Dear readers, I have one piece of advice for you: Go see the Woman in Black, but for the love of all things holy, do not do it alone. I'm permanently scarred by that movie even if it was amazing.

But that's beside the point :D thank you to all my lovely reviewers, your comments bring a smile to my face every time x3 I hope you enjoy the chapter, don't forget to tell me what you think of it at the end!

(oh, and shameless self promoting time! Go check out my new one-shot, it's a Frank-Amy-Gerard love triangle based of a Panic! at the Disco song. I'm sure I've got some Panic fans reading this XD)

CHAPTER 14: LIE TO ME, CONVINCE ME I'VE BEEN SICK FOREVER

June 14, 2013

Hawthorne Towers Apartment Complex, Battery City, California

7:45 AM

"Mmm…five more minutes…" Chester groaned, snuggling closer to Amy. "We've got time…"

"Chaz, you're going to be late," his fiancée giggled. Still, she didn't make an effort to disentangle herself from his warm embrace.

"Who cares?" he murmured, leaning in to kiss her neck lightly. He nipped at the soft skin, causing Amy to gasp in surprise and pleasure. Hot breath blew across the damp spot as he whispered, "And I don't want to leave you."

"Oh God, Chester," she breathed, flipping over so that she was facing him. "Didn't you get enough last night?"

"I can never get enough of you," he replied hungrily. Amy turned her face up, seeking contact with his lips, and her arms twined around his neck, holding him to her.

"Then come here, you," she whispered seductively, licking her lips and smirking. "I'm—"

But a loud beeping from their bedside table cut her words off. Amy groaned and flipped over, hitting the off button with one outstretched arm.

"Ugh," she moaned, sitting up. "We really do have to get up, Chester."

"But…" he protested weakly. He watched as Amy stood up, the covers falling away from her pale body to reveal she still wore only the black lingerie he remembered so well from the night before.

"No buts," she murmured, placing a finger over his lips. "We've both got work, and you know it."

Chester couldn't suppress a moan as Amy turned her back and walked into the closet, her slim hips wiggling just a bit more than normal. Those black panties left nothing to the imagination, and after that almost-kiss just a few moments ago…

"Cockblocking piece of shit," he muttered at the alarm clock.

"Come on, Chaz, you've only got half an hour!" Amy shouted from the walk-in closet.

Chester groaned and stretched his arms over his head. The tattoos on his forearms rippled. "Coming, coming," he called out.

Amy emerged from the closet, fully clothed, just as he stood. Her eyes immediately flickered down to the front of his boxers. "Somebody's excited today," she giggled.

"Are you going to do anything about it?" he asked suggestively, raising an eyebrow.

"No time," she reminded him, stepping closer. She let one finger trail down his bare chest, gliding over his smooth skin and flat stomach. "Tonight," she whispered in his ear, letting her tongue flick out to touch his earlobe. Her teeth lightly clamped onto the soft skin.

"Oh my God, Amy," he moaned. His head tipped back against his will so his neck was exposed to her.

She laughed again. "Now go get ready," she commanded, placing a hand on his cotton-covered ass and pushing him towards the closet.

"Tease," he shouted. All the same, he stepped into the small room and began to pull clothes on.

"Hey, I wouldn't be talking after last night!" she called back jokingly.

Chester grinned and turned to the rack of clothes in front of him. It was mostly what he had saved from before the fire, but once every other week, he received a new item of clothing from Better Living along with his rations of food, water, batteries and other necessities. Amy got slightly smaller rations than him, as his position of construction worker was deemed more important and dangerous than hers as a secretary at the Better Living office building. But it was more than enough for the two. Their life wasn't particularly hard—in fact, it was as close to perfect as it could be.

He hummed as he pulled on the flannel shirt and ripped-up jeans he wore to work every day. The tune was familiar to both him and Amy—Give Me Your Name, the song he had written for her during that time spent in the basement. It had quickly become the favorite thing he had ever written. Amy loved it when he sang it to her at night, usually as they lay in bed together trying to fall asleep.

"Twenty minutes!" Amy called out as she entered the closet, grabbing her only pair of pumps and pulling them onto her feet. She rested one hand on Chester's shoulder to steady herself.

"Thank you, alarm clock," Chester responded, amused.

