Chapter 36:

A/N: Not the cheeriest of chapters, but this needed to be written. I'm trying not to string this process along too much, as I want people to stay interested, so it sort of bookends the chapter. Hope you enjoy!

Trigger warnings:

Descriptions of anxiety attack (PoV 8)

Carla

The eeriness of the hospital waiting room was triggering an empty echo in my ears. The distant rush of nurses, attending to bedsides. The squeak of wheels from the trollies transporting life saving treatments for life threatening diseases. People who had been saved, people who needed saving, people who they couldn't save.

Forty minutes had passed. I knew despite hardly having the energy or motivation to look at my phone, because the 'please do not consume any food or drink in this waiting room' announcement sounded roughly every ten minutes. Most people only had to endure it once. Most people weren't sat here after being prodded, scanned, questioned, turned inside out like a rag doll, waiting for their wife to finish undergoing the same procedure.

"Please do not consume any food or drink in this waiting room."

Fifty minutes. Not that I could eat. I felt sick to my stomach as it was. My throat, on the other hand, was dry and scratchy, deprived of water. I'm sure they allowed that in here, it was more the aim of stopping youths snacking on their Subways from the food court, while they waited for their mate to be given a handful of free condoms in desperate measures. But even so, I couldn't be bothered to find a water machine, the dull ache stemming most likely from dehydration could be ignored if essential.

All I wanted to do was climb into bed with Michelle, wrap the covers around us and doze on and off for the rest of the afternoon.

From the look on her face, it seemed she would want the same.

"You ok?" I stand instantly, as she appears from the corridor. She just nods, picking up her pace as she sights me. Her eyes seemed watery and exhausted. I knew why, I'd be lying if I said the scan hadn't brought back my own memories, as it shared many similarities with the one I had to undergo when I was pregnant.

"Mm, thank God." She seals her arms around me, whispering it into my shoulder and gripping me tightly. "I missed you. How long have you been waiting?"

"Almost an hour." I release her, running a hand through her hair, her expression falling in shock.

"Oh God, sorry-"

"Hey, it's not your fault. Don't be silly." I manage a weak smile. "You went in after me."

"I didn't realise that would be so intense."

"Well it's done now." I reassure, guiding my eyes around the waiting room for a last time before holding my hand out to her. "Home?"

She smiles, slotting hers into mine and leaning her head on my shoulder as we walk. "Home."

Michelle

"Is this true?" I let the door of the Rovers swing shut behind me, my answer pretty self-explanatory as Johnny raises a glass from behind the bar. "You've bought this place?"

"Indeed." He nods his head curtly, looking proud of his new empire. It was good to see him smiling, have something to focus on. Plus it meant I was back to discounted drinks in the local. Granted, it wasn't as upmarket as when I worked in the Bistro, but wine was wine. "So, what can I get you?"

"Glass of red." I grin, lowering my bag onto the bar top. "Well I hope you know what you're taking on."

"Got any tips?" He asks, as he pours out a glass of the deep purple liquid, passing it over. "On the house."

"Thank you." I take a grateful sip. "Uh, well you haven't got Steve McDonald leaving his boxers lying behind the bar, you should be fine."

"Behind the bar?" He pulls a face. "What were you doing?"

"Oh nothing mucky." I assure him. "I think he just did it to wind me up. But don't let your employees take advantage, they can get cheeky here, especially Sean. He'll come crying to you with some sob story about having to take Dylan to the safari park when he's got a shift due. And Tina was awful for time off, then again, I know why she needed so much now..."

"Tina?"

"Uh, well, that's not a problem anymore" I wave my hand and he still looks inquisitive. "...This is the woman who Peter cheated on Carla with."

"Oh." He just responds bluntly, his smile fading and I mentally kick myself. What a stupid thing to bring up. Now of all times.

"Anyway, how are you finding it? Jenny clearly hasn't got through all the wine yet then?"

"So far so good." He replies, as she appears behind him on cue.

"Ah, here she is. Weatherfield's new barmaid."

"New? I'll have you know I was working here when you would have been just a tiddler." She scolds me playfully. "Oh it's good to be back though."

"So did you sell the house?"

"Well, it's on the market." Johnny informs me. "We've got a few interested viewers. I've had to use a loan to buy out Peter and then I'll pay it back when we sell the property. I tell you what though, he must have been desperate, sold it for way under the asking price."

"Yeah well, desperate is Peter's middle name." I mutter bitterly, screwing my nose up at the thought. "Hey, maybe he'll move far away now. Back to Portsmouth perhaps, or some other town where he can try and get through all the women between twenty five and fifty."

"You don't see him as a threat?"

