Seconds after she screamed, Lee burst through the door and tackled Hollander. He drove the East German away from the bed and cornered him by the armoire, kicking, punching, and grappling. The sounds of their struggle were muffled, as if filtered through a funnel.

Moaning, Amanda rolled onto her side. She tried to sit up but wilted back to the mattress. She couldn't seem to get enough air. Sweat and tears streamed down her face and her muscles tightened into cables. She tucked her knees under her chin, convulsed, then went limp.

Hands dipped under her leg joints and she felt herself being lifted into the air. Someone hoisted her to a hard chest and for a moment she was grounded. Lee's concerned face swam in front of her, stretching and shrinking, dissolving and dripping.

"Hold on, Amanda. Just hold on."

"Hurts," she gasped.

"I know it hurts."

Before she knew it, they were flying down a balustraded staircase. Everything lurched and listed around her. One of her hands clung to Lee's shirt while the other clawed at his back jacket. Downstairs, the opera died down and was replaced by Lee's sotto tones.

"Don't you dare… Don't you dare Agent King…"

Amanda could only keen in reply. She did not want to die. There were two boys waiting at home who depended on her, a loving mother, a baby on the way… But the harder she fought the more fabric slipped through her fingers.

A black curtain descended over her eyes and she knew no more.

/

Amanda was adrift in an undertow. Sirens wailed in her ears, Lee's face faded in and out of existence, and there were gentle touches on her hair and hands. Something pricked her skin, like a small harpoon, and she was carried to shore.

Her vision filled with white that delineated into hard shapes. Slowly but surely, a hospital room formed around her, and two more blinks cleared her vision completely. Confused, she turned on her side and felt a tug on her arm. Only then did she notice the IV.

A nurse popped her head in the doorway, did a double-take, then disappeared. Blinking, Amanda shimmied her body upwards and straightened her spine against the headboard behind her. Fragmented questions ran laps around her head.

What happened? How did she get here? Where was Lee? Was the baby OK?

She didn't have to wait long for answers.

A new woman marched into the room, flipping through a file. This one wore a white coat over her scrubs and carried an air of authority with her. She peered up at Amanda and smiled, closing the file.

"I'm Dr. Morgan. Amanda King, right?"

Amanda shook her head—not to disagree, but to rally her brain into speaking. "That's me," she croaked.

"Aren't you a hospital volunteer? I think I've seen you with the other candy-stripers before, once or twice."

The casual exchange served to calm Amanda's jumping pulse. So this was Galilee General, then. Her surroundings suddenly seemed less hostile and alien.

"Not so much nowadays, but yeah. I'm a Bedside Bluebell."

"Well, I'm certainly happy to see you talking. You weren't out for long, but we put you on fluids and drew some blood." Morgan tutted, circling the bed to the other side. "Nasty thing, muscarine. Fortunately, atropine works well as an antidote, and the paramedics reached you in record time."

Amanda pinched the bridge of her nose. Her head was pounding. "Where's Lee? Er, Lee Stetson. A man named Stetson was with me."

"A Mr. Stetson rode with you in the ambulance, but he had to run for something or other." Pinning her with a knowing stare, the doctor answered the question she was too afraid to ask. "You'll be relieved to hear that the embryo is sound. There's a strong heartbeat on that one."

Amanda didn't know she was holding her breath until it billowed between her teeth.

"A-Are you sure? I mean…"

"Well one is never sure with these things, but I wouldn't worry. I only checked because you kept murmuring something about a baby. We avoided sedatives, just in case. About when was your last period?"

Amanda explained that her cycle was less regular and that she often skipped bleeding altogether while on the pill. She did, however, have a conception window in mind. A fairly accurate one, in fact. Morgan nodded thoughtfully as she listened.

"From the date you told me, the placenta hasn't finished forming yet, so the effect of the drugs should be minimal. You were both very lucky."

Amanda let this sink in, subdued and somewhat shell-shocked. Meanwhile, Morgan moved around the room, checking the IV bag and flicking an old monitor.

"Take it easy for the next little while, just to be safe. Also, if you're not already, I'd recommend taking prenatal vitamins."

"Yeah, I bought some a couple of days ago," Amanda muttered mechanically.

"Perfect. Things seem to be OK, for the moment. If anything changes you be sure to give your personal doctor or obstetrician a call, alright? I just need to grab some discharge forms." She went back to the doorway but paused before passing through. "Oh, I forgot to mention, your workplace will foot the bill. Mr. Stetson filled out the paperwork."

Amanda let out a shrill wheeze. "You didn't tell him about the- uh-"

"Of course not. That would be a violation of patient confidentiality."

With a kind wink, Dr. Morgan stepped outside, and Amanda was alone again. She pressed her weight into the scratchy pillow, allowing her eyes to close.

Thank God Lee showed when he did. If Hollander had hit her with the full dosage…

"Perhaps this will help you remember who you are."

She shuddered as the man's voice washed over her.

"Please, I'm pregnant." It was her first time saying the words aloud.

"More lies? How disappointing."

"It's not a lie." She cringed as her voice cracked.

"Then I guess you'd better start talking, Ms. Greenwich."

The memory receded like a tide. She'd never divulged her condition to anyone, let alone an East Bloc agent. It was a last-ditch effort to appeal to Hollander's sense of humanity. She wriggled deeper into the mattress in an effort to escape the implications.

Amanda King was pregnant.

Only now did the fact feel real.

She ran her hands down her body until they rested atop a nigh-invisible, almost imaginary bump. Her thumbs rubbed crescents into the skin.

"I'm glad you're OK, little one," she said, and this time, she meant it. "Mommy was so scared…"

Newfound resolve coursed through her veins. She would come through this alright. Alone, if she had to.

/

AN: The amount of "research" I did on muscarine, both to see its early effects if injected and if an embryo could conceivably survive it/general poisoning of the mother, the pill, the antidote's risk, etc., is insane. Turns out they're hardy beans. I compared my timeline (Amanda is approximately 8 weeks along if anyone was wondering) to when the placenta takes over from the yolk sac (8-12 weeks; fully formed at 18-20 weeks) to when heartbeats can be detected by doppler ultrasound (8+ weeks)... Just, so much googling. Googling that probably doesn't even matter because this is a goofy 80s spy show.

At the end of the day, though, I'm not a doctor, this is a dumb ol' fic and pregnancies often survive worse (not an endorsement to inject muscarine, btw), so let's just, handwave this away.

'Wanted Amanda to have a moment of "I am doing this, not just for others or out obligation, but for me". Hopefully that came across.

Because I keep rambling I might as well say that "Morgan" means "sea".