Title: Serendipity

Author: Andrea

Rating: R. Not yet, but you never know. So we'll just play it safe.

Summary: In a shocking turn of events, it turns out that Abby just may be pregnant. Who would have ever guessed?

Author's Notes: Thanks to LISA and COURTNEY. I was waiting until I got twenty reviews to post this … there's only nineteen here, but thanks to BETH who sent me a lovely e-mail review, I'm going to go ahead and post this now. The next couple chapters are practically ready to go. How long I wait to post them is up to you. I think you know what you need to do. Thanks to all of you who reviewed the first chapter, especially my regular reviewers. Hope you all enjoy this chapter.

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Chapter 2: Uninvited

"Dr. Lewis, those labs that you ordered are back," Jerry says, approaching Susan behind the admit desk with a folder in his hands.

An exhausted-looking Susan rubs her hand across her eyes. "What labs? I didn't order any labs."

"It's got your name on it," Jerry says. "Looks like you put a rush on it." He's just about to open the folder and peer inside at the lab report when Susan reaches over and snatches it out of his hand.

"Oh, those labs." Susan looks over at me and catches my eye. I know perfectly well what labs they are, but all my resolve to face this thing head-on seems to have crumbled.

"C'mon, Abby," she calls, "We better go talk to the patient. I'm sure she's anxious to know the results."

"Not really," I mumble under my breath. But still, I follow Susan down the hall and into an empty exam room. She ushers me into the room, and then closes the door behind us.

"Maybe you should sit down," she suggests, probably noticing how I'm just standing in the middle of the room, biting my lip. Sit down … yeah, that's a good idea. I perch on the side of the gurney. "Nervous?" she asks.

My eyes flick up to her face, then back down to my hands in my lap. "No, of course not. Why should I be nervous? The entire course of the rest of my life depends on what that piece of paper says, but it's no big deal. So what've I got to be nervous about?" Sarcasm, always the best defense.

She comes over and sits down next to me on the gurney, placing the closed folder in my lap.

"I guess it would be silly to ask if you're upset."

I shrug. "It's just so …" I pause for a minute, unsure of what exactly I'm trying to say, " … unexpected." Unplanned. Uninvited. Well, no, I guess that's not technically true. I invited this to happen with my careless behavior. But that doesn't mean that I ever thought it would happen, not in a million years. The problem is, I just wasn't thinking.

"Unwelcome?" Susan asks. "Because sometimes the most unexpected things can still be a welcome surprise."

I shrug. I haven't quite figured that one out myself yet. This is a surprise, for sure, but an unwelcome one? In some ways, yes, absolutely. But in other ways … it could be the second chance I never thought I'd get. I didn't mean for this to happen, not really. But maybe a part of me did. Of course, at this point, intentions really don't matter all that much. What's done is done … now I have to deal with the consequences of my actions. I'm just not sure exactly what those consequences will be. But I hold the answer in my hands. I look down, briefly, at the folder containing the lab report.

"Good thing Jerry didn't open it up," I say, idly. "I was afraid you weren't gonna catch on, and I was gonna have to lunge across the desk for it."

"I didn't use your name," she says, in a 'duh' tone of voice like I'm in the habit of falsifying medical records and should know how it's done. But she doesn't say a word about how I've changed the subject, probably sensing that I'm not quite ready to deal with this yet.

"What name did you use?" I don't really care, but anything to delay the inevitable.

"I made one up," she says with a shrug. I look at her, but she doesn't offer any more. "I forget," she says in answer to my question. I slowly lift up the corner of the folder and peek in, careful to just look at the patient name. I can't help but laugh.

"Susan, you didn't."

"What?"

"Jones, Jennifer."

"So? What's wrong with that?"

"Jenny Jones? You know, The Jenny Jones Show? If you're gonna name me after a talk show host, couldn't I have at least been Oprah?"

"Because that wouldn't have been conspicuous. I wanted something … common."

"And that was the best you could do?"

"What difference does it make?"

"Well, if I'm going to have an alias, I wish it would be something catchy."

"It's just a name, Abby. It doesn't really matter, does it?"

"I'm sorry," I say leaning over to address my comments to her stomach. "I'm sorry your mother is so incredibly uncreative. I certainly hope she breaks out of it by the time you are born, or you're likely to end up with a name like 'Baby.'"

