XxX

Jordan sat at her desk, trapped in her thoughts. When the blurry vision and headaches hadn't gone away a few days after the vaccine was administrated, she had done an in-office MRI, and the results were not good.

A large mass was wrapped around her carotid artery. Surgery offered too many risks but doing nothing was only making things worse. Dr. Sanchez had prescribed her dexamethasone, which seemed to help, but the symptoms always came back once the pills had worn off.

That wasn't even the worst part. Jordan had run another blood test to see what had caused Dr. Dupree's to be inconclusive during the epidemic and it came back showing high levels of hGC.

Not only had she been dealing with the hantavirus outbreak all last week but to discover the meningioma and now this?

"Jo?"

She startled and a tremor took her right hand, making it impossible to hide the scan before Nigel walked over.

"Yikes." Nigel winced, picking the MRI up, "What case is this for?"

Jordan held back her tears the best she could. Part of her wanted to lie, to tell him it was for a John Doe. She had started to reason that it was for the best, that she didn't need to worry him until she figured out what she was going to do, to spare him the pain.

But deep down she knew that was a lie. She couldn't keep this from him just because she was scared.

She'd spent her whole life pushing people away, pretending she was strong enough to stand on her own, but Nigel wasn't just anyone. He was her person. And he deserved to know the truth.

"It's—" A sob caught her, "It's mine."

The anguish that filled his face made her quickly shut her eyes, wishing for nothing more than to take it back.

"Well, we—we'll go to the doctor, get this all sorted out ASAP."

Jordan began sorting her papers, needing something to do, "I—I already have. They gave me some pills and…and they suggested surgery, now."

"Then, that's what we'll do."

Jordan scoffed and stood up from her desk, "It isn't that simple! It's transnasal surgery, Nige. One slip and I could be a vegetable or—or—" She couldn't even bring herself to say it, terrified that saying it aloud would make it real.

"Jordan, I might not be a doctor but this—" He snatched up the scan, "This is not good!"

"Yes, and I want to wait!" Jordan pushed back, the tears burning her eyes, "I just…there is a lot to consider." She looked at him, feeling the tension choking the room. This wasn't how she wanted to tell him; she couldn't share what her blood test uncovered like this.

Nigel dug his fingers into his hair as he took up pacing. That was always how she could tell he was in a bad spot, and she started towards him, tentatively reaching for his hand, "It'll be alright." She gently stroked his face, "Trust me?"

So many emotions played across his face, and he took a fierce hold of her hand, "I…I can't lose you."

"You won't." She promised, pulling him into her arms, "You won't."

XxX

After her unforgivable screw up on the Owen's case, Garret pulled her from the schedule. No fieldwork, no autopsies, she wasn't even allowed to breathe near Trace or Autopsy. He wouldn't even speak to her unless she was ready to "talk", whatever that meant.

Jordan took the rest of the day off and headed out. It wasn't that she thought he was being unfair, she knew she deserved a far worse punishment, but she still wasn't sure who she was if she didn't have work.

You're a mother.

The answer stopped her dead in her tracks, but before she could give it must thought, her phone rang.

"Cavanaugh." Her heart shot off when the receptionist told her they had an opening that afternoon and that the doctor wanted to get her in right away, "Yeah, that'll be fine. See you at 1."

XxX

Later that day, she strode into Garret's office and handed him her MRI, "I'm ready to talk." She collapsed on the sofa while he looked over the file.

Garret had a solid poker face but even he couldn't keep the worry at bay when he saw the charts, "How long have you known?"

"A couple weeks. I found it right after the outbreak."

"Well, you have options. Surgery, radiotherapy, gamma knife." He threw the folder on his desk. This was the last thing he had expected, and he fought the fear back the best he could.

Jordan shrugged, her usual snarky self, "Yeah, well, Dr. Sanchez says we need to operate immediately, and Dr. Nguyen says I am almost at two months, so operating is a no-go."

"Two months? Jordan, what are you going on about?" He shook his head, not in the mood.

Jordan watched him evenly, waiting to see if he'd piece it together. He just glared at her.

She cleared her throat, reaching for the file, "They, um, don't recommend doing extensive surgeries in the first trimester, they prefer to wait till the second when most of the fetal development is complete."

He looked at her, completely unreadable, "…you're pregnant?"

Jordan nodded. She was barely two months along, and it was by sheer chance she had discovered it this soon. The universe really had a twisted sense of humor. An airborne hantavirus, a brain tumor, and now baby makes three. Someone upstairs had it out for her, she was sure of it.

He sighed, rubbing his face, "Everything comes in threes."

"I think the expression is, 'bad things come in threes' and, arguably, this last one isn't that bad compared to an epidemic and a meningioma."

"Jordan, this is serious." Garret snatched up the scan.

She rolled her eyes, "Oh, really? No one told me that." Jordan grabbed it back and tucked it away, "Dr. Sanchez and Dr. Nguyen are discussing what options there are, they'll call me tomorrow and we'll go from there."

Garret looked at her, picking one of the thousand questions he had, "Does Nigel know?"

"About the tumor, yes, about this…" She gestured to her stomach, "It…I…I haven't found the right time to share the news yet."

"Are you going to keep it?"

Jordan pulled back, the question catching her off guard. The way he said it was so blunt, so sterile. She was all for live and let live, but the way he said it so indifferently, almost callously. Jordan hadn't been expecting herself to have such a strong resistance towards such a reasonable question.

"Jordan," He folded his hands together and leaned towards her, "You might not be able to afford to wait—"

"Garret," Jordan stood up, taking charge, "I told you because you're my boss, and my friend, but I know what I'm doing. I'm looking at my options and I'll go from there, but I can't just sit at home twiddling my thumbs in the meantime. I need to work." She stared at him, refusing to back down, "I know I can't risk fucking up a case again, but I need to do something."

He was quiet for a long while before he began rummaging through his desk, "The police need someone to write up a new chapter on forensics for their manual." He offered her the assignment.

"Thank you." Jordan took it, beginning to read through the printed email as she headed for the door. She tucked the page in her bag and turned back to Garret, "And, please, don't tell Nigel. I need—I want to be the one to do it."

Garret nodded, shooing her out and reaching for an ibuprofen.

Between Lily's pregnancy and Ivers' audit, this year had been full enough as it is. But now a little amalgam of Jordan and Nigel was on its way? Boy, did he wish he could have a Scotch.

XxX