"...No..." I trail off, sighing as I think how Carla would react if she knew I was having this conversation. "No, course not. I mean, I don't trust him. But I more than trust Carla."

"Well, at least he's never tried it on with you." Johnny taps my hand warmly, and his words leave a bitter taste in my mouth, choosing not to tell him about our little fling years back.

"I wouldn't worry, he's never tried it on with me either." Jenny reminisces and I hold my tongue, momentarily offended that she was comparing us, and tempted to tell her that actually, I had been the one to reject him.

"I'm not worried." I scoff, taking back the last drop of wine. "Anyway, best get on. I've got a meeting with this stuck up cow from Saunders of Sunderland." I groan at the thought, waving Jenny off. "Catch you later."

I see him before I can even open the office door, his leather jacket and greying stubble was visible through the glass. Slumped in my chair, feet kicked up onto the desk, which clearly hadn't been called upon by Carla. Even I got told off sometimes for putting my feet up, and I was just as much the boss as she was. Granted, she was kidding most of the time, but it infuriated me all the same to see him uninvitingly swinging in my chair.

"Michelle." Carla looks up, surprised as I enter the office. My eyes move unappealingly to Peter, not bothering to greet him. "I thought you were on lunch?"

"Evidently." I just respond. "I came back early so I can prepare for this meeting." I wait, staring Peter out, until eventually he takes the hint and gets up.

"Oh, sorry Michelle, is this your chair?"

"No, I usually tend to prefer the floor." I sarcastically remark, slipping past him to take my seat.

"Peter was just leaving."

"Was I?"

"Yes." Carla applies firmly, flashing him a slight smile all the same. I have to look away, pulling a file out of the drawer in my desk to ignore them both. "He just came to tell me, uh, Johnny's bought the pub."

"I know, I've just come from there." I mutter unenthusiastically. "I spoke to Rita when I went to get my dinner. Gemma's pretty upset."

"Well, you can't please everyone." Peter tries to be friendly, smacking his hands together.

"No. Just two women at a time." I dare to comment and he shifts awkwardly, receiving the cocky smile I flash upwards. "Well, bye then Peter."

"Bye." He raises a hand and Carla waves him off awkwardly. I keep my head dipped after his dismissal, deciding to prolong the silence in order to calm myself down. "...Are you not talking to me now then?"

"I'm just focusing on my work." I mutter, scribbling down figures on a scrap piece of paper that I didn't even know were correct. Hopefully, it was convincing enough. "I haven't got long until I need to meet Sandra."

"From Saunders of Sunderland?" She checks the whiteboard and I just nod, still keeping my gaze down. "Ah, I wouldn't stress about that. We get along great me and her, I'll take the meeting for you if you want?"

"No I'm sure I'll manage." I flash her a sarcastic smile and she rolls her eyes, her stare burning into the side of my face as I search in my desk drawer. The same question was still exhaustively playing on my mind, and eventually I give into myself. "Why did Peter need to come and tell you anyway? Surely he knew you'd hear from Johnny or me."

"Well he popped in for a coffee to see how I was." She tries to justify and I slam the drawer closed with more force than intended.

"'Popped in for a coffee'?" I scoff, narrowing my eyes in annoyance. "Since when are you two so cosy?"

"Peter is just a friend of mine-"

"Oh a friend?" My eyes widen hysterically. "Alright then, Steve's a friend of mine, and Robert. In fact, I might invite them all over later for a party."

"Oh that's exciting. Want me to get some hot nibbles in?" She remarks, sarcastically, her apparent amusement even more infuriating. "Maybe even some balloons?"

"I'm going to my meeting." I grab my bag, standing up abruptly, anger searing through me. "I'll be back later, and if not, I've quit."

"Let me know if you need a reference!" She calls after me and I turn to glare at her before slamming the door as I exit.

Carla

"Oh good, I thought you'd not only decided to quit, but moved to the other side of the country and all." I pipe up, as soon as the flat door closes and Michelle throws her bag down on the floor. Ok, clearly things hadn't settled much. I was hoping having the afternoon to herself would clear her head. "How was your meeting?" I call after her from the kitchen, as she disappears into the bedroom, leaving the door open. I wait patiently, until she emerges in a baggy sweatshirt and leggings, hair loosely falling down her back, a notebook in her hand. She drops it down on the counter, shifting on to the stool and pushing the hair back behind her ears as she flicks through it. "You can't be serious? You're just gonna ignore me now."

"I'm not ignoring you. I've got prices to tally up for Duncan's wedding." She just tells me shortly, and a small part of me wished she didn't look so effortlessly gorgeous in her casual, natural appearance. It made it harder to argue with her when I just wanted to kiss her face off. Especially when I had hardly seen her all day.

