Original A/N: Hey all! Thanks so much for the great response to the first installment of these one-shots. I'm super happy there are other Sloan/Don fans out there. This one takes place in approximately June 2013, so a few years in the future of both the show and the first one shot (There will be others that fill in what happens between winter 2011 and this piece, don't worry). When this one takes place, a few things have changed between Sloan and Don, which will be readily explained :).

Hopefully will have another one up later this week, and am still slowly plugging away at the longer piece these feed into. In the meantime, feel free to check out 'Smug' and 'Let's Get Ready to Rumble,' my Sloan/Don season 2 filler pieces!

As per usual, I own nothing. References and characters freely borrowed with love. ~Jo.

Close your brown eyes

And lay down next to me

Close your eyes, lay down

Cause there goes the fear

Let it go

-"There Goes the Fear," The Doves

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

Sloan stares at the three little sticks, as if their tiny symbols were going to change through her telekinetic powers. Nope. Still all the same.

Fuck. She knew she should be asking how the hell this happened, but she was pretty sure she already knew: The 20-hour plane ride to Thailand for their honeymoon last month, plus the time difference, meant she'd taken her pill at the wrong time. Hell, it probably meant she'd taken multiple pills at the wrong time. She had never been good with time changes. Her mother would find this hilarious.

She exits their bathroom numbly, heading to the kitchen. Wine would be great right now, but is obviously out of the question. She roots around for some non-caffeinated tea and somehow manages to brew it without burning herself. She sits on the new couch, flipping through an old issue of The Economist to focus her. At least the kitchen renovation is done now — she's pretty sure that the fumes wouldn't be good for a baby.

Baby. Christ. She and Don had talked about kids a few times, of course, were clear on the fact that, eventually, yeah, one or two would probably be nice. In the future. They had barely been married six months. This child would be born after seventeen months of marriage, give or take. They had made it from September to freaking May before getting knocked up. And it's not the time — she just started her new show three weeks ago. She wasn't the type of woman to stress about her biological clock; had assumed they would have years before thinking about this decision. She, in fact, had always had a sneaking suspicion that she had a hostile uterus. She didn't know why; she just did. Apparently not.

She's on her third issue of the Economist, still sipping the herbal tea, when Don comes home. "Sloan?" he calls, worried. "I thought we were meeting at Hang Chew's — everything alright?"

"Yeah," she says quickly, sitting up. "I just got there and got tired, so I came home."

"Oh. You didn't text, so I stopped by there and ordered a drink before I realized —"

"No, it's fine. It was silly of me." Truthfully, Kenzie's bitching about cramps and 'reminders of womanhood' and how it was 'so unfair since it's not like Will and I want children; we might have had one six years ago but certainly not now, since stupid Will McAvoy ruined me,' had cued Sloan up to do some math, and then immediately spit her gin and tonic out on the counter before running out to go to Duane Reade. "The show looked good."

"Yeah," he says, cocking his head at her. "Are you alright? You're acting a little …"

"A little what?"

"Defensive?" he tries, trying to find a non-offensive way of saying 'weird.'

She opens her mouth to speak, but can't, and he goes, "Okay, Sloan, words."

"IthinkI'mpregnant," she tries.

"What now?"

"I said, I think I'm pregnant," she tries more slowly. At his stunned look, she says, "With a child."

"Whoa. What —" he says, sinking down on the couch next to her, removing his tie and loosening his blue-and-white checkered shirt. His jaw is hanging open. Subconsciously she throws her calves over his lap and he begins to massage them, almost rotely. "I … Not what I thought you were going to say," he smiles, and she gets the feeling that he's actually excited, or going to be excited pretty soon, and she relaxes slightly.

"What did you think I was going to say?"

"I honestly had not thought that far in advance, but safe to say not that," he squeezes her knee gently. "That's amazing. How sure are you?"

"There are three tests in the bathroom that all say yes."

"Wow," he breathes. "How far … How? When?" he has this glazed-over, can't-believe-it look on his face, like someone just gave him irrefutable proof that Santa is real.

"I think it was Thailand," she says. "The flying, the time change, I'm pretty sure I didn't take a lot of the pills when I was supposed to. I need to make an appointment to be sure, but that was over a month ago." She searches his face. "Are you … okay with this?"

"Are you kidding?" he shifts so that he can cradle her face. "This is amazing. Yes. This is fantastic."

"You're not …" she trails off. She's not sure what she means, exactly. She feels like she should be panicking more, and she's not. Maybe it was better this way. Knowing both of them, if she didn't get accidentally knocked up, they would have talked and debated and analyzed the decision for so long they would have been past the parenting window.

"Not what?"

"We haven't even been married a year," she points out.

"So what? We didn't even date for a year. We move fast."

"That's what I'm saying. It's crazy. Not bad, but crazy. We'll have an eight month old when we have our third trip back to Market Diner. You're not worried that it's too fast?"

"No," he kisses her softly. "Absolutely not. Because we've got this, Sloan. You and me. We've got this," he kisses her again, more deeply. "This is fantastic." And she believes him.

