Title: Serendipity

Author: Andrea

Rating: R

Summary: Abby's pregnant. Who's the daddy? I'll give you three guesses, but the first two don't count.

Author's Note: Thanks to LISA, BETH, SANDY and HEATHER. Okay, I know I usually beg for reviews … and I do love them, but not if they are gonna do nothing but depress me. So you know … if you could hold the morbid, negative, depressing, unnecessary comments about ER and/or Carby I would appreciate it. Also, if you dislike a chapter enough to find it long and boring … how about you try … um, I don't know … not reading it. There are plenty of other shorter, less boring stories out there, so try one of them. I don't mind constructive criticism, but random negativity isn't something I need in my life. I have enough of that from other places, I count on the reviews to be a pleasant, uplifting experience. If I wanted to read morose thoughts about ER, I'd still be hanging out on the message boards. And if I wanted to hear how boring my story was, I'd pimp it out to CSI fans. So how about we go with this theme … if you can't say something nice (or constructive), don't say anything at all. If you have constructive criticism or comments or speculation about the direction of the story, bring it on. But if you just want to flame it for no reason other than to make up for your own personal deficits, you can take that somewhere else. As for the negative comments about ER … I understand, but that doesn't mean I want to be reminded of it in a review … there's a time and place, but not here, please. I'm trying very hard to stay in a positive frame of mind, and I can use all the help I can get. Hypocritical to beg for reviews and then complain about what they say? Absolutely … so I'm not begging for reviews this time. Review, don't review … whatever … just please don't bring me down. THAT's not gonna inspire me to write, after all.

Serendipity

Chapter 8: Truce

"Cut it out, Carter." I pull my arm out of his grasp.

"Sorry," he mumbles. "I was just trying to help."

He's been trying to help ever since I got up off the gurney. He helped me out to his car, into the car, out of the car, up the steps to my building, and then kept his hand firmly on the small of my back as we made our way up the inside stairs. And now he's taken my elbow as if I need him to propel me through the door.

"I don't think I really need help to walk through my own front door," I say with a bit of exasperation since this whole over-protective routine is getting to be a bit much.

"I just want to make sure you're okay."

"I'm okay," I assure him. "And you know … I've gotten by just fine on my own the past four months." I smile so that he knows that there's no bitterness in that statement.

"Yeah, I know. But you have a concussion. I wouldn't want you to get dizzy and fall over again." He gives me what I imagine he thinks is a charming smile.

I just shake my head as I shove the door open and walk into my apartment, flipping on the lights and tossing my keys onto the table. After a moment, I realize he hasn't followed me in. I turn and look back to find him just standing at the door, looking lost.

"You can come in," I tell him. "Just make yourself at home." I drop my bag on one of the kitchen chairs and glance over at the answering machine. One message. Probably my mom … she calls almost every day to check up on me.

"I think that's what you said last time," Carter says with an uncomfortable chuckle.

I look at him standing there with his hands in his pockets, looking awkward and unsure of himself. "Yeah, well … maybe not that much at home." It's still hard for me to imagine how things went from me answering my door to a find a forlorn and bedraggled Carter standing there to the two of us rolling around in my bed. Oh, I remember it all vividly. Him crying, me giving him a comforting hug. The longing looks we exchanged. The kiss I pulled away from. The kiss I didn't pull away from. The shock of electricity that ran through me when he touched me. The way the emotions and desires of the moment seemed to get the better of both of us. I knew what we were doing was wrong, but at that moment, I didn't care. I knew he wasn't mine anymore, but he was mine first. And I just wanted one more chance … one last time … a night to really savor … something of us to hold on to and remember. A way to end things on a good note. I thought it was the closure that we needed. I thought it was goodbye.

"I'm sorry," he says now, probably thinking about that night.

"Don't be," I tell him, patting my belly. "I'm not."

"Yeah, but I'm the one …"

I cut him off. "You didn't make me do anything I didn't want to do."

"I started it."