"Well you've just got in." I try to be gentle, keeping the annoyance from flaring in my tone. "Do that later."

"I can't do it later I've got to send him over the prices as soon as possible."

"I've barely spoken to you all day!"

"Well I'm sure you'll cope." She doesn't remove her head from where it's dipped, hair brushing the pages of the neatly detailed notebook she was writing in. "You managed eighteen months without me in Devon."

"We weren't married then."

"Well if you're bored why don't you give Peter a call?" She mutters bitterly, although her tone is forced to brighten, as if actually encouraging the idea. "I'm sure he'd be excited to see you. Again."

"Ugh, I might go to the pub. See Johnny." I roll my eyes frustratedly, knowing there was still no point in trying with her. "You can tell it's your time of the month, you're in the worst mood today."

"Carla!" She snaps as I approach the door, but I've left before she can lecture me further.

"Here she is, the worker." Johnny greets me, eyeing up my expression as I reach the bar, pondering the booze in my eye-line. "Crack a smile, ey?"

"I would if Michelle wasn't doing my head in." I groan, dropping my head into my hands. "Can I have a-"

"Glass of red." Jenny produces it, and I look up, smiling appreciatively. I was past the point of caring how predictable I was. "Cheer up, might never happen."

"It is happening." Icomment, producing my purse and Johnny waves me off, pushing the glass towards me. "Already."

"Sorry, I'm just trying out the lingo." She stifles a laugh and I force myself to look interested. "A pint and an OJ? Both in the same glass?"

"Very good." I nod, musing with her as she goes off to take Kevin's order. I raise an eyebrow at Johnny, finally lifting the rim of the glass to my lips. "So, you dark horse. This is all very sudden."

"Your Michelle was telling me the same thing earlier." He smiles and I sigh, my shoulders slumping. "What's happened?"

"Oh nothing. Nothing major. Just typical domestic stuff." I shrug it off. "I can't complain, I chose to date a woman. I know how much of a nightmare I am myself."

"Well something must have triggered it." He prompts me, wringing the tea towel between his hands.

"Well, Peter it seems."

"Peter?" He furrows his brow. "She was on about him earlier."

"Yeah see, she's flamin' obsessed." I exclaim, throwing my hand out to prove a point. "Anyone would think she had some kind of crush on him."

"I think it's you she's worried about having the crush." He dares to point out and I arch my brow.

"Peter Barlow? Read my lips, never gonna happen again."

"Yes well good." He claps a hand over mine on the bar top. "Because you're with my niece and it's going to stay that way."

"Ew don't call her that." I pull a face, wincing at the reference and he just laughs softly. "But yes, it is. She should know she's got nothing to worry about. She saw him in Underworld earlier and has been in a mood with me ever since."

"Why was he in Underworld?"

"Oh he just came in for a chat." I dismiss it and he stares at me blankly.

"Came in for a chat?" He lowers the tea towel in confusion. "Since when were you two so cosy?"

"Ugh, you sound like her."

"Well I don't think you'd be best pleased if Robert started bringing her coffees from the Bistro while you were out on your dinner." He points out and my mouth closes abruptly, thinking on it. "I bet he was sat in her chair and all."

"Yeah... Come to think of it I'm sure he had his feet up on her desk." I remember, pondering the memory and he just shoots me a defiant look. "But it's not like he's my best mate." I try to justify, his expression fixed. "No? ...Can I have another drink?"

"Nope." He swipes my glass away. "You're going to go home and sort it out."

"But-"

"You're not getting leathered in here when she's sat at home, Carla. Go and talk it through. You can buy her a take-away on the way back and all."

"Who's side are you on?" I exclaim, surprised at his dominance. "Since when did I take love advice from you anyway?"

"Well you can take it from whoever you like but you're not having another drink in here until you've sorted things with Michelle."

"...Are you barring me?"

"If you like." He grins, proudly. "For now."

"Right. Enough of these games." I close the flat door, my eyes falling to where Michelle is sat in the arm chair, knees pulled up to her chest, wine glass rested on top. Glancing across to the bottle on the counter, I realise there's very little of it left. "...Was that fresh?" I ask, taking a step towards her as she stares beyond me, eyes fixed on the wall. "Are you drunk?" I continue, still getting no response, the smudged mascara beneath her eyes becoming apparent as I near her. "Have you been crying? Chelle? This is silly babe." I sigh, crouching down in front of her and taking the half-empty glass from her grip. I place it behind on the coffee table, staring up at her distant expression. Moving my hand to her forehead, she brushes me off, her chest rising and falling tiredly. "...You haven't had a panic attack?"

