A/N: Thank you guys for reviewing to that last chapter, I know it was really short and not very eventful and I really appreciate you guys taking the 2 seconds it took to read it lol. This chapter is again from Emily's POV because it basically leaves off the last sentence of the previous chapter. FYI: Spoilers for episode 4x17 Thanks for reading, XOXO!

"A man nearly always loves for other reasons than he thinks. A lover is apt to be as full of secrets from himself as is the object of his love from him."
-Ben Hecht

Ian never came to bed that night. She awoke the next day to an empty bed, his side still made up. Slightly concerned she slithered out of bed in her black satin pajamas, putting her slippers on she called out for him. "Ian?" Silence greeted her, he wasn't there. She walked to the French doors that led to the balcony and stepped outside. Looking around she saw gardeners and housekeepers fluttering around but saw no sign of Ian.

Walking back inside she decided to look in the one place she'd always been able to find him before. His study. She walked downstairs silently, nodding to the maids that passed her in the hallway. Knocking, she heard nothing. Looking around her to make sure no one was watching, she tried the handle. Locked. She pulled her hair pin that had her messy bun held up and tried again. To her surprise the door popped open… She walked into a room that stunk of booze and stale puke. The strong odor of Whiskey and bourbon burned her nose. What the hell had been going on in here? She looked around for Ian and found him lying on the couch bottle of Jameson clutched to his chest. Wondering if he knew just how vulnerable he was making himself to an attack by drinking himself stupid. She covered her nose and walked over to him, just to make sure he was still breathing, suddenly he snored loudly and she jumped before she hightailed it out and shut the door behind her.

It was one thing for Ian to drink because he was upset, it was another to drink himself comatose and from the smell and sight, throw several bottles of liquor against the walls. Either he felt so horrible about what he'd done to her, or he was so angry at her for refusing to have his baby. She was puzzled, her inner profile said that Ian was a sociopath, and could feel no empathy but she knew differently. He did feel pain, love, and hurt, like others. He just dealt with it differently. But, could their conversation really have angered him this much that he would drink himself into oblivion?

Sighing in frustration because she didn't know what to do, she didn't want to confront Ian while he was drunk, but she could hardly let him lie there in his own vomit and sweat. She groaned before turning back around to go back inside. He was going to be pissed that she broke in, but she had to. Although he was an asshole, she was a better person than him. She walked into the rank, dark room. She approached him, almost tip toe-ing. She crouched down next to the couch. "Ian?" She said quietly. No answer, he just roused enough to grasp the bottle tighter and turned onto his side to face her. "Ian!" She said a little more loudly His eyelids fluttered open. "IAN! Look at me!" She said firmly.

"Emily?" Ian rasped.

"Yes, it's me Emily. I need you to open your eyes." She said again. Ian forced his eyelids open, his eyes rolling back a little. "Ian, how much have you had to drink?" Emily asked. He looked at her squinting his eyes as though he was trying to see far away.

"Uhhh…A lot." Of course. That was a stupid question, She thought rolling her eyes.

"Ok Let's get you upstairs. Think you can get into the shower?" She asked eyebrow raised. He nodded barely. She helped him sit up, swaying as he went. This was going to be difficult. After what seemed like hours, they made it, stumbling and tripping, up the stairs, into the bedroom. She helped him undress, as he leered pervertedly. She got her revenge though, when she shoved him into a freezing cold shower. Minutes later, he was coherent enough to curse loudly and turn the water to hot. She sat on the toilet bouncing her legs up and down. She didn't know what he would be like half sober, whether or not he was still angry about their conversation earlier… After minutes of awkward silence she said, "Ian?" so quietly she almost didn't herself over the noise of the shower.

After a tense second, she thought he was ignoring her.

"Yes, Emily?" He said tiredly. She sat up straighter in surprise; she hadn't really expected an answer.

"Um, are you ok?" She asked, but that wasn't really her question.

"I'm fine."

"I—Well, I was wondering, Are… Are you still mad at me? You know about, last night?"

Silence…

"I-Ian?" She asked quietly.

"Emily. Stop talking please." Ian said tersely. Oh, still mad… she thought.

"Oh, okay." She sat there picking at her fingernails. Now's the time! She thought nervously to herself. She didn't want to keep it a secret anymore, not if this was going to put stress on an already fragile "relationship" so to call it. She took a deep breath. "Listen, Ian… I—I need to tell you something. You know, about the ba-baby thing." She stammered quickly before he could stop her.

The water shut off. She held her breath in angst. She had thought maybe the best time would be now, while he was slow moving, tired, hungover, thinking maybe he would be more receptive, less defensive, while his mind was on recovery road. Now, she was worried that being tired, hungover, he would be more prone to irrationality and possibly violence…

"What do you mean?" He said slowly as he reached out to grab the towel from the wall. She was glad that the partial wall separated the toilet from the shower, so he couldn't see her biting her nails and grimacing. She was shaking her legs like a nervous crack addict and she took a slow breath before she replied and said, "You don't know me as well as you think you do…"

"Meaning…" he said still drying off in the shower.

"Well, you remember telling you about my childhood friend Matthew? From Italy?" She said shakily.

"Yes…" Ian said, he didn't seem to like where this was going. Emily didn't either. She was tired of hiding this secret and she hated admitting it to others even more. Her eyes welled with tears as she bit her lip.

"Ian, when I was 15, oh, god… Ian, I uh, I was pregnant." She sniffed. This was harder than she had planned. She had no idea how he would take this. He stepped out of the shower, still unable to see her, but she heard the thud of his bare feet on the floor mat.

"So you had his baby?" Ian said tight jawed. "If you had a baby, Emily, where is it?"

"Ian, I didn't have a baby!" She cried. "I had an abortion!" she said before breaking down entirely. "Matthew wasn't the father… Matthew took me to have it done, he took me into the doctor, and then he- he walked me into the church on Sunday morning. Ian, I just—I was 15, I couldn't tell my parents, I couldn't tell anyone!" She pleaded, as he stepped around the corner. She'd expected anger, as he was deeply religious, but instead she saw an expression of confusion, and maybe compassion… "I—I just don't know how I could have another baby, with anyone, when I couldn't even keep—" She started hyperventilating. Ian's silence was scaring her, but she hiccupped and continued, "Ian, how can I have your baby? When I k-killed my first?" She whispered, looking up at him eyes bloodshot and leftover mascara running down her cheeks. He stood there staring at her for what seemed like a lifetime, before she broke his gaze, looking away biting her lip.

"Ian, please, please…say something." She begged…