She calls her gynecologist the next day and schedules an appointment for a week later. She tells Don he shouldn't come, in case she's not pregnant, but he's adamant that he's going to make it. The argument doesn't matter, because Baby Keefer makes its presence known two days later, when she vaults from bed at 5 a.m. with morning sickness.

"You did this," she rasps, only half-joking, when Don manages to catch up with her.

He pours her a glass of water and hands it to her, then sits down, back against the tub. "How do you feel?"

She accepts the water gratefully and scrunches her nose. "Not great," she admits. "But not terrible." Mostly she just feels queasy. She touches her forehead. That hurts too.

"Do you want crackers or anything?"

"Do we own crackers?" Don is a decent cook (she is not), but they are notoriously bad at buying groceries. That will have to change, once there's a kid around.

"The bodega is 24/7," he points out.

"I'm not sending you out at five in the morning to get crackers, you'll get mugged."

"I got you pregnant, I'm not going to leave the mother of my child miserable and nauseated at five in the morning."

"That's kind of sexist and kind of sweet," she says, standing. She puts a hand out to pull him up as well. "I think we have some bread that is not moldy. I'm going to make some toast."

"I'll make it."

"Don, this could go on for months. One of us has to be not-exhausted at work. And be prepared to do the night shift when this body-snatcher arrives." They cross through the living room, where Clem is lying on the sofa. She really shouldn't be doing that. Whatever.

"I have seven months to make up the sleep," Don says, rooting around in the fridge for the remaining two pieces of wheat bread. He pops them in the and leans against the counter. "What about ginger ale? Can you have ginger ale?"

"I have no idea whether or I can have ginger ale, but we don't own it, so I can't have it now," she points out. "But we should probably buy a book or something."

"We can pick one up on the way to work."

"Oh god, work," she says. "What if I puke on air?"

"It's morning sickness."

"Both my mom and Spence had it all day — they'd be nauseated or queasy all day and then throw up at least once a day. Mom said hers was whenever, Spencer's was mostly in the late afternoon or early evening."

"Then why do they call it morning sickness?" he appears to be genuinely betrayed by the English language. The toast pops, and he quickly plates it. "Do you want butter?"

The thought of dairy makes her stomach turn, so she quickly shakes her head. He slides her the plate as is. "Thanks," she says, taking a tiny bite. Her stomach roils again and she shakes her head. "Maybe I should just head in."

"Are you kidding me? And do what?" he asks skeptically.

"The gym? Write my script?"

"Ok, we're eating toast in the kitchen at 5:24 because nausea woke you up, and you want to go exercise? Can we at least agree you don't work out until we go to the doctor's on Monday?"

"That's probably wise," she agrees, but she's not tired. In fact, she now feels like she had an energy drink, despite the fact that she just threw up and is practically shaking with nausea. "Seriously though: What if I get sick at work?"

He shrugs. "Didn't you just say you probably would, at the very least, not feel that great?"

"No, but what if I am on air and I feel the need to toss my cookies?" she tests another one feels better. "I don't want to tell anyone yet. Aren't you supposed to wait until 12 weeks? That's at least a month off. If I throw up on air, Will McAvoy will have me made in under 30 seconds."

"I'm not sure we'll last another month or six weeks with him and MacKenzie and Elliot and Charlie, but I don't think we should tell anyone, especially before the doctor's," he rubs a hand down his face and sighs.

"You should go back to bed," she says, putting her hand over his. She knows he's exhausted.

"You should go back to bed, you're growing a person. That sounds tiring."

"I always go into work by 7, at the latest, and you don't get in till 10. So I'm going in soon anyways and just want to google what I'm picking up so I don't, you know, puke all over Will."

"You have insane willpower, so I don't think you're actually in danger of that," he says. "We could call your mom?"

"At 2 a.m. California time? And ask her what?"

"Not right now, but she was pregnant three times. She probably knows something about the morning sickness."

She ponders for a minute before shaking her head. "Yes, you're right, but I want to wait until we talk to the doctor."

"Right, but I don't want you to be miserable for the next four days."

"We have an appointment Monday, and I feel fine now," she lies.

"That's bullshit," he drawls.

"I do, though," she ponders. "Spence said it just felt like you were on a ship for three months, and sometimes you threw up. That's not that bad. I like ships."

"Just promise me you'll take it easy, okay? Maybe we get a couch in your office or something. This probably won't be easy, being pregnant and working the hours you work."

"You think I should cut back?" she asks, reflexively gearing up for a fight.

"No. But I want you to work smart — sit down when you need to sit down, eat crackers when you need to eat crackers, and tell someone if you're not feeling well."

"That sounds fair," she says, kissing him lightly. "Let's go away for the weekend."

"Away?"

"Yeah. Two fewer days for me to slip. And starting Monday, when we leave the doctor's, we are someone's parents. This is the last weekend of you and me, pal."

He smiles. "Where do you want to go?"

"I don't care. Poconos? Long Beach Island? Newport? I can look for hotels today at work." She knows the next year — hell, the rest of their lives — suddenly just got busier, and she just wants to get away.