"No, stop questioning me." She finally speaks, silencing me. Her voice was hoarse, weak despite the exhausted anger that laces it.

"...Chelle." I whisper, reaching up carefully to take her chin, finally moving her face in line with mine. Her eyes snap into position, and I notice the clear upset behind them. "Is this because of Peter? Because I promise you, I swear right now, you really have nothing to worry about on that score. And I'm sorry about earlier. But he just turned up, saying he had nothing to do now he'd sold the pub and then we got to talking. Please don't get upset over him."

"I'm not." She replies firmly, but her voice cracks. "It's not him." She persists, falling silent and reaching for the glass which I push further away. Her eyes brim with tears as she falls back against the cushion, suddenly bursting into tears. I stare at her in shock for a second, completely confused as to where her meltdown was coming from. Knowing she probably didn't want me all over her right now, I graze a hand up her leg, squeezing her knee comfortingly.

"Chelle." I say softly, unable to watch her anymore and standing so I can sit on the arm of the chair. To my surprise, she grabs my top, sobbing into the cotton as I wrap my arms around her. "Baby, what's happened? Talk to me."

"It's not Peter." She cries into me, soaking my top as I stroke my fingers through her hair. It was like she was twelve years old again, lost and desperate. Or like when she found out she was pregnant and sobbed to me for hours, saying she had no one else to turn to. Eventually, I move her back, studying her face, the stained tears, the sorrow. I smooth the pad of my thumb against her cheek lovingly, jumping to the only other conclusion I could think of.

"Hey, I'm here now." I whisper, assuming it must be the reason. "Nobody's going to hurt you, I promise." I say gently and she shakes her head, lower lip quivering slightly as tears threaten to spill again. "...Is it me? Have I done something? Chelle, please."

"There's something wrong with me." She finally reveals, her body falling slightly at the admittance. I go cold, frozen for a second, staring at her in puzzlement. "The hospital..." She swallows, trying to gather her thoughts. Panic settles in my stomach, waiting with bated breath, but her mouth opens and closes. Silence falling again.

"Michelle, you're scaring me." My hand finds hers, squeezing it. "...What do you mean there's something wrong with you?"

"The hospital phoned." Her eyes fall closed, trying again as I try to calm my overworking mind. Please God, she wasn't ill. I couldn't have her go through anything like what I went through, I'd do anything to protect her from that. I couldn't lose her. Not ever. "The tests... Fertility tests. My tests." She opens her eyes, trying to strengthen herself. "They said... I need to go in tomorrow... Because something's wrong with me." Tears spill down her cheeks, and she tries desperately to tell me everything, her voice broken and wavered between sobs. "And they don't think I can have a baby."

"What?" Is all I can say, rubbing a hand in circular motions on her back as she lets out a pained cry. "...Us?"

"No, me." She continues, her fingers tightening around my top again. "Me... I can't. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry Carla."

"Hey, don't you dare apologise." I whisper into her hair, letting her dampen my top again. I still didn't understand, but I rock her all the same, until my back aches from leaning down to comfort her. "Come here. She moves so I can sit in the chair, pulling her into my lap. My arms seal around her, placing kisses against her temple as I wait patiently for her to finish crying. Eventually, she drags her hand across her cheeks, trying to compose herself. "...Are you sure?"

"Yeah." She just replies distantly, swallowing and moving her gaze to her glass again.

"But... Why?" I know it's not the best reaction to have, but I was so confused and none of it was making sense. "You've carried babies before."

"I don't know... I don't... They wouldn't tell me much over the phone." She whispers quietly. "Just that I needed to come in tomorrow so they could discuss something that's cropped up in my tests. So I asked them what it was and they just said my results came back negative. And when I pestered then further about what that meant, the woman gave in and said due to an... Abruption," she waves her hand in the air, "my chances of conception are low."

"Abruption?" I furrow my brow, as she sniffs, nodding in response.

"They wouldn't tell me anything else. I wish I'd never asked." She pushes tears back. "Because now I'm panicking and I'm so scared that's something serious. What if I've got some disease? What if I'm seriously ill?"

"Hey, hey." I press my lips against her forehead, holding her against me. "You won't be."

"You don't know that."

"But you don't know it's anything serious." I point out, trying to stay positive even though I felt physically sick at what she had told me. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

"But it has happened." She starts to sob in devastation again. "Because if I can't carry a baby... I can't do this for you. I wanted to do it for you. I wanted to make you happy."

"Ok, hold on." I tap her shoulder firmly. "Please, Chelle, you know how happy you make me. Never doubt that. Never."

"What if this is why Ruairi didn't make it?"

