Title: Serendipity
Author: Andrea
Summary: Abby's pregnant. Huh. No kidding? Seems like my loyal readers saw that coming. What's that you say? You sense a theme? Well, I hope you like it.
Authors Note:
Happy St. Patrick's Day! Sing like no one is listening; Dance like no one is watching; Live each day as if it's your last. Gotta love those Irish proverbs. Anyway, I do believe this marks my one year anniversary of posting here at fanfic.net. So in celebration, here's the next chapter.
I was really overwhelmed by the response last time … and since I've gotten well over 30 reviews for chapter 2, it seemed only right that I should get this up quickly. And I just happened to have it already written and practically ready to go. But I can't promise that I'll always be this quick. But I will always appreciate the reviews. There's nothing quite as gratifying as opening up a mailbox to find 23 reviews all at once. So thanks for making my day. Thanks for all the praise and votes of confidence.
Hey TAYLOR, how did you know I was going to Burbank … I'm gonna be the next contestant on The Price Is Right. Okay, maybe not. Whatever. But I do appreciate the sentiment … alas Wells and Chulack haven't called yet. Slackers. And LANIE, what do you mean you knew Abby was pregnant? Are you suggesting I'm transparent or something? And now everyone thinks they know who the daddy is. Okay, Lanie, if you're so smart … what's gonna happen next, huh? Huh? And just what is all this hate for Lester guys? It's as if you think his bushy beard and 80s dork glasses *aren't* like the hottest thing ever. And what about the his halting, pansy-assed manner of speaking? It's like you think he's not man enough to knock up Abby or something. Or not worthy of fathering her child. Hate for the Lester … that's just not right. Anyhoo … BETH, thanks for the private and public reviews. LISA and COURTNEY thanks for previewing this for me. Everyone else, thanks for reading, reviewing and putting up with this long note. Hey, cut me some slack, it's my anniversary.
*~*~*~*
Chapter 3: The 'F' Word
"I'm glad to see you're feeling better these days," Susan says, finding me in the lounge just as I'm tucking into my meal. "Lasagna?" She asks, studying the contents of my plate.
I swallow hastily as I nod. "Left over from dinner last night."
"Yeah, me too," She opens the fridge and starts rooting around, probably looking for her own leftovers. "You made lasagna? I'm impressed."
"Don't be. I just took it out of the freezer and stuck it in the oven."
"Well, that's more than I can I say. Take out," she says, holding up a greasy bag as she comes over to join me at the table.
"Whatcha got?"
"Hot wings." She waggles her eyebrows at me, clearly relishing the thought.
"For breakfast?" I ask.
"Look who's talking. You're eating lasagna and drinking … what the hell is that anyway?" She peers in my cup skeptically.
"Chocolate milk."
"That's gross," she says with a look of disdain.
"You're eating cold chicken wings."
"I know. You want one?"
"Of course," I say reaching over and plucking up one of the saucy, gooey wings.
"I can't believe you're really eating that," Susan comments as I gobble the chicken.
"Why? You're eating it, aren't you?"
"Well, yeah. But I'm in the cravings stage of pregnancy. Shouldn't you still be in the queasy stage?"
I shrug. "Ever since I found out what was really making me sick, I've felt a lot better. Probably because I stopped drinking 7-Up for every meal and started eating real food. That pretty much took care of the dizziness. I'm still kinda queasy, but it actually seems better if I eat."
"Lasagna and chicken wings as a cure for an upset stomach. Who would have thought?"
"It probably only works if you're pregnant," I point out.
"Speaking of which," Susan says, "I thought you were keeping it a secret for now."
"I am," I say. Then, worrying about the rumor mill, I ask, "Why? What have you heard?"
"Nothing. But, you know, if anyone were to walk in here and see your choice of early-morning cuisine … well, don't you think they might be slightly suspicious?"
"No."
"You seem pretty confident about that."
"I am. If anyone comes in, I'll just push all the food in front of you and sit here looking horrified at your choices."
