She did not know whether it was the same sadness that she felt, but she did not have the emotional wherewithal to find out. Already, she could feel herself falling apart.

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It was mid-afternoon when Hikaru called the following day. The thought of talking to him, of hearing his voice, made her want to cry, so she did not answer. Instead, she sent a text message, telling him that she was ok, but she did not feel like talking.

A couple more days passed. The cramping, mood swings, and malaise had subsided, and she finally felt well enough to go back to work and maybe return to something that resembled normal life.

Normal life without Hikaru.

She sent him a text: "Hikaru, I'm going to be going back to work today, so I think I'll be fine from now on. Listen, I don't think I'll be able to talk to you for a while. This is a terrible thing for me to have to say, but the thought of the sound of your voice makes me want to cry. I'm sorry that I feel that way, but I can't help it. I think I need some distance from you for a while. Really, I'm so sorry. Please take care of yourself."

"I understand."

That was the last she had heard from him. She had no idea whether he was angry or sad, whether he really understood- although she was not certain that she, herself, understood- or whether he was ok.

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AN: I made a point, when writing this, to respect the gravity of this decision. I am in no way trying to make light of it. This is a story, a work of fiction. Millions of women around the world have to make this difficult choice in real life. I researched what a woman in Haruhi's position would have to experience, and I chose to avoid being graphic about the procedure.

If you choose to review, I will greatly appreciate it. But please be respectful, and keep your focus on the writing. This is a forum for fanfiction. Thank you.