"Don't do this to yourself." I beg her quietly, as she grips my top with both hands, staining it with mascara. "You say they're claiming you can't conceive, so it must be something recent."

"What if it's all my fault?" It's as if my words never left my mouth, but I didn't blame her, I'd be exactly the same if the tables were turned. I just needed to reassure her as much as possible. "What if it's something life threatening? I don't want to die."

"Michelle, you're not going to die." I assure her confidently, sighing as I sway her back and forth. "That's a promise I can make you."

"No it's not."

"Yes it is."

"No." She sniffs tears back, shaking her head into my chest without moving back. "Because we all will one day."

"Right, ok, let's not open that door and all." I respond and surprisingly she lets out a small soft laugh, hesitating before I place my hands on her shoulders, trying to guide her back. "Chelle, look at me." I persist, as she grabs my top, stubbornly refusing to move. "Baby, look at me, please." Eventually she surrenders, letting me peel her from my chest, her features stained with greying streaks. She covers her face with her hand when she can tell I'm observing her, and I take it in my own, pulling it away.

"I look terrible."

"I didn't realise my face was a mirror." I arch an eyebrow and she just scoffs.

"So I do then?" She decides, eyes falling to where her legs are tucked over mine. I shake my head sincerely, reaching to push a lock of hair behind her ear. "...You didn't get a call?"

"No."

"That's a good sign." She swallows, before adding; "for you." Attempting to compose herself, she rubs her eyes like a tired child, pulling the sleeves over her hands as she eyes up my top. Why was I wearing white? Of all days. "I got some make-up on your top."

"Mm." I nod, glancing down at it but not really caring much at all. Her comfort came before any material possessions. "It doesn't matter."

"I'll buy you a new one."

"Sweetheart." I sigh, smiling slightly at her kindness. "Pass me that." I point to the bag I had abandoned on the table and she reaches for it, handing it over to me. Digging inside I produce a packet of make-up wipes, removing one and proceeding to gently clear the discolour from her cheeks. She closes her eyes, as if settled by the motion, letting her head fall against my shoulder when I have finished. "When did you get the call?"

"Just after I left Underworld earlier." Her eyes guide around the flat and my heart sinks. She had kept this to herself for most of the day, it made complete sense why she had been distant when she'd arrived back at the flat. "That's why I never came back to work. I forced myself through the meeting. I don't think Sandra was best pleased with my lack of enthusiasm... I'm sorry. I avoided you all afternoon... Sorry again. And then when I got back here I had every intention to tell you. But as soon as I saw your face I felt so guilty. I already felt like I'd let you down and I couldn't bear to upset you."

"Upset me? Babe, oh God. And there's me delivering stupid sarcastic comments. Winding you up. I'm awful." I breathe into her hair for a second. "Oh, you could never let me down. No matter what happens that won't change. And I'll always be here. You have nothing to worry about on that score."

"Can I have some time off tomorrow?" Attempting to strengthen her tone, she fiddles with her necklace, asking me as if she was Beth or Izzy, as if I would even consider arguing with her. "To go to the hospital? I'm scheduled for while our meeting is with Butlers, but I figured only one of us needed to be there. So I'll go on my own-"

"No you will not." I tap her knee firmly, the possibility of me letting her go through it on her own not even crossing my mind. "Butlers can wait. They can wait forever for all I care. We'll have a lazy morning and then I'll drive us there, I'll hold your hand, then I'll drive us back."

"I love you." Her whisper barely cuts above the silence, studying me adoringly. Caving because she knew I wouldn't take no for an answer, and also because she probably secretly really wanted me there with her. "Thank you." Her nose nudges against mine, meeting my lower lip as she presses hers over it.

Michelle

"No, because I've told you I can't come in today." Carla's voice sounds as soon as I open the door of the bedroom, noticing her in the kitchen from where I was in the door frame. She was shouting at someone down the phone, her spare hand swirling a spoon around her coffee. "Because I've got something on Sally. I've sent an email to Butlers." She looks up, spotting me and waving, mouthing 'hi' in my direction. "Well if you're not sure give them a ring."

My head was spinning, a dull ache persisting as I reach the kitchen, grabbing the kettle and filling it. I'd hardly slept and I think it was evident in my expression. The whole night I'd lay staring into the darkness, Carla's arms wrapped around me. I'd pretended to fall asleep, because otherwise she wouldn't have done so herself. Then I tried not to stir, not to wake her, which wasn't a difficult task because for hours on end I'd been glued in the same position, frozen with questions and confusion and self-doubt.

"Ow!" I suddenly exclaim, the sound causing a sharp pain in my dry throat as I accidentally spill a drop of boiling water over my hand.