"Shut up," Susan tells me with a laugh. "Just because that's the name of every doll I ever owned …"

We're still giggling when the door to the room comes flying open, and Sam comes crashing in.

"Did I miss it?" she asks, closing the door behind her and flipping the lock. Great, I had no idea that revealing my test results has become the social event of the season.

"Nope," Susan tells her. "Abby's stalling."

"I'm not stalling."

"Yes, you are," Susan argues. Okay, maybe I am.

"Nervous?" Sam asks. God, what's with these people and stupid questions? Of course I'm nervous. How could I possibly not be nervous? If this test is positive, it changes everything. Everything. In an instant. And my life suddenly goes from being almost in hand, to careening over the edge, spinning wildly out of control. But hey, I should be used to it by now.

I realize I've been gnawing at my thumb, and I pull it away from my mouth, looking down at the floor. "God, I need a drink," I say, only halfway joking. It's the first time in a year that I've felt that urge.

"Abby," Susan says.

"Or a smoke." Another craving that I haven't had in a long time.

"Abby," Sam says.

"Okay, chocolate."

"Oh, well, I can help with that," Susan says, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a Kit Kat, Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, a Snickers, and an Almond Joy.

"Ooh, Peanut Butter Cups," I say reaching for the bright orange package.

"Uh …" Susan pulls her hand away slightly.

"What?"

"Those are my favorite."

"Well then you should have kept them in your pocket," I tell her, plucking the packet out of her hand.

"Abby." She sounds a little panicky.

"My life is teetering on the brink of disaster, and you're gonna deny me the one thing that might possibly make it better?"

"Chocolate covered peanut butter is going to make it better?" Sam asks, sounding skeptical.

"Could you just let me have my illusions?" I ask her.

"Abby," Susan definitely sounds panicky now, watching me tear open the package of candy.

"What?"

"C'mon. You're not really gonna deny me, are you? I'm pregnant."

"So is she," Sam says, pointing at me.

"We don't know that yet," Susan says.

"Well, we would know if you two would stop arguing over that stupid candy and look at the results."

I look at Susan. Susan looks at me. We both turn to look at Sam. "This is not just candy, this is chocolate," Susan tells her. She rolls her eyes at us.

"I'll split it with you," I say to Susan, offering her one of the cups.

She gives me a big smile and we dig in, polishing off the Peanut Butter Cup and the Kit Kat. We're both eyeing the Snickers when Sam clears her throat.

"Oh, sorry," Susan says with a sheepish smile, "You want some?" She holds out the Almond Joy.

"No, thanks." She looks at me expectantly. "Aren't you dying to know?"

"Apparently not as much as you," Susan says in a teasing tone.

I wring my hands together, trying to screw up enough courage to look at the test results.

"I guess I should look, huh?" I don't know who I'm asking. Talking to myself, I guess.

"If you're ready," Susan says.

"Are you ready?" Sam asks, a slight nudging in her tone.

"No time like the present, I guess."

"You want us to go?" Susan asks. "We can give you some privacy, if you want."

"Speak for yourself," Sam says. Susan gives her a look. "Okay, yeah. Of course, we'll go if you want us to."

"No. No, that's okay. I want you to stay."

So they sit down next to me, one on either side. Which is just as well; there'll be nowhere for me to go when I keel over. Except straight forward onto my head. Okay, concentrate on not keeling over. My palms are sweaty. My heart is beating wildly in my chest. I need to pee. I feel like throwing up. I can't quite seem to catch my breath. I close my eyes for a moment, and take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. Okay, I'm ready. I can do this. I slowly open up the folder, so that the lab report is staring me in the face. All I have to do is scan down the page, and …

"Who the hell is Jennifer Jones?" Sam blurts out.

I look up at her. "My alias," I say with a little smile.

"Sorry," she says, "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"It's okay," I say, turning back to the report.

I read it carefully. Once. Twice. I understand what it says, but the information isn't penetrating my brain. I see Susan's finger trail down over the report, taking in the information.

"Well, no wonder you've been so tired," she says. "You're anemic." I nod my head. Yeah, I saw that. But it's nothing that can't be easily fixed. Everything else seems to be in order. Everything is fine. Absolutely fine. No signs of infection. No early warnings of serious disease.