"Oh, great. Make me look like a pig."
"What are you trying to say, Susan? You think that eating lasagna for breakfast makes me a pig?"
"No. But if I'm sitting here with my chicken wings and your lasagna, chocolate milk, and those little green things … what are those little green things?"
"Pepper rings."
"And your pepper rings … well, then I'm going to look like some sort of sow. Like this belly isn't already enough. I feel so fat."
I roll my eyes. "You're not fat."
"Ha. You say that now. Just wait. Soon you'll have a big old belly of your own."
"I don't care," I say with a little smile.
Susan gives me a contemplative look. "You're doing okay with this whole thing, huh?"
"Yeah. I mean … yeah." I stop for a minute, trying to think how I can explain my feelings. "Some of the time … well, most of the time I think I must be crazy. It's insane. I don't know what the hell I think I'm doing. I'm terrified. But I'm happy. Happier than I've been in a long time. Things certainly aren't perfect. Far from it, in fact. But that doesn't seem to matter. Suddenly there's this purpose, this meaning to my life. I don't know …" I trail off, not exactly comfortable with expressing this kind of sentiment, even to Susan who must know exactly how I feel.
She's nodding her head in understanding, in fact. "It gets easier. The more you get used to the idea, the more real it becomes … the less scary it gets. And it gets more exciting. And then one day, it's almost like you can't remember a time when you weren't pregnant. I don't want to say that you take it for granted, but … you just get to a point where it seems … normal."
I twirl my fork around on the plate, nodding in response because it's easy enough for me to imagine. "I can't believe that two weeks ago I wouldn't even let myself acknowledge the fact that this baby existed. And now I've already started thinking of it as a person. I had no idea that it would feel like this. That I could get attached so easily."
"You don't even have to try. It just kinda happens."
I'm about to answer her when I notice the door opening so instead I pause, waiting to see who is joining us.
"What just happens?" Luka asks, crossing the room to the coffee machine. As soon as I see that it's him, I go back to my pepper rings and chocolate milk.
Susan gives me a questioning look, but then looks back over her shoulder at Luka. "Oh. I was just telling Abby about how easy it is to get attached to the baby … even before it's born."
"Oh. Yeah, it doesn't take long," Luka agrees. He glances over at me with curiosity, probably wondering if I care to weigh in on the subject.
"It's happening already," I say, still somewhat surprised by the fact.
He stops by my chair, standing and smiling down at me as he inspects the array of food before me. "So you're feeling better today?"
"Yeah. Now that I'm actually eating, I feel much better. Tired. Still kinda nauseous sometimes, but not too bad."
"Well, that's good." He gives me a very stern, but concerned look. "You know you have to eat if you want a healthy baby."
"I know," I say with a tone of exaggerated patience in my voice. I can't resist giving him a little eye roll.
He just chuckles, turning to go back out the door. "And try to get some rest," he calls to me, "You look exhausted." I just shake my head at his departing figure.
"Oh my God," Susan says.
"What?"
"What was that?"
"What was what?"
"What was that?" She asks, gesturing toward the doorway.
"Luka?"
"Yeah."
"Luka knows."
"Obviously," she says, giving me a 'duh' look. "But I thought you were keeping it quiet."
"I am."
"So you told Luka?"
"Well …"
"Well what?" She demands, the look on her face somewhere between bemusement and horror.
"I figured he had a right to know after--"
"Dr. Lewis," Chuny sticks her head in the door, interrupting me mid-sentence, "We need you in Trauma One."
"Okay, I'll be there in a minute," Susan says distractedly, staring at me with a shocked expression on her face.
"No. Now." Chuny's voice is firm. "It's a kid," she informs us. "Bike versus SUV. We can use all the help we can get."
Susan and I exchange a quick glace, but both of us quickly stand up, abandoning our breakfast so we can go help save a child's life.