"Yeah … but you weren't thinking clearly. I feel like I should being apologizing to you. I never should have let it happen. It was selfish. But just because it was what I … well, I had no right. I'm sorry. I'm not sorry that it happened -- because of the baby. But, I mean, I'm sorry that this is gonna complicate your life. I'm sorry for what it means to you. But for myself? I'm not gonna lie … I'm glad it happened because if it hadn't …" I trail off. I can't find words to describe how awful it would be if I didn't have this baby that I didn't even know I wanted. I can't imagine it. I don't want to, really. "So you don't have to apologize to me. Besides, I'm not the one that you should be apologizing to."

He nods. "I guess I'm going to have some explaining to do."

"I would imagine so."

"Abby …"

"I'm going to take a shower," I announce, in an attempt to end the conversation.

"Not just to her. There's some things I need to explain to you, too. We need to talk."

I nod, slowly and cautiously, while trying not to bite off some sarcastic, possibly bitter, comment. "I know. But not now, okay?"

"Abby …"

"I'm gonna go take that shower now," I tell him, but I don't make a move toward the bathroom. Instead, I stand there in front of him, staring at him, watching him watch me. I'm waiting for something, although I couldn't say what. Finally, I see a subtle shift in his expression. The serious expression changes to one that is more concern than anything else with perhaps a touch of amusement.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

Is what a good idea? Oh, yeah. The shower. "Well, yeah. I was lying on the ground in whatever filth is all over the El stairs. Not to mention that my belly got slimed and still feels sticky. I definitely need a shower."

"Yeah, but …"

"But?"

"Well, you know … I don't know if it's such a good idea in your condition."

"Pregnant people shower, too."

"I meant the concussion."

"I'm fine."

"You wouldn't want to fall over and hit your head again."

"I promise to be careful."

"What if you get dizzy? What if you get weak?"

I give him a blank stare for a moment. "You're not coming with me."

"I wasn't suggesting that." He sounds a little indignant.

"Then what do you suggest?"

"How about a bath?"

"I don't want to take a bath. I can manage to stand up for a whole ten minutes in the shower."

"Yeah, but what if …"

I cut him off with a frosty stare.

"At least leave the door open."

"So much for being here in a purely medical capacity."

"I mean, in case you fall," he says with exasperation.

"And what good will that do?"

"Well … at least I would hear you and could come and save you before you drown."

"Oh my God," I mutter as I turn to go into the bedroom. But I leave the door open. And after I've gathered up some clean clothes and gone into the bathroom, I leave that door open, too. I peer out once, and Carter's nowhere in sight, but presumably he's somewhere in earshot, listening closely for anything that might go amiss during such a dangerous activity as showering. As soon as I'm out and wrapped in a towel, I yell out to him, and he answers back, his voice sounding like it's coming from the vicinity of the kitchen. Once I'm dried and dressed, that's where I find him, standing at the stove, apparently attempting to cook something.

"I made it out alive," I say, letting him know that I wasn't defeated by the big, bad, scary shower.

He turns and gives me a smile. "Feel better?" I nod … a little too vigorously, apparently as a wave of pain shoots through my head. "Or maybe not," he says as I sink into a chair at the kitchen table.

"I'm okay. I just have to remember not to move my head too much."

"How's your stomach?"

I glance down. "Round."

That gets me a grin from him. "I meant how does it feel? Are you nauseous? Hungry? You should probably eat. Do you think you can eat?"

"Yeah, I think so. What did you make?"

"Eggs. It was going to be an omelet, but it kinda turned into scrambled eggs. Cheesy scrambled eggs. I hope you don't mind." I look up at him sharply, wondering if he's remembering, too. I'd made him an omelet that night. Somewhere after opening the door to find him standing there sad and lonely … but before the crying, the comforting, and the sex, some maternal instinct had kicked in, and I felt the need to take care of him. So I tried to feed him, as if that would somehow make everything better. Maybe he's operating on that same feeling now.

"No, I don't mind."

"I figured that as long as I didn't set the kitchen on fire, you wouldn't care if I cooked. And there's just something about breakfast food that's comforting, I think."

"Not to mention that eggs are full of protein. And iron. Stuff we need."

"Besides, it seemed only fitting. Since that's what you made for me."