"The vitamins will take care of that," Sam says.

The vitamins? Ah, yes.

The prenatal vitamins. For someone who's pregnant.

I look back down at the test results in my hand. Everything's perfectly normal. The only thing to take note of, other than the anemia, is the hCG levels. They put me at nine weeks pregnant. Seven weeks post-conception. As if that part was ever in question. The timing was the one thing I was sure of. After all, there was just that one opportunity.

"Abby?" Susan says my name gently. "Abby, breathe."

I let out the breath that I've been holding in. I concentrate on breathing in and out regularly.

"You okay?" Sam asks. Her voice sounds very far away, but I somehow figure out that she's waiting for a response from me.

I nod, faintly.

"You're not gonna pass out on us or anything, are you?"

I shake my head in the negative. No, I'm working on that not keeling over thing, and so far, I'm doing pretty well. My head's spinning a bit, but I'm not sure if that's the gravity of the situation sinking in or just my usual sickness --uh, pregnancy-induced dizziness.

Pregnant. It's a familiar concept to me. Hell, these days it seems like everyone I know is pregnant. And we certainly see our fair share of pregnancies here in the ER. I spent years in OB, where all my patients were pregnant. And … I've been here myself before. But already, this feels different. More complicated, but somehow less difficult. On the surface, the circumstances are less favorable now. Last time I was pregnant, I was married to the father of my child. He was on his way to a lucrative career. I was young and physically healthy, with seemingly endless resources. And it was a disaster. An impossibility. And I knew from the moment I found out I was pregnant that it would never work.

This time … Well, to be sure, on the face of it, it seems like an even worse set of circumstances. I'm not married. In fact, I'm about as single as I can possibly get. But better to be on my own, than to be trapped in a miserable marriage. With or without a man, I know I'm stronger now. I've grown and changed. I've learned to live my life on my terms and reach for the things that I want. I've learned to believe in myself. And to take care of myself. No more dangerous vices to get me through. No more putting my life on hold. I'm better now. And I know I could do this. If I want to. If? No, I know what I want. But what if what I want isn't the right thing to do?

"Abby?" Susan asks, resting her hand on my shoulder.

"Hmm?"

"Are you in shock?" She says, bending her head down so that she can look at my face.

I look up and meet her gaze. "No. I'm okay."

"Scary as shit, isn't it?" Sam asks.

A deep breath. "Yeah." The look she gives me is significant. I know that she remembers that I've been down this road before. I feel the tears spring to my eyes, and my voice, when it finally comes out is shaky. "I don't want to go through it again."

"You don't have to," Sam tells me, and I think I see a glimmering of tears in her own eyes.

"No … I don't," my voice is tentative and unsure, but I already feel a whisper of hope. Susan is looking back and forth between the two of us, obviously confused. "I … I've been pregnant before." The surprise registers on her face. "Once. A lifetime ago … when I was married to Richard. It … it wasn't a good time." I hear how shallow and selfish that sounds. "I mean, I just didn't think that I could do it. My marriage was a mess. My family …"

"Abby, it's okay. You don't have to justify it. You made the decision that was best for you at the time. Whatever your reasons, I'm sure they were good ones. But things are different now. It could be different this time. And we could do it together." She waggles her eyebrows at me. "Think about how much fun that would be."

"I know. It's just … I had my chance, you know. And I turned it down. Or rather, had it forcibly removed."

"Hey, it's only by happenstance that I didn't do the same thing," Sam reminds me. "I was going to. I just got lucky. Even though I didn't necessarily think so at the time."

"Yeah, but you didn't go through with it. I did. That's the difference."

"But that doesn't mean that you don't deserve another chance." Leave it to Susan; sometimes I think she's a mind reader.

"I know you're right, but …"

"What?" Susan asks. "If you really think I'm right …"

"Well, I just worry that it would be selfish."

"Do you think I'm being selfish?" She asks, hand resting on her belly.

"No." I say immediately. "But you're gonna be a great mom."

"You would be, too."

"I don't know about that," I say, getting up from the gurney and moving across the room.

"Hey, if I can do it, anyone can," Sam says. "I think you'd be great."