"Just trying to make sure we're not late," she responded cheekily, pecking him on the cheek before hopping back out of the closet, still clutching the heel of one of her shoes and shoving it onto her foot.

Chester chuckled and watched as she dashed around the room, throwing her hair into a neat bun with one hand and brushing her teeth with the other. This frantic ritual was repeated nearly every morning, because no matter how hard they tired, they never managed to get themselves out of bed on time. Amy usually blamed it on the fact that Chester was often horny when he woke up. But how could he help it? After waking up each morning next to such a sexy girl…

Said sexy girl had just run off to the kitchen, and Chester decided he had better follow her before she hurt herself. Amy was a horrible cook. She managed to burn nearly everything edible she touched, including water (How? Don't ask Chester; he honestly didn't want to know.)

"I'm just making cereal," she informed him as he walked in warily.

"Oh good." He grinned. "I don't want to have to deal with another fire so early in the morning…"

"Shut up, you." Amy stuck her tongue out.

"Careful, or I'm going to have to kiss that again…"

Chester advanced on Amy, who squealed "Chester! Stop it!" as he placed his hands on the counter on either side of her, trapping her against the surface.

"This is for not finishing what you started," he whispered huskily before dipping his head down so his forehead was pressed to hers.' Slowly, sensually, he pressed his soft lips to her own, pressing her closer to the counter. She leaned back and into the kiss. Her head tilted, exposing her throat, her lips bloomed open—

Chester pulled away and grinned. "Who's the tease now?"

Amy whimpered angrily and turned back to the cabinet, throwing an annoyed look at her fiancé. "That was completely unnecessary," she growled.

"Doesn't mean I didn't enjoy it," he winked.

After enduring a few more minutes of her boyfriend's sexual teasing as he ate, Amy hurried him out the door, blowing him a quick kiss and yelling "See you tonight! Love you!" down the hall. She watched him enter the elevator, waving as the door slid closed, and then shut the door to their own apartment, sighing. There were fifteen minutes before she had to lock the doors to their home and cross the street to where Better Living Industries headquarters, otherwise known as Kanpeki Center, loomed over their own apartments. It had been the second building to be repaired—Chester himself had helped to build it—and in an effort to further normalize their lives, Amy had applied for a secretarial job as soon as the announcements for workers wanted went out. She and thirty-nine other women had been hired to sit at desks in the office building all day, helping the Better Living executives with typing, filing, recording and whatever else menial tasks they were required to do. In return, the government took care of them, providing everything they needed to live comfortably. It was a trade-off that was definitely worth it.

Amy kicked off her pumps and lay down on their grungy couch (dragged over from the basement.) A sudden wave of queasiness had washed over her. She hoped to God she wasn't sick—Better Living was supposedly supplying health care for all their employees, but there weren't exactly a lot of medical products left in the new world. What they did have was carefully stockpiled and sold for exorbitantly high prices at the few Better Living convenience stores that had cropped up around the city. The new system ran on credits, a few of which Amy and Chester each received on their payday, and extra food, clothes, furniture and medicine were sold in the stores. Medical products were the most expensive of all the items sold—it would cost her nearly a month's worth of credits to buy a pain reliever.

Sighing, she decided she would just have to suffer through it. Skipping a day of work would cost her a day's worth of food pay, something she and Chester absolutely couldn't afford to lose. Anyway, it was just a stomachache—no big deal. She would make it. She'd already lived through the apocalypse, how much worse could this be?

With a groan, Amy raised herself from the couch, sliding her feet back into the uniform black pumps issued to her by Better Living when she was hired. They were uncomfortably high, but they at least went with the rest of her professional-looking wardrobe that she had been given.

She paced over to the door, heels clicking, and pulled it shut behind her. The key clicked in the lock. Wincing with pain, she called up the elevator and made her way out of the building and onto the partially destroyed but bustling street. It was the only part of the city that looked alive these days. Almost everything important was located within a few blocks of each other—Kanpeki Center; Hawthorne Towers, where all the employees lived; New World Plaza, the basis of the new community; and all of the buildings Chester and his fellow construction workers were in the process of repairing. Hopefully, with time, the area would once again become a fully functioning civilization.

The teenage girl waved at the doorman as she entered, smiling brightly against the pain in her stomach, and took the elevator to her office on the twentieth floor. It was the second-to-top level in the building (and as far as she knew, the top floor wasn't used) and it had the best view of the city she could ask for.

