A/N: There's some cursing in this chapter. I think I'll be done with chapter 11 by Sunday night. Thanks so much for the reviews. They make my day. Oh, and nyklm, the shirt Grace wears in Luke's dream is in reference to chapter 9 of WOJB when she's wearing one of his shirts to sleep in.

Disclaimer: I've never been in this situation, so I could be talking completely out the side of my head. All I ask is that you trust me (and tell me if I'm way off base).

Chapter Theme Song: None because I think this is the kind of scene that should let the emotion sing for itself.

She'd never been so nervous in her life. Grace gradually reached her hand out to the slim, plastic stick as if it were a poisonous snake ready to strike at a moment's notice. "You're being ridiculous," she scolded herself. "So what if the appearance of one or two lines will change your life forever? You're going to find out eventually. Eventually may as well be now."

Taking a sharp, deep breath, Grace picked up the stick and forced herself to look at it. Her breath came out in a hard puff. One line meant no. Two meant yes. There were two lines.

Eyes riveted to the stick, Grace didn't even notice that she'd sunk to the bathroom floor. Her mind wouldn't wrap itself around the idea of being pregnant. She couldn't be pregnant. Pregnancy, when successful, led to a baby. Or babies. Her cousin Isaac's wife had had triplets the first time she'd gotten pregnant. Suddenly, Grace saw herself pushing a triple stroller with three squalling infants with wire-rimmed glasses and forced down the urge to hurl.

This couldn't be happening. She didn't want kids. They were okay in doses. She'd enjoyed hanging out with them yesterday at Joan and Adam's housewarming, but one of the great things about it was that she could give them back when they got on her nerves. You had to be patient to have children. Patient and warm and affectionate. Joan could have kids. She'd like wrapping them in her arms and playing with them and kissing them, telling them bedtime stories and soothing their fears when they had evil koala bear dreams. But Grace was . . . well, Grace. She wasn't patient or warm or affectionate. She'd worked hard not to be at great personal price.

Tears of fear and frustration glittered in her eyes. She didn't want this. She couldn't be pregnant. They'd been careful. But the little stick had two lines and she had her suspicions of the last week. The suspicion that her night with Luke would not be so easy to bury or hide.

"Fuck," she cried and threw the stick across the small bathroom. "Damn it!" The tears spilled down her face now, hot and fast, but she didn't care. She was trapped now: pregnant by a man she didn't want to be bound to with a father who'd never forgive her if she got rid of it. Grace laughed bitterly as she laid her head on her raised knees. Her father would forgive her, in time, if she got an abortion. He'd forgiven Rachel. But her family had finally managed to get past all of the shit that had separated them for years. If she got an abortion, it would set them back at least eleven years. She knew this for a fact. There was family precedent.

But then, an abortion wasn't really an option for her anyway. Grace fully believed that a woman should have the right to choose, but the good little Jewish girl she'd been raised to be detested the idea as a personal choice. What right did she have to "get rid" of it just because she was scared and the pregnancy was unplanned? How could she selfishly and cavalierly deprive the fetus inside her of the chance to live just because it meant that Luke would definitely become a part of her life then?

Because he would. Grace knew without a doubt that Luke would insist on being involved, being a part of the pregnancy and a part of the child's life and, by extension, a part of her life. It was hard enough protecting him (and her) from the disaster a relationship between them was bound to be without him being around all the time. And he would be around all the time. Because he was a good person, a good man, and he'd be a good father. How would she be able to resist him if he was around constantly, being himself and chipping away at her wall? She needed her wall. Luke and a baby would wear it away bit by bit until she was exposed and vulnerable and she wouldn't be that again. She'd learned her lessons the first time; she didn't need a second go around.

Grace balled her hands into fists were they lay on the floor, letting her short nails dig into her palms. She was panicking and she knew it. Panicking wouldn't help and it wouldn't change anything. She needed to think clearly. The pain helped. It pushed back the uncertainty and the anxiety and the tiny part of her that she refused to acknowledge that wanted to rub her stomach and smile and giggle at the prospect of having Luke's kid. "You don't love him. You don't know him. He's not the same person you knew in high school and, even if he were, you're both past that now." She whispered the words to herself, hoping that saying them aloud would help the sentiment ring true in her mind.

You love his essence, a voice whispered through her mind. You love his silent promise of completeness. He'll show you how to be whole. You want that. Why won't you admit it? Why won't you let him in?

"This has nothing to do with that," she muttered fiercely. "And it's not true anyway."

Adam was right. If you let him, he'll heal you.

"Shut up." She was trembling with her conflicting thoughts and pressed her clenched fists to her knees like she was trying to hold herself together. Grace focused on emptying her mind. Don't think about it, not yet anyway. Wait until later, after she'd eaten and the idea had time to sink in. Then she'd think about how to tell her father and Luke and everybody else. Then she'd think about what she was going to do with a baby.

Grace wiped her eyes and blew her nose before getting up and going to her bedroom. She got in the bed, pulling the covers tightly around her, and closed her eyes. She was tired. So very tired. She couldn't think about this now. As sleep tugged at her eyes, she welcomed it. She'd think about the mess she was in later. She yawned. Later. And then sleep claimed her.