An hour later, through the efforts of Susan, Carter, Gallant, several nurses, and myself, we've managed to do just that. Susan and Gallant wheel the little boy toward the elevator, sending him off to surgery. Carter and I are left behind, the two of us still standing in the trauma room, momentarily rooted to the spot. I'm pooped … both physically and emotionally. I can't seem to move on just yet. Already these things are starting to affect me more than I ever would have imagined. Kids. I hate it when it's kids. I always have, but now …
"Are you okay?" Carter asks, sounding genuinely concerned.
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," I tell him, mustering up a smile that I hope will be convincing enough.
"It's tough, huh? When it's kids." Sometimes it's like he can still read my mind. That used to bring me such reassurance, knowing that we often thought the same things. Now it just hurts. A reminder of what might have been, but never will be now.
"Yeah …" I finally answer, only to trail off, not really wanting to get into this with him.
"Abby? Are you really okay?"
"Of course. Why wouldn't I be? I told you I'm fine," I say, barely managing not to snap at him.
"Is something wrong?"
"No." As if I would tell you. It's a little too late for you to be worrying about me now.
"You sure you're not coming down with something? You look a little … pale." I follow the line of his gaze and realize that he's noticed my hand resting lightly on my belly. An unconscious protective reaction or just a response to the queasiness that's stirring? I'm not sure since I didn't even realize what I was doing.
"Nauseous?" He asks, clearly not having missed a thing. I quickly move my hand away, adjusting my lab coat and then slipping my hands in my pockets before I can make any other unwitting suspicious moves.
"No, I'm okay."
"If you're not feeling well, Abby …"
"I said I'm fine." I can feel the frustration mounting, and my voice doesn't do much to hide that fact. I'm tired of people asking me how I am, especially when they won't accept my answer, like maybe they know better what I'm feeling. And frankly, he's the last person with whom I want to discuss this -- or anything else, for that matter.
"You need to take care of yourself, Abby." Oh goody, a lecture. Just what I was hoping for.
I give him a stiff smile. "I know that."
"That means sometimes you have to put yourself first."
"Well, you would know all about that, wouldn't you?" The pleasantness of my voice belies the bitterness of the statement.
"What?" He asks, giving me a look of confusion and concern, his face showing his complete oblivion.
"Nothing. Never mind." Just let it go, Abby. Just let it go.
"I just hate to think of you … well, I just want to see take care of yourself for a change. I want you to be well … and happy."
Why? So you can feel better, you pompous jerk? I want so much to say it, but I know there's no point. It's over. It's in the past. Better that I just focus on the future. The future that I'll be sharing with my baby. I feel a little smile tugging at the corners of my mouth at the thought. "I am happy," I tell him.
"That's good. I … always wanted that. I just wanted what was best for both of us."
I give him a long look not really trusting myself to speak. If he was so concerned about me than why … no, I can't let myself go down that road. I try reminding myself to just think about the baby, but even those happy thoughts don't completely drown out the feelings of … betrayal. Feelings that still sting. Somehow listening to him say that all he ever wanted was for me to be happy is more than I can bear.
"Whatever, Carter."
The resentment in my tone isn't lost on him although he does seem confused by it. Typical. "Abby? Wha --"
"I've got patients to see," I tell him tersely, turning and heading out the door, effectively ending the conversation. I go straight to admit and grab up a bunch of charts that are bound to keep me busy for a good, long time. And the busier I am, the less likely it is that I'll be forced to participate in conversations that I don't really want to have. In fact, I manage to avoid prolonged contact with anyone until Sam discovers me in the drug lock-up.
"Oh," she says, noticing me sitting on the floor.
"Hi."
"Hi" she says, her voice curiously flat, maybe even a bit chilly.
"Something wrong?" I ask her.
"No." She doesn't look at me, though, just continues to search through the inventory for whatever it is she needs.
"Really? Because maybe I'm imagining things, but it seems like you've been avoiding me lately."
"Why would I do that?" She asks me, sounding just slightly hostile.