"Maybe. But there's other issues. My mom … and my brother … are bipolar. I've always worried about passing that on."

"You're not bipolar," Susan points out.

"No. But that doesn't mean that my … well, that I can't pass it on."

"The chances are so slim, Abby. And … everybody has something they'd rather not pass on to their kids. But you just cross your fingers and hope for the best."

"Alex is diabetic, you know. It's hard for him. It's hard for me, watching him struggle with it. Knowing that it's with him for life and that he's always going to have more hardships to deal with than the average kid. But you know, I wouldn't change it. Because it's a part of who he is. And even when you find out that they're not perfect, you love them anyway."

"Did you mean what you said before?" I ask Sam. "About not having any regrets?"

"No matter how hard it's been … if I'd known then what I know now? I never would have been in that clinic in the first place. So … yeah. Absolutely. I meant it. Why?"

"Because … I do. Have regrets," I admit for the first time, maybe even to myself. Usually I try to tell myself that I did the right thing. And deep down I know that I probably did, but a part of me will always wonder. A part of me will always grieve for the child I'll never know. But even so, if I could back and do it all over again, I'm not sure that I would change my decision. I did what I had to do. So I don't know if I regret having done it, but I know I regret that it was necessary. But that was then. Things are different now …

"You can't … you can't second-guess yourself using hindsight," Susan says. "There's so much you know now that you couldn't have known then. And you can only ever do what feels right at the time."

"Well, it didn't even feel right then. Even though I knew I had to do it, it didn't really feel right."

"Then it would probably feel even more wrong now," Sam offers. Susan gives her a disapproving stare. "Look, I'm not trying to tell you what you should or shouldn't do. I can only tell you that what my experience has been. And every day, since the day he was born -- even the bad days -- I'm just glad that luck or fate intervened."

"You have to do what's right for you," Susan says. "But I can tell you that I know where Sam's coming from."

"You thought about not keeping the pregnancy?" I ask her, surprised.

"No. No, but when my sister was pregnant with Susie, I really thought that she should have an abortion. Lucky thing I wasn't in charge. The minute Susie was born … well, it was the first time in recorded history that I was actually glad that Chloe didn't listen to me," she says with a chuckle.

"I get the feeling you two are trying to tell me something."

"We're not trying to talk you into anything you don't want to do."

"Of course not," Susan agrees with Sam. "But …" she looks at me carefully, "… if having this baby is what you want to do … well, then, we very much want to give you some encouragement."

"I'd be all on my own in this. I'd be doing it by myself. And it's not easy," I say. "Being a single mom."

"No," Susan says.

"It's the hardest thing I've ever done," Sam says.

"Is it … is it worth it?" I ask, really needing to know.

They exchange a quick glance before both nodding emphatically.

"Yeah, it's worth it," Sam says.

"The first time that pair of chubby little arms reaches up for you from the crib, any doubts you have will disappear," Susan assures me. "And Abby? You won't be on your own. Like I said, we'll do it together."

"And I'll help any way I can," Sam offers. "Hey! Maybe we can start a baby-sitting co-op."

Susan levels a look at her. "You mean, like, we would trade off?"

"Something like that."

"So we'd have to take Alex."

"You don't have to say it like that."

"So you'd get to watch our sweet, cuddly little babies, and we'd get to watch a kid who likes to hide human body parts. Does that sound like a fair trade to you?" Susan asks, turning to me.

But I don't answer. I'm too busy thinking about what she just said … 'our sweet, cuddly babies.' She's including me in that. Me and … my baby. Suddenly the tears are spilling over my cheeks, and I can't seem to stop them.

"What? What's wrong?" Susan asks, coming over to me.

"You don't really have to watch Alex," Sam says.

"It's not that," I manage to choke out.

They just look at me, waiting for me to explain my outburst. I feel something bubbling up within me, trying desperately to escape. Finally, the damn bursts and, through my tears, I start laughing. And I can't seem to stop. Susan and Sam probably think it's some sort of delayed hysterical reaction.

"Oh my God," I say, my voice, laced with laughter, sounding awestruck even to my own ears. "I'm gonna have a baby." I smile at them and they smile back, realizing that my laughter, and my tears, are coming out of my happiness.

I'm happy. I'm having a baby. And I'm happier than I ever could have imagined.