So he does remember. "Yes, but I made an actual omelet," I say forking up some of my cheesy eggs. He just shrugs, not taking the bait, perhaps not wanting to risk our fragile truce on some meaningless banter. We eat on in silence for a while, John tossing glances at me every time he thinks I'm not looking.

"So?" He finally asks once my plate is scraped clean.

"Good," I tell him, assuming he was fishing for a compliment on his culinary skills. "Thanks."

"That's not what I meant."

"Oh."

"SO?"

"So …" I ask, waiting for him to be a little more specific.

He gets up and clears the plates and glasses, taking them into the kitchen. "So … where do you want to start?" When I don't answer, he turns around and sends me a significant look. "We have a lot to discuss. Where do you think we should start?"

I shrug and then get up from the table, retreating to the couch and curling up into a corner. He follows me over and makes himself at home on the couch, right next to me. Maybe I should have stayed at the table. I pick up a pillow and put it in my lap, fiddling with the fringe on the edges of it. Something tells me that he's not gonna let me get away with putting this off any longer.

"Well …" I start, trying my best to stall.

"Well?"

"I don't know what you want me to say."

"Abby, that's not … it's not about what I want you to say … I just … want to know where we go from here." I just shrug. "You must have some plan," he insists. "I mean, you've had months to think about it." He doesn't sound mad or upset, just expectant. I guess it makes sense that I should be the one who's thought this out since, after all, he only found out a few hours ago. Like he said, I've had a few months. The only problem is that I never considered this particular scenario.

"I planned to do it on my own," I tell him.

"Oh." He studies me carefully, unrelenting in his gaze. "Is that what you really want?"

I shrug. Of course it's not what I really want. But what I really want … "I don't know what else would work."

"We could do it together. I want to be involved."

I shake my head slowly, getting up from the couch and walking over to gaze out the window. "I don't think so."

"Why not? It's my baby, too."

"Yeah, but it's not your only baby, is it? What do you plan to do, John? Have two separate families on opposite sides of the world? It'll never work. It can't possibly work."

"Abby, listen …"

"You know what? I really don't want to talk about this now. I've had a rough night, you know. I'm sore, I'm tired, and I just want to go to bed."

He nods, solemnly. "Of course. I wasn't thinking. You should get some rest. But I'm not sure you should sleep yet," he says, glancing at his watch.

"I think I'll be okay. You said yourself it was just a mild concussion. It's already been a few hours. Besides, you're here to keep an eye on me, right?"

"Yeah, but …"

"You can wake me up every hour on the hour if you want, but I just need … at least a little nap. You wouldn't believe the amount of sleep I need these days."

"I'm not sure I like this."

"You don't have to like it. But you are gonna have to give in because you're not gonna win."

"Okay. I guess. But I'll be in to check up on you in a little while."

"Okay … do you remember where everything you need is?"

"Yeah, I think I remember now." The look that he gives me holds me firmly rooted to the spot, staring at him. Don't do this to me, John. I shake my head gently in an effort to clear it. But the movement sends a flash of pain through my head, causing me to wince.

"You okay?" He asks. Before I can even reassure him that I am, he's off the couch and at my side. He takes my arm, steering me toward the bedroom. I guess he wants to tuck me in.

"John, I'm fine."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah. But … thanks."

He drops my arm, apparently giving in. "You'll let me know if you need anything?"

"I promise."

"I'll be right here."

"I'll be fine."

"I know. But I'll still be right here."

I give him a small nod before turning and walking into the bedroom. No sooner do I get myself settled comfortably in bed than I realize I've forgotten the one thing that I can never do without these days -- that last trip to the bathroom. With a sigh, I heave myself out of bed and head toward the bathroom.

"Abby? What's wrong?" My God, what is he doing? Listening with a glass to the wall?

"Nothing," I call.

"What are you doing?"

"Bathroom," I say, using all my powers of restraint not to snap peevishly. I thought he was here to make sure that I didn't slip into a coma, not to log my every bodily function. On my way back to bed, I stick my head out the door to inform him of my whereabouts, and find him just sitting on the couch. He's not doing anything, just sitting there.

