Sorry for the delay! I'll update sooner! I promise!

(I own nothing.)

She was of course very reluctant about going to the hospital. He had gotten her into the car and buckled up before she began to fight him with desperate pleadings.

He sighed when he saw her tears, and knelt on the floorboard in front of her. He gently lifted the collar of her shirt and examined the skin. She was blistered, and purple. When he touched the irritated skin, she hissed with pain. But he had to admit; it looked no worse than a bad case of sunburn in need of few pounds of aloe.

So after a trip to a nearby pharmacy, she was lying on the hotel bed again. He dabbed cold green liquid on her burnt chest and arms. She occasionally whimpered when he pressed too hard. She stared at his worried face as he tended to her and smiled softly.

"Thank you." She murmured, closing her eyes.

He looked up for just a moment and nodded, before continuing.

///

They didn't drive that day. He let her sleep. He let her relax, and take as many, reasonably warm, showers as she needed. He turned on the television, and turned on a classic movie for her to watch. She loved Humphrey Bogart. And that didn't change. Her eyes lit up when he sauntered into the shot, smoking a cigarette in his trademark fashion.

The moment happened when he had just begun to nod off in the middle of Casablanca. He didn't even realize she was looking at him until she spoke.

"I'm sorry about your plates." She whispered.

He blinked, and turned to look at her after a moment. She quickly reverted her gaze to her fingers. She was biting her lip.

"My plates?" He yawned and sat up.

"You really liked them. And I broke them."

His jaw opened and closed multiple times. He knew exactly what she was referring to, but he couldn't fully register. "Oh…Emma." He gasped, sitting up and turning to face her as he spoke. "I don't give a damn about those plates!"

"I wouldn't have overreacted like that, but I had just gotten back from the doctor and…"

He interrupted her, "No honey, I overreacted! I mean way too…" He stopped when he realized what she had said. He turned down the television and sat up. "What happened at the doctor?" He demanded. She looked up at him and took a deep breath.

"I was pregnant." She whispered. Her voice was soft, hesitant. His eyes went as wide as hers, a great feat. She answered his unspoken question. "I had found out a few weeks before the…" She trailed off and swallowed a bit.

"What? Why didn't you tell me?" He gasped, wanting so much to reach out and touch her. Hold her. But it was still too soon.

"I wanted to be sure before getting your hopes up again." She sat up as well, trying not to let the tears pricking the back of her eyes win. "I wanted to make sure it was a REAL baby. When I went to the doctor the first time, he said I was in fact pregnant…I didn't know what to do though! I thought I would be happy…but I was scared you would think I was lying…" She choked back a sob.

"Emma! I would never think that! I already told you that you could NEVER do that." He tried his hardest not to scold her.

"Please Will, let me finish…I don't know how much longer I can go…" She whimpered. He nodded, clamped his jaw shut. Watched her in anticipation.

"The morning of the fight…I was at school…my stomach started hurting. I went to the bathroom…I was bleeding." She covered her mouth and shuttered as another sob wracked her frail form. "I went to the doctor…I had…a…" She couldn't continue. But he knew.

He couldn't hold back any longer. He pulled her into his arms and buried his face into her hair to hide the shock, the pain, on his face. She had gone through this alone. She hadn't gotten to tell him. "Oh…god…I'm sorry…" He whispered into her ear.

"He said it was a Chromosomal Abnormality…My immune system…rejected…rejected our baby!" She was practically yelling over her own sobs. Her cries were deafening to both of them.

He pulled back and held her by her shoulders. "Emma! It's not your fault!" He told her firmly. "It's common…it could happen to anyone…" He didn't know what he could say to make it better.

"I was going to tell you! I didn't want to keep it from you!" She promised, trying to compose herself. Clinging to his arms for dear life. "I wanted to make you dinner…I was going to make the lasagna you like…but then a roach came out from under the dishwasher while I was emptying it. When I dropped the plates…it sunk in…"

Will's jaw dropped as he absorbed what she was telling him. He couldn't even fathom what she had been going through. He had made things so much worse for her. "Em…Emmy…" He began to choke up. "Sweetheart I'm so sorry…" He gasped pulling her to him again and rocking her back and forth.

"I left…I couldn't tell you…you said you wanted to leave me because I broke plates…"

"It wasn't the plates!" He reiterated. "I'll tell you later. But believe me, there are other damn plates with fucking tulips!"

"They were daisies." She corrected. He chuckled—a small chuckle. It had him smiling nonetheless. He held her for what seemed like hours, until she spoke again. "I drove and drove…got gas…and drove…and drove…" She repeated the mantra until she dozed off in his arms.

Her face was swollen from crying, her skin was still heated from burns. But she was in his arms. Finally.