"I don't know. "
"Well, I wouldn't. I mean, I'm not." I wait for her to say something more, but she doesn't offer anything. Finally, giving me a curious look, she asks, "What are you doing sitting on the floor?" She sounds more friendly now, maybe she's trying to convince me that everything is good.
"Hiding," I admit.
"From?"
"I don't know … everything."
"Ah. One of those days."
"Sometimes it feels like it's always one of those days," I say as I struggle to get to my feet.
"I hear that. See, I told you," she drops her voice a couple of notches, "Being pregnant sucks." She gives me a conspiratorial smile, apparently having forgotten about whatever was bugging her. Guess it didn't have anything to do with me, after all. Looks like I am imagining things.
"It's not that," I assure her with a smile, talking in low tones myself. "I mean, pregnancy has its moments, but the baby … that's the one thing that's ever really gone right in my life. Given the circumstances, I can't really believe that I feel that way about it … but I do." Two weeks that I've know about this baby, and already I love it more than I ever would have thought possible. I knew that motherhood -- or expectant motherhood -- would be something special, but I don't think I had any idea of just how right it would feel. "It's kinda like going back to med school. I'm all full of … misgivings, yet at the same time … somehow I just know it's what I'm supposed to do."
"I guess things really do happen for a reason. Like it was fated or something."
There's something about the way she says this that makes me stop and look at her closely. There's an expression on her face that I can't quite place. It's somewhere between wistful and sad. I'm not sure what's upsetting her, so I choose not to say anything about it for the moment.
"I like to think of it as … serendipity," I tell her.
"Serendipity? Like a windfall?"
"Yeah. Something wonderful that I wasn't even looking for, but that just sort of happened."
"Just happened, huh?"
"Well …" I say with a laugh and an eye roll.
"Hey, maybe you should think about 'Serendipity' … you know, for a name."
Now I'm really laughing. "You're kidding, right?" She shrugs. "Serendipity Wyczenski. Why not just tattoo 'kick me' on the kid's forehead?"
"Wyczenski?"
I nod. "Yeah. My maiden name. Lockhart is my ex-husband's. This, however," I say, patting my belly, "Is not. So somehow it didn't seem like it would be appropriate."
"Oh. Yeah. I guess not." She looks at me hesitantly for a moment, perhaps trying to decide whether or not to say what's on her mind. So maybe I wasn't just imagining things.
"What?" I finally ask.
"Can I … can I ask you something?"
"Okay," I agree, figuring I have an idea of what's coming.
"About … your baby's father."
Ah, the 'f' word. I'm surprised it's taken so long for it to come up. I guess when I didn't volunteer any information, no one wanted to be the one to ask. But to be honest, I would have thought that someone would have said something sooner. I take a deep breath. Better get used to it, I'm gonna go through this one a lot.
"He's, um, … irrelevant." Not what she was asking, I know, but it's the only answer I'm prepared to give. "It's my baby."
"He doesn't want to be involved?"
"He can't be. He's … otherwise occupied." She gives me a very strange look. "He has someone else now," I explain. Now Sam is looking at me with an expression of absolute horror on her face.
"Oh my God, it's true."
"What's true?"
"I didn't want to believe it. I kept telling myself it was just rumors. After all, you would have told me. Or he would have told me. I didn't believe Susan. I thought she must have gotten it wrong. But I guess I was just kidding myself. I should have known. I mean, my God, you're standing here in his sweater."
"Um … can we go back in time five minutes to when you were actually making sense? I have no idea what you're talking about," I tell her in exasperation, completely confused about why she should be so upset.
"You're wearing Luka's sweater," she points out again.
I look down. "Yeah …" She gives me a look like I should understand the significance. "I was cold. Aren't you cold? It's so cold in here. I swear they've turned on the air conditioning already. I was freezing this morning and digging through the lost and found box, and not finding a damn thing, when Luka came along and offered me this sweater that's apparently been in his locker since he started working here judging by the smell. So what? Are you really that upset that he loaned me his sweater?"