"Okay. I'm going to bed now. But you can … watch TV or whatever. It won't bother me."

"Okay."

"Okay." We sure do have a way with words. "Well … goodnight."

"'Night."

I wait for a moment, contemplating asking him if he's all right. Because he really doesn't seem quite all right, the way he's sitting there, lost in thought. But then, I guess I'm not the only one who's had a big night. I guess he's got a lot to get used to, too. In the end, I turn without saying another word and crawl back into bed. I expect that I will immediately fall asleep, but I find that the minute I close my eyes, my mind begins to whirl.

I can't stop thinking about everything that's happened in such a short time -- from my fall to the conversation that John and I just had. Or rather didn't have. I still can't quite grasp the fact that he knows. And I have no idea what to do about the fact that he seems happy about it and wants to be involved. I was so sure that if he ever found out, he would run screaming from the room, but instead, here he is. I still don't understand why. Because if I were him, I think I would feel like this was the worst news ever. That I'd been caught in an indiscretion, and that my whole life was ruined. But that's not how he's acting, and it's left me confused. Of course, maybe if we'd actually had that conversation, I would be a little closer to understanding. But I wasn't ready for that … not yet.

It's all too much for me to take in at once. I can't believe he knows. I can't believe how he found out. I can't believe I was stupid enough to run away from him, trip and fall. I can't believe that just a few hours ago I was lying unconscious on a gurney, waking up with a splitting headache to find a room full of concerned faces staring down at me, and Carter with a death grip on my hand while his gaze seemed to travel almost frantically between me and the image on the monitor. And then there was that image. My baby. Seeing it up there on the screen made it all so much more real. And seeing that everything looked fine was such a relief. Even now, knowing that I'm okay and that the baby's okay, the fear that I felt then is still palpable. But so is the relief and the joy that I felt. But God, just thinking about what might have been terrifies me all over again.

My hand strays to my belly at just about the same time that a sob breaks loose. Things could have gone the other way so easily. I could have lost the baby. It's a bleak realization. Not that I didn't know before that it was a possibility; after all, it's what I was so scared of when I first woke up. But I'm not sure that it sunk in until now. One wrong step, one slip … and if things had gone the other way, if I hadn't landed the way I did, if I hadn't gotten lucky, it could have all been over. But I did get lucky, somehow. I roll over , burying my head in the pillow to muffle the sounds of the crying that I can't control. I can't quite seem to stop. I'm not sure if the tears are from happiness and relief or from fear and guilt.

"Abby?" I'd probably tell him to leave me alone, but I can't stop crying long enough to get the words out. "Abby, what's wrong?" I feel him sit down on the edge of the bed next to me. He smoothes the hair back from my face and lets his hand rest on my shoulder. "Are you in pain?"

Yes, but not the kind he's asking about. "No," I manage to eek out.

"Then what is it?" He rubs my shoulder lightly, comfortingly. "Abby? You can talk to me." But I don't want to. I don't want to turn to him for comfort, even though I would love to do just that. It makes no sense, but there it is. "Is it about the baby?" I should have known he could guess.

I sit up and turn to look at him. I sniffle and wipe at my eyes with my hands. He hands me a tissue from the box on the bedside table and then reaches back over to flip on the lamp there. In the soft glow from the light, I can see the concern etched on his face.

"Abby …" His voice, soft and worried, trails off. I don't want to say anything, but for as long as I can remember there's been something about him that gets me to open up, even when I don't want to.

"I could have lost the baby," I say, my voice quavering. I bite my lip in an attempt to keep the tears at bay, but it doesn't work. I'm sobbing again. And then, even though I don't want to, I find myself throwing my arms around his neck, burying my face in his chest. "I could have lost the baby," I repeat, but this time it comes out more like a wail.

"But you didn't," he points out, holding me tight.