"Sally I've got to go." Carla practically throws the phone onto the counter, moving over to me and holding my hand under the cold tap. "You're shattered."

"I'm fine." I lie, and I didn't know whether I was even talking about my hand or my fatigue. I let her keep hold of me, even though it made me feel like I was five years old, but the chill hitting my flesh was calming to me.

"Better?" She finally asks, turning the tap off and wrapping a clean tea towel around my hand. I watch her concentration, studying her intently, her care, her love, until she breaks my trance. "Bacon butty?" She picks it up from the counter, wrapped up in the white bag from Roy's.

"You left me?" Panic surges through my question, making it more evident than I intended.

"No, sweetie." She places a hand on my arm. "Kate brought it over. I've been here the whole time."

"I'm not hungry." I just murmur, and she places it back down, sighing as she examines my expression. "But thank you." I realise how ungrateful I'm sounding, pulling away from her and taking my meds from on top of the microwave. I wash them back in a single motion, tempted with taking the whole packet, the way I was feeling. I wondered if that would even calm my anxiety. I wondered if it would do anything at all, or if I'd end up unconscious. Or worse.

I don't know whether she clocks my thoughts from how intently I'm staring at them, but she carefully removes the box from my grip, my tired eyes moving to hers.

"Come here." She wraps her arm around me, a hand on the back of my head as I finally close my eyes, breathing in her scent as I rest my head against her shoulder. "Why don't you try and get some more sleep?"

"I can't sleep." I tell her once I've moved back, brushing a hand over my face to try and compose myself. "What did Sally want?"

"Oh something about Butlers, I don't know. I think she just does it to show the others she's taking charge." Carla shrugs it off, resting a finger under my chin. "Don't you worry about that for now."

"I'd rather worry about it." I swallow. "It takes my mind off the other thing."

"Baby, you're shaking." I feel a hand slide over my knee, tearing my eyes away from where I was staring blankly at the wall.

"I know." I just admit, not bothering to sugarcoat it. "I'm scared."

"Look at me. Look..." She gently turns my gaze to meet hers, my sullen eyes and limp hair. "Whatever they say today, it's not the end. I'll make this happen. Whatever we need to do."

"Michelle Connor to room nine." I jump out of my seat as a speaker booms into action, panic assaulting my senses, a quiet whimper leaving my throat. My head snaps around, heart thumping, a sickly sweet taste sinking in my throat.

"Chelle. Calm down." I can see the worry in her eyes, she knew what was happening. "Count. Do your counting."

"I'm not a child!" I snap at her, hating how patronised I felt, even though she didn't intend it that way. I squeeze my eyes shut, my name ringing out again, infiltrating my mess of thoughts, impatient, demanding.

Michelle Connor to room nine please.

Michelle Connor to room nine.

Michelle Connor.

"Michelle Connor?" A quiet voice greets, realising the squeeze of Carla's hand over mine. "Is she ok?"

"She will be. It's her anxiety, uh, she's got PTSD." Carla's voice is so muffled as tears spill from my eyes, gasping for breath. "Michelle? One, two, three."

"Four, five, six." I oblige, out of fear, out of confusion, gripping her hand hard.

It was ruined.

It was all ruined.

There was no way they'd let us have a baby after this.

After seeing how stupidly pathetic I was.

I thought I was getting better.

"I thought I was getting better." I fall forwards, sobbing into Carla's chest. This was a mess. It was all a mess. I was a mess.

"You are, you are." Her words soothe me, my heart rate settling and the self-hatred seeping in as it always did. It was like the paranoia that comes in the early morning after a night of drinking. Just before the hangover properly hits. That dread of questioning your actions, processing what happened. Who saw? What did I say? What did I do? Wanting to curl up into a ball and pretend the world didn't involve me just for an hour or two. "Ok, Chelle..." She begins, before changing her tone as if talking to someone else. "I'm so sorry about this."

"I can give you a minute." That same voice repeats, footsteps padding off in the other direction.

"Ok, ok." A hand rotates around my back, face sticky against her chest. I settle myself for a second, not wanting to move, pressing my eyes to the far wall as I just blink back the tears clumping my lashes together. I was so tired. I just wanted to sleep. No, I just wanted everything to be ok. But it wasn't. I already knew that.

"I don't want them to tell me I'm going to die."

"Michelle, they're not going to tell you that." She promises me firmly and with reluctance, I remove myself from where I was clamped against her. Swallowing to dampen the dryness of my throat, my eyes dart around the room, grateful that nobody was around. Luckily, I had opted to not bother with make-up, so Carla just clears the remaining tears on my face, kissing my nose briefly. "I've got you." She reminds me, and I nod, taking in her words and finally standing up shakily. She looks surprised at the gesture, taking the hand I hold out and guiding me up the corridor.