"It's not about the stupid sweater."
"Okay, then what's it about?"
"The baby!"
"Gee, Sam, could you say it a little louder? I think there's a few hard-of-hearing patients in geriatrics that missed it."
"Well, I'm not really interested in keeping secrets for you," she says, definitely pissed off now. "You don't have to protect him anymore. And if you've got some screwed-up idea that you're somehow protecting me …"
"Protecting you? What does this have to do with you?
"Well, I'd like to think that it would have something to do with me if you're having my boyfriend's baby."
"What?"
"That's the big secret, right? Luka's the father." She looks none too happy with me. And I guess that's understandable.
"Luka."
"And I don't know why it should surprise me. It's not like he hasn't nailed every nurse in this hospital. I thought that was in the past … maybe it's just as well this happened now." She sounds more resigned than pissed now, turning toward me with a slight shake of her head, as if she's shaking off her earlier anger. "Look, I know it's not your fault. I don't blame you. It's probably my fault. If I hadn't wasted so much time, if I hadn't freaked out …"
"Luka?"
"You don't have to pretend, okay, Abby? I'd rather just know." She's getting a little teary now. "And if there's something between you two … I don't want to stand in the way, I --"
"It's not Luka's."
"It's not?"
"No," I say, laughing in spite of myself. "What on earth made you think that?"
"Susan told me," she says.
"Susan told you?"
"Yeah, I don't think she knows about Luka and I, so she just kind of came right out with it. And I guess on top of all the rumors … well, when she found out that you told Luka … she told me that you said you told him because he had a right to know. Why else would he have a right to know?"
Now I'm really laughing. It's not really funny. Except it kind of is. "What I was trying to say to Susan when we got interrupted by an incoming trauma was that I thought Luka had a right to know … after I threw up in his car. He seemed overly concerned. And about me, not his upholstery. So I thought the least I could do was tell him the truth, since I'd just puked all over his leather interior. And wait … what rumors?"
"About you and Luka," she tells me in a tone that implies that I should have known that.
"Well, yeah, I gathered as much. But what exactly about us?"
"That you're back together."
I shouldn't laugh, I know. But I can't help it. It's all just so absurd. God, these people are desperate for some good, juicy gossip. "Back together? After three years?"
She shrugs. "It happens."
"Well, it didn't happen. Not to Luka and I. We're friends. That's it. Besides, he's got you now, right? I mean, you did say that he's your boyfriend, now, didn't you?"
"Yeah, I don't think the rumor mill has picked up on that one, yet."
"Typical. They're usually all over the stuff that's wrong … it takes them longer to catch on to the actual truth. Thank God," I mumble under my breath.
"I should have known better than to believe the gossip. I'm sorry," she says.
"Don't worry about it. I'm sorry that you were upset by it. I never even thought … where the hell did they get the idea that Luka and I were back together? And Susan … I mean, Luka?" Sam gives me a somewhat hurt look. "I didn't mean it like that. It's not him. It's just … nothing could be farther from the truth."
"I'm glad to hear it. I feel so stupid. But you know how it is … Chuny said she saw you two leave together one night and come in the next morning together. And apparently everyone has seen you two going to lunch together all the time …"
"Twice," I interrupt. "We went had lunch together twice in the past two weeks. And once it was just coincidence. The place was packed when he got there with no open tables, so I invited him to join me. And as far as us leaving together … yeah, we did. He gave me a ride home. That was the day that I found out about you-know-what. Luka ran into me sitting out in the ambulance bay after my shift was over. I think I must have been in some sort of fugue state. He obviously could see that something wasn't quite right with me so he asked me if I was taking the El or if I wanted a ride. Since I couldn't seem to remember what the El was, I decided it would be a good idea to let him give me a ride. Then I barfed in his car. So I felt compelled to tell him. And I asked him to keep it a secret. I didn't think to tell him that you knew my secret too. And yeah, he gave me a ride to work the next day. It was the day we had that big storm, and I think he was worried that in the state I was in, I'd be out wandering in the inclement weather for hours. So he picked me up on his way to work. That's all there is to it. I'm sorry. I should have told you that I told him. I knew you two were … dating. I guess I didn't realize how serious it is. How serious is it?"