"Morning, Sharon!" she called to the other secretary on the floor.

"Good morning, Amy!" Sharon, a kind woman in her late twenties, answered back. She and Amy had become quick friends, as often it was only the two of them in the outer office area of the twentieth floor. Many of the important executives held jobs on this floor and they were more often than not in some serious meeting or other, leaving their offices mostly quiet. Sharon and Amy had always filled the silence with talk about themselves. She had learned that Sharon was newly married about a year before the disaster and she had a seven-month-old son—her family had survived by seeking shelter in her parents' wine cellar.

Amy dropped her coat over the back of her chair, pulling her Better Living-issued laptop out of her bag and booting up one of the precious few computers left in Battery City. She perched delicately in the desk chair and smiled at Sharon over the top of the cubicle. "Did you have a good weekend?"

"It was nice," she agreed, her fingers already flying over the keyboard. "How's Chester?"

"He's…" Amy sighed happily, a blissful expression spreading across her face. "He's Chester."

Sharon raised an eyebrow. "Did you do anything special?"

Well, they had, but Amy technically shouldn't tell Sharon about it. Under the new Better Living laws, it was illegal for anyone under 21 to have sex in an effort to keep the new society morally correct, but Amy and Chester did live together. They were engaged, after all, and they had protection. Chester had gone to great lengths to get contraband condoms from another man at work, who in turn had them shipped in from his cousin in New York where Better Living's laws and influence had not yet spread. They knew there were harsh consequences if the government found out, and even harsher if Amy became pregnant, but as long as they kept it secret—and neither of them planned on telling anyone, that was for sure—they would be safe.

"Nothing much," she giggled casually. "Just went to the park, and he made dinner on Saturday. He's the sweetest boy ever, you know that?"

"Ah, young love is so cute," Sharon teased. Amy simply grinned in response.

The morning passed quickly and without much incident. Amy's stomachache had subsided somewhat, leaving her hungry, but she shook it off and spent the time both productively at work and talking with her friend as she typed. At twelve-thirty, their lunch break rolled around, and Amy gladly pulled out a sandwich, setting her computer in standby mode.

"Someone's hungry today," Sharon laughed as Amy's stomach growled. The younger girl smiled cheekily.

At that moment, Sharon stuck her lunch in the small microwave along the back counter, sending the strong scent of reheating spices wafting through the air. The smell hit Amy like a battering ram and sent shockwaves to her stomach. Suddenly, the pain in her abdomen returned full force. She felt food rising in her throat.

"Shit," she gasped, and covered her mouth with one hand.

"What?" Sharon asked. But Amy was already making a frantic dash towards the bathroom, one hand on her stomach and the other clutching her mouth. She didn't even have the time to shut the door before she was leaning over the toilet, retching her guts violently into the porcelain bowl. Between heaves, she gasped for air, moving her long hair away from her face to keep it out of the vomit.

"Amy!" Sharon called from just outside the door. Her voice was shot through with worry.

The young girl gulped weakly, managing to yell out "H-hold on a min—" before another wave of nausea washed over her body, wracking it with shudders as she retched again.

After a few minutes, the heaving finally stopped coming and Amy collapsed against the tiled wall, completely exhausted, feeling disgusting and with the bitter taste of bile lingering in her mouth. Sharon tentatively pushed the door open and handed her a water bottle.

"Thanks," Amy whispered weakly, gladly downing the cool liquid.

"Do you have a fever?" the woman responded, laying a hand against her forehead. It was cool, but not abnormally so.

"Probably just a bug, then," Sharon concluded after asking a few more questions of the tired girl still slumped against the wall. "You should probably go home, Amy—I can finish your work for you."

"But my job…" the younger girl protested weakly.

"You're sick," Sharon said firmly. "You need to be at home. I can cover for you, don't worry. Just feel better, honey."

"Thanks, Shar," she smiled, hugging her lightly.