"But --"

"No, 'buts,' Abby. Your fall was an accident. Accidents happen." He rubs my back steadily, trying to soothe me. For what seems like a very long time, we're locked in that embrace, with him letting me cry into his t-shirt. "You can't blame yourself," he finally whispers into my ear. "Or worry about what could have happened. You have to concentrate on the fact that everything turned out okay. You're okay. The baby's okay. That's all that matters now." His comforting words and touch seem to be working. The sobs subside, and I seem to be able to breathe more normally. "I know you're scared. God, I was so scared. But it's over now. And everything's okay. Really."

I pull away from him, leaning back against the pillows. John reaches over with more tissues to wipe the tears from my cheeks. "Thanks," I say, taking the wad of damp tissues from his hand and finishing the job myself.

"Feel better now?" He tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear. He gives me a hopeful smile.

"Not really." But I do manage a little smile.

He gives me a little nod, letting me know that he understands. "It'll get better."

"I hope so."

"It will," he assures me, giving my knee a friendly pat.

I try to stifle the yawn that slips out, but I can't seem to control that anymore than I could control the tears.

"You should get some sleep," he advises, standing up.

"John?" He stops halfway across the room and turns back to look at me.

"Yeah?"

"Don't leave?" It's more of a plea than a request.

He gives me a smile. "I'm not gonna leave, Abby. I'm here to take care of you and make sure you're okay; I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right on the couch."

"No. I mean … stay here. Please?" I can't believe I'm saying this. I know why I'm saying it, but I still can't believe the words are actually coming out of my mouth. "I just … I don't want .. I'm …"

He's already crossing back over to the bed. He takes my hand as he sits down on the other side of the bed … what used to be his side of the bed. "I know. How about if I stay here until you fall asleep?"

"Thanks."

"It's no problem, Ab. All you had to do was ask. And I'm glad you did." He settles back against the pillows looking perfectly content. I, however, after having asked him to stay, am finding myself unsure and uncomfortable. "I won't bite," Carter says with a chuckle, catching the look on my face.

"It's not biting that I'm worried about," I say, trying to joke myself out of my anxious mood.

He puts his hands up in a defensive gesture. "I'm just here to keep you company."

"Just so long as that's understood." I give him a small smile. "Seriously, thank you. I'm not sure I could handle being alone right now."

"Sure you could. I don't think there's anything you can't handle. But I'm glad I could help. Now try to get some sleep."

I take his advice and try to settle in for the night. The only problem is, I can't seem to get comfortable. I try curling up on one side, and when that doesn't work, I flip over to the other side. I rearrange the pillows. I try lying under the comforter. I try pushing it off me. I lay on my back and stare up at the ceiling, just to roll over on to my side and start the whole thing over again. Of course, it's hard to get comfortable enough to fall asleep when every time you close your eyes, the same vivid, scary images flood your brain.

"Abby?"

"Huh," I grunt in response, frustrated by the situation.

"You're making me seasick."

"It's not a waterbed." I can't help it that I'm a little restless. Maybe it's my body's way of telling me that I shouldn't be going to sleep at all just yet. But that would make Carter right. So that can't be it. More likely it's the way my mind keeps replaying the events of tonight.

"And yet, you're still managing to make me seasick. What's wrong? Can't sleep?"

Nothing like stating the obvious. Of course I can't sleep. If I could sleep, I would already be asleep. "Guess not."

"You still upset?"

"No." Well, that's a lie. "Maybe." Closer to the truth. "I don't know." There. That's a safe answer, right?

"It's really okay. Everything's fine."

"I know. It's just that when … when I close my eyes, all I can see is myself falling. And then I can't help but think about what could have happened. And I just can't imagine …" The tears are threatening to fall again. Shut up, Abby. Just shut up.

"You really want this." He's not asking, just stating a fact.

"The baby? Of course I want it. More than anything."

"I got that idea. I've never seen you look as scared as you did when you woke up and were asking about the baby. I guess that's when I knew how much this must mean to you."

"Does that surprise you?"

"That you'd be a concerned, conscientious mother already? No. That you'd want to be a mother at all? Maybe. A little. I mean, I always thought …" he trails off with a shrug.

"Well … things change. And it's not like I exactly intended for this to happen. But once I found out about it … pretty much right away I knew there was only one option."