"Michelle?" That same familiar voice greets as I enter room nine, a sickening feeling flipping my stomach at the recollection. She seemed like a lovely woman, but it was bad circumstances, bad timing, I'd guess from her expression she wasn't always liked by everyone. Not of her own accord. "I'm Dr Fisher, I'm one of the head consultants here. Take a seat. This is your partner?"

"Yeah, Carla, my wife." I introduce timidly, taking the seat opposite her and I notice them both exchange a smile, as Carla takes up the seat next to me. "Uh, I'm really sorry for what happened in there... I am getting better. It's just the shock of everything. It won't happen again."

"Michelle, we're a clinic, not social services." She smiles warmly and it settles my stomach the slightest bit. "Trust me, we've seen worse."

"Have you had your desk flipped and all?" Carla refers back to our conversation with Kaitlyn.

"Oh several times." She manages a laugh, before fashioning a sympathetic expression. "So, we phoned you yesterday, with the results of your examinations."

"Yeah but they wouldn't tell me much." I mutter, wringing my hands under the desk. "Just that it wasn't good news."

"We've studied the fluid samples, and there seems to be absolutely nothing wrong there. You're in good health. Your fertility levels are excellent, especially, if you don't mind me saying, for your age."

"...So... What's the bad news?"

"Although your eggs and ability to conceive are in full working order, after examining the scan of your uterus, we've identified an abruption which would cause... Problems, if you were to actually carry a child." She hesitates, waiting for me to offer something. But I don't, I stare straight at her, waiting for more, waiting for the punchline. "There's an abruption to your womb, which means the tissue has been damaged. I checked your documents... And you had an operation earlier this year?"

"Yeah... I was shot. They had to heal the wound."

"In your abdomen?"

"Stomach, abdomen, I guess around that area."

"...It seems the entry of the bullet is what has caused the issue. The trauma stemmed from the blow, and probably the emergency surgery to heal the wound, has caused the tissue and lining of your womb on the left side to be damaged." I go cold, silent, lost for any comments on the matter. Carla shifts next to me, reaching for my hand and clasping it between both of hers. I hated him. He was dead and he still went on ruining my life more, even though I hardly knew him. "Basically, this means you would struggle majorly to carry a child, as your uterus would now be referred as an inhospitable environment... It wouldn't be stable enough to deal with the growth or nurture of a foetus. The chances are likely you could get pregnant, but between six to fourteen weeks, your system wouldn't be strong enough to continue the pregnancy and it would break down."

My tongue feels raw against the roof of my mouth, unwanted, unpleasant. Mind working overtime to process what she was saying, I beg myself to think of something to say in response.

"So... I'd lose the baby. That's what you're saying?" I finally manage to release a hoarse whisper and she nods apologetically after a hesitation. "And this is recent? Like you say, it's the entry of the bullet? So when I lost my son... A few years ago... This wasn't why?"

"No." She assures me, knowing it would weirdly be some kind of comfort. "I've been informed of that from your records and this wasn't the cause." She hesitates, and I don't know whether she means it in response to my previous question, or the matter at hand as a whole, but follows it up with; "I'm really sorry."

"...It's not your fault." Is all I say, swallowing emotion. I couldn't even cry, I didn't want to cry. I just felt numb. Like all the hurt and sadness had been drained from me already and all that was left was exhaustion. Emptiness.

"Um... Is it going to cause her any health problems?" Carla asks for me, being the voice of reason in the situation. "Will it affect her in any way?"

"It really has little to no impact on your general health." Dr Fisher informs us, brightening her tone slightly. "You may be slightly more susceptible to infections such as STI's. But as long as you're both clear on that score..."

"Yeah, as far as I'm aware." Carla replies confidently.

"Then you should be fine."

"And you can't operate? There's nothing you can or need to do?" Carla continues to question and I look up in time for Dr Fisher to shake her head.

"There's really not a lot we could do. The damage would be too difficult to repair, tissue is difficult to rebind when broken." She moves her gaze to Carla, hesitating before saying. "In results of your tests, however."

"You've got hers?" I finally become alert to the conversation again, the nod of her head setting me straight back on edge. "...And?"

"Everything seems absolutely fine. I have no reason to believe you wouldn't be able to carry a healthy baby naturally, Carla." Dr Fisher reveals, her hands clasping together on the desk. Carla exhales, not knowing what to do in response, probably relieved but not wanting to upset me with it, probably terrified because we now knew the conclusion was a lot more clear cut. "You're not as fertile as you could be."

