Anon: Writing prompt: Korsak notices Jane isn't feeling the best. He tells her to see Maura to make sure she's good. Jane refuses. Frost drags her to Maura. Maura runs tests and finds out Jane's pregnant from Casey.

A/N: I'm going for POV here. I haven't done this before and I have no idea what I'm doing, so let's see how it goes.

Existential Rizzles ahead:

You can see her lips moving, but you cant't hear the words.

Your are looking at the ground; noticing how the tiles come together in perfect angles.

And you hate it.

They are sharp. It's a means to an end how they meet like that.

90 degrees and perfect.

You want to round them off. Make them infinite.

She's saying you have options.

You don't want options.

You want her.

And now you've fucked it up.

You look inside the tiles and see the lines there intersect.

And you begin to wonder why you and her have never have.

Intersected and cross hatched. Intertwined.

Because she is always there. She was there.

She conceived this. But she doesn't know it. Neither does he.

It's your secret. And you keep it close to your chest.

Up your sleeve and hidden.

You're watching her lips again; and it's all too clinical.

But you don't want doctor talk.

You want her and she is being a perfect angle.

Sharp and a means to an end.

So you adjust the contrast; Pinks and blues.

And now you're going to have a family.

Only it's not how you've pictured it in your head.

You're guilty and your heart is pulling you under.

And you want to take her with you.

She's saying something about splitting cells. Zygotes.

Little things that turn into big things.

And in the grand scheme; it is a speck.

So you change the focus, and now you are little too.

You are far away and she is talking about water births.

And you finally laugh; because that's the idea.

You the size of a whale in pool.

Swimming alone. And the thought makes you sad.

Suddenly your face is wet.

And she's beside you. Comforting you.

She is a beautiful liar and you are a mess.

You want to say you're sorry.

And sing declarations of love like you mean it.

Like you've told yourself so many times before.

But it's hidden in the space behind your ribs.

And just above that is the truth; where your voice should be.

But you can't find it.

She's holding your hand now.

Talking about support and nurture.

Caring and patience.

And love.

You stop breathing.

Hold it.

Because that is your postscript with your crooked lines.

You've got a lot riding on this one.

So you kiss her.

Because that's all that's left.