"To have my baby." I'm a little surprised to hear the pride and joy in his voice when he says that. I was so sure he would think it was the worst disaster of his life.

"I thought it might be my only at chance at something … wonderful. And I realized I didn't want to miss out on it. I wouldn't have chosen to get pregnant, but since I already was … and knowing about the baby suddenly I felt … I don't know. Happy, maybe. But not just happy … full of ... hope, I guess. Like suddenly things were getting better. There were all these possibilities that I'd never even realized were there. And all of a sudden, there was a reason to get up every day. You know, something more than just work. The baby just …"

"Changes everything," He finishes for me. I look at him, surprised. But, naturally, he would know all about that. I sigh audibly, thinking about how complicated this all is, not having the slightest idea how we might work this out. But John is apparently not worrying about the complicated situation. He's staring at me, or specifically, at my belly with a look of longing in his eyes.

"Can I?" He asks, reaching his hand out tentatively.

"Oh … Yeah, sure. You put it there; it's yours. I guess you have a right." I'm giving him a goofy little smile, but he pays no attention as he's too intent on getting his hands on my little bulge. His touch is soft and gentle as he rubs my stomach.

"Hi, baby," he says in a low voice. "I've been wanting to do that since the minute I saw that sonogram."

I'm not sure if he's talking to the baby or me, but since the baby isn't going to answer him, I figure I will. "From the very first minute?"

"Yeah."

"Did you know?" I figure he knows what, exactly, I'm asking about.

"Yeah. Once I did the math. I mean, I figured you wouldn't … well, I didn't think there would have been anyone else … at the same time. But even before I did the math, a part of me knew. I saw the baby and … it was like nothing I've ever felt before. I couldn't stop staring at the screen."

"I know exactly what you mean." And I do. Although I'm a bit confused about why he seems so awed by this experience. I would have thought it would be old hat by now.

"Abby?" He's looking at me now, almost imploringly, with his hand still resting on my belly. "Tell me what I missed?"

"What you missed? Not much. A lot of sleeping. A lot of eating. Some puking. Nothing too exciting."

"You don't want to tell me about it?"

"What's to tell? Luckily, it's been rather unremarkable."

"Well … I don't know. How did you find out?"

I chuckle at the memory. "Susan and Sam told me. In the ladies' room. Or rather, that's when they first suggested it. Of course, I didn't really believe it. So then we did a blood test and … then I knew."

"When was this?"

"A little more than two months ago."

"And you've kept it to yourself all this time?"

"Well, Susan and Sam know."

"And Luka?"

"Yeah. He gave me a ride home the night that I found out, actually. There was a slight incident of projectile vomiting all over his dashboard. He was worried. So I thought I should tell him."

"Anyone else?"

"Maggie. And Eric."

"Do they know?"

"I just said they did."

"No, I mean … do they know it's mine?"

"No one knows that. Except Susan, I guess, since I think she figured it out tonight."

"What were you going to tell everybody?"

"The same thing I'd been telling them. That it was none of their business. That the father wasn't a part of the equation."

"Is that what you were going to tell my baby?" It's the first time tonight that I've heard any anger in his voice. I can't say as I blame him for being upset or angry, but I hope he understands that this hasn't been easy on me, either. And I did it for him. To protect him from the inevitable scandal that would happen if everyone found out.

I sigh. "I don't know, John. I hadn't thought that far ahead. Most of the time, it was all I could do to get through each day."

"I thought you were happy."

"I am. About the baby. It's probably the best thing that's ever happened to me. It's already changed my life. I feel so lucky to have this chance … but I don't want to mess it up. So there's a lot of stress, too. I worry about doing things right. I worry about being a single mother, juggling work and a baby. Up until tonight, I was always worried about you finding out. And I did worry about what to tell the baby … about its father … about you."

"Well, at least now you don't have so much to worry about. And you won't have to tell the baby anything about me. I'll be here to do it myself. I want to be part of the equation."

"Carter …"

"Abby. That's the one thing I'm sure of. I don't know how everything else is gonna get worked out. But no matter what I want to be a part of this child's --our child's-- life. I don't care what else it might cost me. It's my baby."