"You mean if I was twenty five again." Carla manages to stifle a small, mature laugh and Dr Fisher smiles in response.

"But in regards to everything as a whole, your reproductive system is in particularly good health, again, if you don't mind me saying, for forty three." She announces and I resort to biting my nails, so lost in everything that I struggle to decipher whether my thoughts were positive or negative. "The only concern we have is the impact of your transplant earlier this year. Usually we recommend a year since surgery until you try to conceive a child. But, your recovery is going brilliantly clearly and I, and another specialist both conferred and reached the conclusion that your body is in a fit enough state whether you carried out a pregnancy now or at the beginning of next year."

"So... You'd be willing to let me undergo the process now? Well, as soon as?"

"We'd be happy to, yes." She finalises and Carla goes quiet. I knew the thought was terrifying her. We'd sort of divulged in our minds that I would be taking on the role for her, and the sudden turn of the tables was a shock for the pair of us. Especially as Carla's worries for carrying another child were likely to resurface. "Our advice, although you don't have to follow it, for your chances of best results, are if Michelle's eggs were fertilised and then implanted into you, Carla, for growth. This is something same-sex couples tend to do, and prefer, it enforces you both to have a tight connection to the child. And given your test results, like I said, this would most likely lead to the best outcome."

Carla

The drive back to Victoria Street is silent. Once, I attempt to lean across the steering wheel to turn the radio on, but the station starts blaring out Wonderwall, and memories of Liam's wedding to Maria resurface, triggering a sick feeling in both our stomachs, for completely different reasons. I switch it over obediently, some cheesy voiceover advert about Daz laundry powder echoing through the car. Michelle winces, retracting her head momentarily from where she has been staring blankly out of the car window, to just say, "Carla, watch the road". That was all that was exchanged until I park up outside the flats.

She makes no effort to move, her elbow leant against the door, propping her head up as she gazes down the street. Summer sun low as it begins to set, causing the puddles nestled between the cobbles to flare and glint like pools of fire. There's a soft click as I remove my keys from the engine, and she doesn't even look at me, opening the door and stepping out. Following suit, I am guided up to the flat as her shadow, relieved to greet the summer bouquet air fresher that Michelle argued made the flat smell nice.

Where did I even start? What did I say? How could I even begin to comfort her?

"I'm ok." The mumble is quietly released, and I hardly catch it, distracted by how she busies herself around the mugs. "Honestly... I'm ok." She finally sighs, turning to face me, once the kettle is on. I try my best not to look sympathetic, because if there was anything I hated it was sympathy. "I just hate him... I hardly even knew him. Probably served him once our twice in the Bistro, Rovers, might have said the odd 'hi' in passing on the way to The Kabin. But it just shows, doesn't it? You really don't know people sometimes. Somebody with hardly any relevance to you can have such a big impact. I could have lost you. I could have died. I feel anxious all the time and have to take medication. And now I can't have children, because of him." She swallows, the soft whir of the kettle cooling being the only invasion to the silence. "And I don't want to cry." Tears spring to her eyes and I crumble, stepping forward to hold her. "Because I've cried enough and I'm tired of crying. We've done too much over the last few months. I hate feeling weak I hate it. I hate not being in control of my emotions, ugh." She doesn't even cry, just vents her feelings as I rock her, settling her, before she finally murmurs; "I'm glad I've got you."

"I'm glad I've got you." I whisper into her hair.

"Really?" She muffles, clutching a handful of my top. "With my broken womb? ...'Inhospitable environment'. Makes it sound like the estate where we grew up."

"I love you for you." I remind her, having no doubt in my mind that whatever happened that wouldn't change. "You do know I'm gonna make this happen?" I sigh, pulling back to study her. Her eyes search mine, desperate but understanding.

"Carla... I don't want you to put yourself through this if you aren't sure you want-"

"Don't even finish that sentence. I want it more than anything." I raise a finger to her lips. "There's nothing to debate. I'd do it in a heartbeat, for us. Only for us. I never wanted this before, not this much. How crazy does that make me? Hm? For you?"

"So... We're actually doing this?"

"Yeah, seems so." I link our fingers, swinging her hand between us and it's the first time I've seen her properly smile all week. As if the hurt had been erased and replaced with hope. "I promise you I'll try everything and anything." My voice lowers, keeping my words meaningful against the quietness and she softens, gazing at me in adoration. "But whatever happens, we're gonna be alright. You know that, don't you?"

"Yeah." She finalises, falling back into my chest. "As long as I've got you. That's all that matters."

A/N: I've had this idea in my head for agesss, so I'm glad I've finally been able to write it! Hope you all like how I've played it out! x