"It … has potential. I think. I hope." She gives me a quick smile.
"Now that you know that he hasn't fathered any illegitimate children lately. At least, not with me," I say with a grin. "So is it okay if I keep wearing his sweater? I really am freezing. It must be some hormonal thing."
"Yeah," she says, with an embarrassed chuckle, "You can wear the sweater."
"Gee, thanks," I say with fake gratitude. "If it makes you feel any better, I was wearing Pratt's jacket yesterday. And he's not the father either."
"Maybe you should think about a sweatshirt or something," she suggests. "Not that I care if you wear Luka's sweater. I was just … overreacting."
"Well, that's because you thought it was about a lot more than a sweater."
"Yeah, but still …"
"Look, I guess now that I think about it, Luka has been kind of … solicitous towards me … but I think that's just his protective streak coming out. He knows I'm on my own. He's probably worried that it's gonna overwhelm me. So he feels like he has to step in and protect me … or maybe he's just trying to make sure that I know I've got friends in my corner. But don't worry; his concern is … well, almost brotherly, at this point. He'd do the same thing for any friend that he thought was in need. He's a good guy, you know," I tell her, hoping to sweeten the pot a bit, just in case she's still harboring any hostile thoughts toward Luka for his recent concern over me.
"Yeah. I know." She looks at me for a minute, seeming somewhat uncertain, and then, relieved. "God, I'm glad I said something to you first."
"Yeah. Better me than him. Even if I am the one in 'a delicate condition.'"
"I know. I'm sorry."
"You're lucky I didn't keel over on you from all the stress," I say walking past her and out the door into the hallway.
"I said I was sorry," she says, sounding slightly exasperated as she follows behind me.
"I'm supposed to be taking it easy. Relaxing. Thanks for helping out with that."
"You're gonna make me pay for this, aren't you?" She asks, a tone of mock distress in her voice.
"Oh, yes."
"How?"
"I don't know. But I'll think of something. Don't worry, though … whatever I do to you -- Susan's getting double."
Sam laughs, clearly not finding me threatening in the least. She looks around and then, noticing that there's no one nearby, she begins speaking in a voice barely louder than a whisper. "So Abby … you never said. If it's not Luka …"
Uh-oh. Here we go …
"Who's the father?"
*~*~*~*
Uh-oh, a cliffhanger. Sorry about that. But I couldn't give it away that easily, could I? Okay, I was kidding around before when I asked Lanie what was gonna happen next. But if anyone wants to hazard a guess … I'd love to hear it. I'd also love to hear who you think the daddy is … and why. Understand that I already *know* so this isn't a pick-the-daddy-contest; I'm just interested in hearing people's ideas. And assuming that Abby's not lying through her teeth, I just eliminated three 'possibilities.' So come on, who do you think it is? Who do you want it to be? Or not want it to be? And why, of course. Also there are a few other things that I'm still trying to decide about … I don't usually do this, but … I'm gonna open it up for discussion … Again, this isn't a democracy, I'll make the final decision, but I wouldn't mind knowing what people think about the following: Should Abby find out the sex of the baby or should it be a surprise? Do you want it to be a boy or a girl? And I'll listen to any suggestions for names …assuming they aren't fucking stupid -- Abby's not gonna really name her kid Tequila (hey, Cath) … and then I'll go ahead and choose something that *I* like (as I've already got a few in mind) … but that doesn't mean I'm not interested in hearing what people have to say. And if you think this is all a bid to get more reviews, you are absolutely right. You've spoiled me now. And just so you know, chapter 4 is already written … it's all in you hands once again.