"Get better soon," the older woman responded, gathering Amy's things together quickly. Amy gratefully accepted them and hurried out of the building, waving at Sharon one last time and clutching her stomach. It felt as if the organ was doing flips inside her body. What a time to get a stomach bug…it must have been something she ate. She quickly made her way back into the apartment she had left barely four hours ago, unlocking the door and stumbling into her bedroom even as she pulled off her work clothes. Gratefully, she instead pulled on one of Chester's oversized flannel shirts and her familiar blue jeans and laid down on the couch, flipping on the television for background noise.

Her stomach made another odd noise, and Amy groaned. She was so hungry…wait, she was hungry? How could she be hungry? She had been puking her guts out only five minutes ago!

But the young girl was overcome with a sudden craving for food, despite her sickness. She rose from the couch, determined to find something to cure the sudden hunger, but she sat back down with a thump. A wave of pain had suddenly struck her back. She nearly screamed with the pain.

What was happening to her?

Amy collapsed backwards onto the couch, laying one hand on her forehead limply. Her head pulsed with every heartbeat, her back ached like it would split apart any second, she was starving and moody, and to top it all off, she felt as if she would fall asleep any second. Desperately, she ran through the few illnesses she knew the symptoms of—it could just be a severe version of the flu, right? That had to be it. It wasn't serious.

Still, she should make sure. It took all of her determination to lift herself off of the couch again, the pain in her back almost too much to bear, and walk into the bedroom. She nearly fell into the desk chair and pulled her laptop out of her work bag. It was still on standby from earlier.

Thank God most of the internet still worked, Amy thought as she pulled up Google. She stared at the blinking cursor for a second, not sure exactly what to search, and then typed in nausea, headaches, fatigue. But apparently all of the illnesses known to man had those as their symptoms. According to a variety of websites, Amy could have anything from cholera to cancer. Sighing, she typed in more, adding cravings and backaches to the list.

The laptop whirred for a moment, and the page was blank white as the information loaded. The tapping of Amy's nails on the hardwood desk was abnormally loud, ringing through the small room as she waited. Finally, the page loaded, the screen filling with black-and-blue text.

Pregnancy.

She stared, shocked, at the headings: Am I Pregnant?. Early Signs of Pregnancy. Pregnancy Symptoms. Pregnancy Tips.

But that was impossible! She and Chester had used protection every single time, she'd made sure of it! The cursor shifted to the Next button as if it had a mind of its own. And it was still there: Early Pregnancy Symptoms, all over the page. Then, finally, Sugar Addiction Withdrawal Symptoms.

Yes, that must be it! Overwhelmed with relief, Amy gladly clicked the page heading. She wasn't sure she had ever really been addicted to sugar, but she hadn't had any in ages—it was a pretty rare commodity in Battery City. She was just suffering from sugar withdrawal.

But the more she read about sugar withdrawal, the more she realized that it didn't apply to her in the slightest. It definitely didn't induce vomiting, and the headaches were only occasional and if you'd previously been addicted to something else, like caffeine.

By now, the young girl was desperate. She clicked through nearly ten pages of results, but it was all the same. Early signs of pregnancy.

It couldn't apply to her. It wasn't possible. It couldn't be possible.

But she should check, just in case…

Amy left the computer on and open as she grabbed her coat and shoes, the words Signs of Pregnancy still blaring at her from across the room as she rushed out of the apartment again. The only place she could think of that she could find pregnancy tests would be one of Better Living's credit stores. The stores required I.D., but she was desperate—she would figure out the age restriction once she had gotten her hands on the test.

The young girl nearly ran across the street to the credit store, various body parts protesting with every heavy footfall. Her arms encircled her stomach protectively as she dashed. The door beeped pleasantly as it swung open, glass cool against her sweaty, nervous palms. The college-aged Asian woman behind the counter smiled brightly at her.

"May I help you?" she asked sweetly.

"Erm…" Amy summoned up a smile from deep inside herself. "I'm fine, thank you." Quickly, before the cashier could ask any more probing questions of her, she moved into the medical aisle.

Better Living's scavenging crew had pulled together a motley assortment of medications in the small aisle. She passed everything from dirty bottles of painkillers to high-end, glass case-type prescription medicine. At the very far end lay the pregnancy tests, just beyond—

Just beyond the tampons and pads.

Shit. Amy stood, locked in a stare-down with the plastic-wrapped products. She'd gotten the objects as a part of her monthly supplies from work, but never thought much of it, setting them aside in a bathroom cabinet for when she'd next need them. In the hustle and time it took her to get used to a schedule in her new life, she had completely forgotten she even had a period. Consequentially, she hadn't noticed that her monthly had completely stopped.