With that, he leans down and plants a kiss on my belly. For a long moment, he stays that way, lips touching the bulge, eyes closed. Then he softly lays his head down, his cheek pressed up against my bare stomach. Dammit, if he didn't get me again. I hate this. Why can't I resist him? But I can't. No matter how hard I try.

"Okay," I say, finding my hand, almost of it's own volition, coming to rest on top of his head.

"Okay, what?" He asks, turning his head to look at me.

"Okay … we'll find a way to do this together."

"Really?" His whole face lights up and if he had a tail, I'm sure he'd be wagging it.

I heave another sigh. I hope to hell I won't regret this later. "Yeah."

"Thank you." His voice is quiet and close to tears. "You won't be sorry." There he goes, reading my mind again.

"I hope not."

"I promise … Abby?"

"Yeah?"

"What made you decide?"

"That look on your face just now. When you kissed my belly. I realized … you already love it, too. I didn't think that anyone else in the world would just automatically love this baby the way I do. But you do. And I don't … I don't want to deny this baby that kind of love. It wouldn't be fair. To any of us. But John? You can't change your mind."

"I won't."

"It's forever."

"I know that."

"No matter what."

"It's my child, Abby. It's my responsibility, but it's not a burden. It's what I want to do. It's what I want to do more than anything. It doesn't matter what else is going on in our lives … the baby will come first."

"Yeah, but you …"

"It's doesn't matter, Abby. I'll find a way to work it out. But I can promise you that this child will be taken care of. And I'm gonna be there for her no matter what?"

"Her? You have a feeling or did you see something on that sonogram?"

"More like I just picked a pronoun. I didn't want to keep calling our baby 'it.' Our baby. Wow. I still can't believe it."

"Tell me about it. I've known for two months, and I still can't believe it."

"We're gonna have a baby," he says, turning his face back toward my belly so that he can plant more kisses and whisper sweet nothings to the baby.

"Yeah, we're gonna have a baby." I just hope I'm not making the biggest mistake of my life. But maybe I'm not. Not if Carter's apparent instant attachment to the baby is any indication. He still seems to want nothing more than to use my stomach as a pillow.

"Hi, baby," he whispers again. "I'm … your daddy. So get used to this voice, you'll be hearing a lot of it from now on. At least, if I have anything to say about it. I'm sorry I didn't know about you sooner … but I know now, and that's all that matters. But I promise I'm not gonna miss out on anything else if I can help it. And even if I can't always be here … I'll be here for you." He pulls himself away from the baby for a minute to look at me. "I mean that, Abby. I'm not gonna let you or the baby down. I promise."

I want so much to believe that. But I'm not sure that I can. I know he has the best of intentions, but … But I don't bring it up, I just smile. "I know."

"You said yourself that I'm gonna be a good dad."

"I'm sure you are."

"I'm gonna do it for this baby, Abby. Because it's what I want for myself, but mostly because it's what I want for the baby. Two parents. I know it won't be perfect, but it'll be okay. And at least the baby will always know that she has a mom and a dad to love her."

"There you go with that 'she' thing again. I'm starting to think we should have looked." He just shrugs and puts his head back down on its favorite resting place. "You gonna stay like that all night?"

"If you'll let me."

"I don't think I could stop you."

"Probably not."

"Then I guess I won't even try. Besides, it wouldn't be right to come between a daddy bonding with his baby, would it?"

"Hey, you just called me daddy."

"Well, that's what you want to be, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, then …"

I can feel the smile that spreads across his face. I can feel a smile spread across my face, in spite of myself. For a while we stay that way, not talking or moving, just … being. Finally, I seem to be relaxed enough to fall asleep, and find myself drifting off. That's why, when I first feel something, that it doesn't register. It seems like part of a dream at first. But then, I suddenly realize that I'm not asleep yet. I sit up abruptly, knocking Carter off his cherished position.

"What's wrong?" he asks instantly, looking around somewhat bewildered. I guess I wasn't the only one on the edge of sleep. "Abby?" He's staring at my hand on my belly.

