A/N: I hate it when work prevent me from writing. So that's what it does when I'm left with a day off. :D

14. What news is worse

Emie didn't wake up that day. Nor did she the following day, or the next, or the next.

She stayed off an entire week.

During that time, Henry had taken care of everything. He had made sure James would be awarded a personal grave, in which he placed one of Emie's ribbons – he was sure she would have appreciated the gesture – and on which he had placed a wooden cross.

And the days of the cavalry were over.

On the third day, Perkins had come to him, his face graver than ever, while he was changing Charlie's bandages.

They had been called elsewhere.

Back on the coast.

To supervise a hospital.

And who were they to refuse?

So when Emie finally opened her eyes, she was lying in a room much more foreign than her barracks' one.

"Henry!"

The doctor hurried back into his room at the desperate cry.

When he opened the door, he could see two things. One, Emie was awake, and could stand up pretty well. Second, she was puking in a bucket in one corner of the room.

He hurried at her side and held her head back, before handing her a canteen of water.

She turned her blonde head to him.

Her bangs covered her sweaty face, and she looked so miserable it made his heart twitch.

But she was still fierce.

"Where am I, Henry?"

He pulled her slowly back onto the bed and pushed a hand to her forehead, but she wasn't burning. Only sick. Which was odd, but not so much. After all, he had seen many other psychosomatic illnesses in his carrier.

"In Boulogne's hospital. That is where we have been assigned."

Her eyes assessed the light blue walls, the faint noises coming from outside, the paper wall standing in one corner of the room, the stained aprons in another. "How long?"

He sighed. "An entire week. I had to make you eat soup only, liquid things were the only sustains you swallowed. We were all concerned, you know."

"We? Who is we?"

"Well, Charlie, of course-" he hurried, seeing she was about to say something, "who is perfectly well and my new assistant for the time being, and Doctor Salomon, the other surgeon in this god forsaken place."

She sighed in relief. "Charlie has survived. Charlie is well." She seemed to be grabbing that thought more than any other.

And then another spasm took her, and she had to vomit again.

Once Emie had 'eaten' and drunk and after Henry had tended to her, making sure had no sequels of her long sleepy state, she dressed up and walked out of the room and into the personnel hallway.

Many white nurses were hurrying all around, gathering supplies, running in every direction, and it reminded Emie of her good old hospital back in the 2010s.

Except there wasn't a twenty acres wide morgue in that one.

Many of the patients were soldiers, as usual, as well as some local people who had been caught in crossfire.

Emie then learned that the cavalry thing had been abandoned, and that in place of that, each soldier had now firearms and fought in dug fields.

She wasn't sure which was the worst.

"No, Emie, that is out of the question!"

"Henry, I told you I was alright, now please let me do something useful!"

He shook his head one last time, under the gaze of one blushing Charlie. "I said no. You still need to work on your reflexes. For God's sake, Emie, you stayed under for a week!"

"And I survived!"

"I'm not sure your brain's ready to see many more corpses, is it?"

She shuddered but didn't surrender. "They won't be corpses once I've tended to them."

He sighed and rolled his eyes. "Tomorrow. As for today, you do paperwork."

"I've done paperwork all week!"

"And see how much good it has done you! Now, you're certain I don't lack anything in the operation room!"

She snorted at the sarcasm. "I swear, if you don't stick to your word, I'll cut your parts off."

Charlie huffed. "Emie, please. These are not words for a young lady."

She glared at him. "Charlie, with all due respect, fuck off." Then back at Henry. "Got it?"

He waved his hands in the air. "Got it!"

The following morning, Emie couldn't eat anything. Water did go down, but extremely painfully, and she had to be very stubborn to hurry to the O.R. without a good breakfast in her stomach.

But Henry didn't see that.

He barely greeted her before shoving her her new white apron and gloves.

She sighed and looked at the man on the table.

Another victim of the iron bullet. The poor man had his arms reduced to shreds, and a horribly bleeding hole was showing on his left thigh.

Emie didn't stand to look, turned around, and vomited into the sink.

This time Henry didn't let her argue.

He grabbed her in his arms, left his patient to Dr Salomon, and drove her to a consult box.

Two nurses were soon around her, palming, measuring, touching.

Henry wasn't standing on his spot.

"So, what is it?"

Emie couldn't bear it either. She shoved one nurse's hand off her for the millionth time, and glared so hard she could only wait for an answer.

"Well, Dr Lennings, I think congratulations are in order."

Emie widened her eyes. "What is that Chinese you're serving us? What do I have?"

The nurse glared back and took a tone used for really dumb people. "You're pregnant!"

The words kicked in very slowly.

Pregnant.

She was pregnant.

And there could only be one father.

Oh, dear Lord.

She was having James' baby.

Emie collapsed once again.

Henry caught her and rolled his eyes for the trillionth time that day.

Seriously, that woman was a curse.

Alright, I guess you all knew, didn't you? It was written in the stars, anyway.

Review! :)