No. Fucking. Way.

Blindly, Amy snatched up a couple pink-and-green boxes, the bright, happy writing on the front proclaiming Pregnancy Test shining through the dirt and grime. She rushed back to the cashier with her head down and a black curtain of hair obscuring her young face from the world.

"Four credits," the Asian girl chirped. "Who should I charge it to?"

Shit. Shit shit shit. She couldn't charge it to herself, she was only seventeen—it would be illegal. Better Living would notice what she was buying, and they could track it back to her. She would be caught.

"A-Adrienne Nesser," Amy mumbled, naming her already-of-age half-sister. Adrienne was the only member of Amy's entire family that the girl knew to have survived. She'd seen Adrienne only once after the apocalypse, but she knew her part-sibling was trying to get a Better Living job as well.

Please, please, God, let her have gotten it already—let her have an account.

The woman keyed in a few words, pausing to confirm the spelling of 'Adrienne,' before pursing her lips and staring at the screen speculatively. She looked at Amy and checked the screen, repeating this process a few times before commenting, "There's no way you're twenty-three, dear."

Amy's face turned beet-red. "She's my—my sister," she muttered.

"And?"

"And what?" the young girl asked desperately.

"Why are you buying a pregnancy test under her name?"

"Er, well, you see…" she stumbled. "I'm—um—Adie's very shy. She's, um, not married, and she doesn't want to get a reputation, you see. She was too—too embarrassed. I told her I'd get one for her. She's—please, she's very scared. She needs to know. This could change her life."

Something about those last few words must have rung true with the cashier. Maybe it was the absolute truth Amy had unwittingly injected into them as she drew on her own feelings, but either way, she flashed the younger girl a sympathetic smile. "I'll let it go, then—but just the once," she cautioned.

Amy's worried expression broke into a massive, grateful smile. "Thank you so much," she breathed.

"Of course." The woman handed her the crinkly plastic bag with a conspiratorial grin. "And dear—" she called out as Amy pushed open the door to exit. The girl turned to look back.

"Tell Adrienne good luck from me," she winked.

Amy smiled weakly and gulped. She had a sneaking suspicion that 'Adrienne' would need all the luck she could get.

The boxes were out of the bag and the cardboard was ripped apart violently the second Amy was back through the door in her apartment. The object inside was a small and unassuming plastic stick, pink at one end and with faint pictures of a plus and a minus sign. It didn't look like it was capable of determining the fate of her life so completely.

The young girl noticed through her haze of fear that her hands were trembling violently. The box was shaking in her clutch, and the words blurred so much that she couldn't read the instructions. She took a deep breath, tilting her head back and closing her eyes. Her thoughts raced a mile a minute still, but she managed to collapse into one of the kitchen chairs and set the instructions on the table so she could read them properly.

1. Wash hands with water and soap.

Alright, easy enough. Amy got up again, making her way to the small bathroom and doing as the box said. She leaned against the counter as she read more.

2. Remove the testing device from its wrapper.

The plastic crinkled as she tore through the cellophane. It was almost deafening to her oversensitive ears in the deathly silent bathroom.

3. Sit down on the toilet.

She collapsed gratefully onto the seat, her hands wrapped into tight fists of fear.

4. Urinate on test.

Lovely. Still trying to calm her racing nerves, Amy followed the instructions.

5. Place test on flat, dry surface with result window facing up.

The small object determining her fate was put on the bathroom counter.

6. Wait five minutes for results to appear.

Wait?

That was the worst possible thing to come next! How could she wait for five whole minutes while her fate was determined before her eyes? The trembling returned tenfold, and Amy slid down the wall, her legs finally giving out. Her arms wrapped around her stomach involuntarily.

She would not cry.

At least, not yet.

Those five minutes were the most agonizing ones that the young girl had ever lived through. Her mind kept going over all of the symptoms and reasons she could be with child, and as hard as she tried to convince herself that she was starting to freak out over nothing, with every passing minute, she further convinced herself it was true.

And then the five minutes was finally up.

7. Check results. A blue negative sign indicates not pregnant, and a pink positive sign indicates pregnancy.

Blue negative sign, Amy thought. Blue negative sign. Not pregnant. Please, please, not pregnant.