"I felt something."

"What? What is it? Cramps? Pain?" He sounds alarmed, understandably.

"No, no. It's nothing like that. I'm fine. I just felt … something."

"What? What did it feel like?"

I find myself giggling as I tell him, "It felt like gas."

"You have gas?" He looks confused.

"No. It just felt like gas."

"So you are having cramps?" He's back to sounding alarmed.

"No. Not gas pains, just, you know … like when you get a little bubble. You feel it, but it doesn't hurt."

"So what is it?"

"It's the baby. I can feel it."

"The baby?" he echoes, sounding dumbfounded. And then he smiles at me. "Is this the first time?"

"Yeah."

"And I was here for it."

"It's lucky that it happened tonight."

"I'll say." His hand takes the place of mine on my stomach.

"You're not gonna be able to feel anything," I remind him. "I can barely feel it, it'll be weeks until it's strong enough for you to feel."

"I know. But I can still feel your round belly. And know that my baby's in there. And at least you can feel it moving around now."

"Sort of. Mostly it's just little flutterings … but, especially after what happened tonight, I'm so glad I can feel something … even if it's just flutters. Now I really know that everything's all right."

"I keep telling you that everything's fine," he says lightly, teasing me.

"I know. And I could see for myself on the sonogram. But feeling it … I don't know. Somehow that's different. More reassuring, I guess. Because …"

"You can feel it?" I can't tell if he's teasing me or not.

"Yeah, Literally and figuratively. And it's a way to always know that everything's okay without constantly running for the sonosite."

"Lucky you."

"Don't worry, I'll keep you informed."

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"There it was again. See?"

"Did you really feel something?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"I'm glad I was here for it."

"I told you didn't miss anything important. You got to be here for the first big moment."

"Just so long as I'm here for the rest."

My sentiments exactly. "As long as you will be, I'll let you."

"As long as you let me, I will be." I roll my eyes at that. "So what does that mean? Do we have a deal?"

"More like a truce."

"A truce? Were we fighting?"

I give him a look.

"Okay, okay. A truce. And a deal. Right?"

"Right …"

"As long as I'm involved, you'll let me be involved?"

"Something like that. I guess."

"Not exactly dripping with enthusiasm, but I'll take it." He looks at me for a moment, his eyes growing serious. "Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me. You have a right. I'm just glad you don't hate me … for keeping it from you."

"I could never hate you. Besides, I think I know why you didn't tell me. So … thanks for that, too."

"You don't have to thank me for that either. Just … keep your promise."

"I will. You don't have to worry about that. I'm not gonna do anything to hurt the baby. I'm not going anywhere."

"I've heard that before."

"I'm not gonna disappear on you again. Not this time." I don't have a response so I just look at him. "You don't believe me."

"I want to. But I don't know if I can take a chance on that. Not when there's more than just my feelings to consider. I can stand it, but a kid …"

"I wish I knew how I could convince you. I wish I knew what I could say."

"There isn't anything you can say. It's just gonna take … time."

"To prove myself?"

"I guess."

"Well, I'm just glad to have the chance." He settles down on the pillow next to me, leaving his hand on my belly.

"Me too," I say, although I don't think my meaning is quite the same as his. Then again, maybe I do have something to prove … to myself if no one else. And this will be a chance to do just that. But this time, I don't have much choice but to get it right. And I will. No matter what. Even if it means letting Carter back into my life, taking another chance on him. I'm just so grateful for the opportunity to have this child in my life, that I couldn't very well deny him the same opportunity. It wouldn't be fair. Not to him or me. But mostly not to the baby. And he's right; no matter what else happens, we have to put the baby first. For me that means giving John a chance to prove himself, even if it means risking the possibility that he won't come through on all the promises he made. I'm pretty sure that I can do that. I'm going to do that. For the baby. I know I can do whatever it takes to make sure this child has what it needs. And watching him now, leaning down again to talk to my belly with a goofy smile on his face, I think that maybe he can do it, too, whatever else it might cost him. I certainly hope that he can because even though I didn't want to let it happen, even though I didn't want to need him … we're counting on him now.