When he answers his door, Becca Fisher is standing outside, looking moderately uncomfortable.

"Can I help you?" he asks. It comes out sounding a lot more rude than he'd intended, and he cringes inwardly. He's really bad with stuff like this.

"There's a girl waiting for you. Downstairs in the bar," Becca says, shifting from foot to foot.

"Reporter?" he demands.

"I don't think so, no. She said she knew you," Becca replies, looking off to the side. "Are you going to come down, or shall I tell her to clear off?"

"No, I'll come down," he says, stepping outside and shutting the door behind him. "What does she look like?"

"Young. Pretty. Blonde," she replies, her tone clipped.

For a moment, he wonders if it's his daughter, but he thinks it unlikely she'd just show up without calling him. Still, a little germ of unease uncurls deep in his gut as he follows Becca back downstairs. When he enters the bar, he sees a woman sitting, her back turned. He can tell from the back of her head that it's not Daisy-Daisy is strawberry blonde, and this woman's hair is the color of honey. Something about her seems familiar, and then she turns around.

"Rose?" he says, surprised.

She smiles at him, but it doesn't touch her eyes. "Sorry to just drop in on you like this, but I couldn't reach you by phone. I needed to talk to you."

"About?" he questions, raising his eyebrows.

She clears her throat, and nods her head at Becca, who's still standing in the doorway. "Perhaps there's somewhere more private we could go?"

"Oh. Um, sure. Come up to my room?" he says, his sense of unease deepening.

"Lead the way," she replies, getting up off her stool.

Back up in his room, she sits on the edge of the bed. He can tell she's nervous about something by the way she's fidgeting and looking everywhere but at him.

"How did you know where to find me?" he asks, leaning against the door. He has to remind himself that she is not a suspect and this is not an interrogation.

"I saw you on the news, and then I read about the murders in the paper. It wasn't especially difficult to track you down," she answers, looking at her feet.

"Is everything okay?" he presses, wanting to get to the bottom of this.

"Not exactly, no," she croaks, and her shoulders start shaking as she begins to cry.

"Oh, hey, now don't do that," he says, mildly alarmed. He sits next to her on the bed, and awkwardly pats her on the back. To his further surprise, she leans against him and cries into his shoulder. Caught off guard, he sits, frozen, as she sags against him.

"I'm sorry," she sniffles. "It was a three hour drive, and I wound myself up pretty tight."

"It's alright," he says, at a loss for what else to say to comfort the obviously distressed woman.

She takes a deep, shuddering breath, and lays her hand on his knee. "I don't even know where to start."

"At the beginning might be a good place," he suggests.

She nods, and attempts to compose herself. "I just want to say I'm sorry, because I know you didn't sign up for this."

"Didn't sign up for what?"

"Seeing me again. I know you probably didn't want to."

"Well, that's not entirely true," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just thought you'd be better off if I didn't. See you again, I mean."

This time, it's her turn to ask the questions. "Why would I be better off not seeing you?"

"Because my life is a mess," he answers. "In more ways than one."

"Yeah well...me too," Rose says, her breath hitching in her throat.

Her nervousness is starting to wear off on him, and he's anxious to know what's brought her all the way from London to see a sad, broken man. "Rose, what's wrong?"

She bites her lip, and folds her hands in her lap. "I'm pregnant."

He stares back at her, uncomprehending. "What?"

"I'm pregnant," she says again. "And it's yours."

The gravity of her words hits him like a ten ton truck, and he inhales sharply. "How? You told me you were on the pill."

"I am," she replies. "I mean, I was. The doctor's not sure exactly what went wrong. He thinks maybe I metabolized the drug too fast, but yeah...I'm pregnant. I'm really sorry. I know this isn't...ideal."

"Don't apologize," he says faintly, and he can barely hear himself over the ringing in his ears. "I'm the arsehole who invited a girl back to my room and didn't buy condoms first. Like I was saying...you're better off without a knob like me. I'm the one who should be sorry."

"Don't say that," she insists. "This isn't your fault. It's just a thing that happened. An accident."

"Are you going to keep it?" he asks bluntly.

"I haven't decided yet," she answers, voice wavering. "Thing is...I grew up without a dad. I know what it's like. And I wouldn't wish that on a child, especially not my own."

He struggles to find his courage, to say the things that he knows she needs to hear. "I mean, whatever you want to do, I support your decision. But you don't have to go at this alone. Not if you don't want to."

"No?" she says, sniffling.

"No," he confirms, taking her hand in his own. "It's half my fault you're in this mess. I'm not going to leave you to clean it up by yourself. That wouldn't be fair. There's just one thing, though…"

"What's that?" she asks, tilting her head up to look at him.

"I'm...I'm not quite well," he says, swallowing. "When I was in London, I was there because I was seeing a cardiologist. He told me if I want to live to see 40, I've got to get a pacemaker. And my boss told me I can't come back to work until I've had the surgery. But...there's a chance I might die on the table. And if I did...well, obviously I wouldn't be around. To help you."

Rose quietly absorbs his admission before speaking again, slow and soft. "In for a penny, in for a pound, I suppose."

"Do you want a baby?" he asks her gently.

"I really don't know." she answers. "But I don't think I could live with myself if I got an abortion, either. I'd always wonder...what could've been. I mean, I guess I could have the baby and put it up for adoption...but then I'd still be wondering."

"Sounds like maybe you've answered your own question," he says, stroking his thumb soothingly along the inside of her wrist.

"What about you? Do you want a baby?" Rose asks, bordering on plaintive.

He shakes his head. "It doesn't matter what I want. This is a choice that will affect the rest of your life. You have to be the one to make it."

"I know that. But I'm still asking. Alec, do you want to have a baby? With a complete stranger? With me?"

"I never imagined I'd be a father again. I have a fifteen year old daughter. Daisy," he says, a hint of wistfulness in his voice. "We don't really talk so much lately. I made some mistakes, wasn't the best dad, and I don't think she's quite forgiven me for it yet."

"I read about what you did. Taking the heat for your wife so your daughter wouldn't think less of her. I think that's pretty noble of you," Rose says, squeezing his hand.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"So…," he says, tentatively spreading his palm against her belly. "I guess we're going to give this a go then?"

Rose smiles, and this time her tongue pokes its way between her teeth. "Yeah, I suppose we are," she says, covering his hand with her own.