Her hand didn't look like her own as it reached up above her head, feeling around for the stick. She shut her eyes tightly as she found it, her hand clasping around it.

On the count of three, I'll look.

Three…two…one…

There was a faint pink plus sign on the pink.

"No," she breathed. "NO!"

It wasn't possible. It wasn't possible. This was not happening to her.

But when she repeated the test with the other box, it came up positive, too. And the signs were there. She threw up again, but this time from nerves and not what she now knew to be morning sickness. All of the last dregs of energy were drained from her tired, pregnant body by this last bout of sickness, and she collapsed onto the couch with a bowl for any more vomit beside her. It was three-thirty—Chester would be home soon.

Shit.

At exactly four thirty-eight, a key clicked in the open door, then clicked again as he re-unlocked it. Chester's footsteps echoed through the empty foyer.

"Amy?" he called out tentatively. There was a faint note of confusion in his voice. She wasn't usually home until five at the earliest, so the deviation in schedule was unusual.

"In here," Amy called out weakly from the couch.

Without bothering to take off his shoes, Chester made his way through the tiny apartment to his sick fiancée. He knelt beside her, taking in her tired, haggard expression and the sick bowl next to the couch.

"Are you sick, honey?" he murmured, laying a hand on her forehead sympathetically.

"Um…sort of," she answered quietly.

Now was the time to tell him. She had to; she couldn't put it off any longer…

But Amy was too scared. She didn't know all the specifics of Better Living's anti-teen pregnancy laws, but she knew enough to realize how serious the consequences for both of them would be if they were caught.

"Sort of?" Chester's brow creased. He looked at Amy from under furrowed eyebrows, confused.

Tell him. Now.

But he could leave her for this…

"You can tell me everything, Amy," Chester whispered, stroking one hand through her long, tangled black hair calmingly. "We're best friends, remember? You can trust me with anything."

"I'm—Chester, I'm pregnant," she blurted out.

He reeled back, his hand dropping from her hair instantly. A look of shock spread across his face. This is it, Amy thought. He's leaving. He's breaking up with me for being a stupid girl.

But that shock wasn't replaced with horror and anger, as she had been so sure it would be. Instead, Chester looked up at her with eyes full of love and acceptance. He clasped her hands in his own.

"Amy, that's amazing," he exclaimed.

Amy shook her head and sat up, sure she had misheard him. "You—you're not breaking up with me?" she questioned, amazed.

Chester laughed. He actually laughed, still watching her with that unconditional, bare love filling his eyes. "Leave you? Never! Haven't you heard a word I said these past few months, Amy? I love you, and only you, and I love you forever. A baby won't change that. And anyway…" he squeezed her hands tightly. "It's not just yours. It's ours."

The young girl felt her eyes begin to fill with tears. She looked down at Chester, still disbelieving. He didn't break his gaze on her.

"You're its' mother, but I'm its' father, too," he whispered. "Half you and half me. Ours. And Ames, I know you'll make a wonderful mom."

Through her tears, Amy's smile was radiant. Chester reached up to wipe one away softly with his thumb.

"Can I do one thing?" he asked.

"Whatever you want," she answered. "I trust you."

With gentle hands, Chester pulled Amy's shirt up, exposing her pale stomach. She wasn't sure how she hadn't noticed the slight bulge that was already growing there, but it was certain that there was something living in there now. Her boyfriend moved forward slightly until he kneeled between Amy's parted legs. His ear pressed against her cool skin.

"Hey there, baby," he whispered. "It's your daddy."

And then a wonderful, beautiful, miraculous thing happened.

The baby kicked.

A massive smile split both Chester and Amy's faces simultaneously, and they both looked up from her stomach into each others' eyes.

"Amy, that's our baby," Chester whispered as if realizing it for the first time.

"Yes, Chaz, it is," she giggled.

"Our baby. Yours and mine."

"M-hm," she murmured. Her hands cradled her stomach protectively.

"We're going to be a family. A real family."

"You, me, and our baby," she responded.

"And there's not one person in the world I'd rather have a family with," he whispered huskily. His hands covered hers on her stomach as she leant in to press a long, sweet kiss to his lips.

And as they met, the baby kicked a second time as if in approval.