"All of those sound great," he says, and looks at the clock. Just after 5:30. "How are you feeling? You wanna go back to sleep for an hour?"

She really does just want to go to work, but she can tell it will probably start an argument with Don; besides, he needs to sleep, and he won't if she won't. "Yeah. Let's go back to bed."

She doesn't realize how hard avoiding things that make her feel nauseated, or how easy it is going to be to slip, until she gets to work. She's got a 7:30 makeup call for a 8:00 pre-tape, and as she's sitting in the chair, sipping a mug of ginger tea (the Internet said to do it, and it's certainly helping) and reviewing her questions, Kenzie comes in to gossip, carrying her own steaming cup of coffee. Sloan's stomach immediately flips. Shit. If coffee is going to be a trigger, that's going to be an issue.

"Morning," Kenzie singsongs.

"Morning," Sloan replies, trying to focus to keep the nausea at bay.

"I've missed you. You haven't been around Hang Chew's at all this week."

"We've been busy," she says. "Is that … coffee?" There is no way her body would betray her by not only taking away her favorite drink but also making the smell so repulsive. This kid is half her and half Don. Surely it loves coffee too.

"Yeah. You want some?"

"No thanks. I have my tea," she says, holding it close to inhale the ginger and get rid of the coffee fumes.

"Since when do you drink tea?" Mac snorts, scooping up the copy of the Journal from in front of her and curling up in the extra makeup chair.

"It's healthful. I'm trying to be more healthful," Sloan lies, sniffing it again for calm. Bethany, the makeup lady, flits around her. They're almost done.

Don enters then, and she cocks her head. "You were supposed to get more sleep," she chides.

"You were supposed to eat breakfast," he scolds back. "Hey, Mac." They exchange an uneasy look — Mac will catch on, she's now positive — and he holds up a little bag. She really does not feel like eating — she needs to do some serious research and start figuring out what she can hold down — but she knows he is right. She opens the bag and finds a single sleeve of Saltines, a plain vanilla yogurt, and pre-cut melon. All of those actually sound nice.

"Thanks," she says, opening the yogurt and grabbing a spoon. She leans up to kiss him in thanks when she smells — shit. "Did you have coffee this morning?" She scrunches up her face into a sour frowny-face and shakes her head, trying to get her point across without saying words.

He's sheepish, and misreads her as jealous — she's had headaches since Tuesday because of the no-caffeine thing. "Yeah, I got some on the way in, sorr —" she just shakes her head miserably and taps under her nose. "Oh god, the smell?" he murmurs into her hair, and she nods.

"Alright, not going to lie, the next seven months just got longer," he whispers, then steps back.

"Thank you for the yogurt?" she tries.

"Goodness, Sloan, you can't let your healthful kick go too far. First you're drinking ginger tea, now you're scolding poor Don here for choosing to drink coffee, now you're eating plain yogurt and melon — you have to stop sometime," Mac rambles on obliviously, flipping pages of the Journal. Bethany, though, puts everything together (she has three kids of her own) and her eyes widen. Catching them in the mirror, Sloan shakes her head frantically, to say, no no, don't say anything, while Don nods in confirmation then puts his finger over his lips. As they're leaving, Bethany quietly congratulates her and reminds her she's going to need to tell wardrobe. Of course.

Don order two sofas from West Elm, one for each of their offices, and they're supposed to be delivered on Friday. Unfortunately, Don didn't actually check the dimensions of their offices first; while the sofas will fit easily, it will require reorganization, which they don't discover until they've tied up the freight elevator and each have a crew of two guys holding the furniture awkwardly outside their doors.

"Keefer! What the hell is this?" Charlie yells as he enters her office, where she is frantically pushing things out of the way to make room for the damned thing.

"Keefer is down a floor, doing the exact same thing to his office," she retorts, because she has not and will not change her last name. At least not professionally. "If you have a question for Keefer, you should go there."

"You both were hit with a Martha Stewart bug on the same day?" Charlie asks.

"Don ordered both of them, so no. One of us was hit with the Martha Stewart bug and one of us just … is the beneficiary."

"And he decided to buy you a sofa too?"

"Yes! He's my husband. He decided he wanted a sofa, then thought, 'Hey. Wouldn't it be cool if I had two couches on which to chill out? Hey, I have a wife whose office I can put one in.'"

"This is a newsroom! This is not your living room!"

She's still pretty queasy — she ended up throwing up twice yesterday and has already thrown up once today — and pretty short-tempered. "Well, no, Charlie, but we do spend more time here than in our own living room, so if we want goddamn sofas to crash on when we miss our own I don't think that's too much of an issue!"

He draws back because he can tell she's serious, but still wags a finger at her. "No hanky-panky on these."

She laughs, because right now, as her stomach continues to tap-dance due to Don's child, that is the furthest thing from her mind. "Glass doors, Charlie, ew," she says, then adds, "Besides, you've barged in on us literally the one time we've considered getting busy at work."

"You know, in the last five years, you've certainly gained some spunk, young lady," he replies.

"And what? You hate spunk?" she quotes.

"No," he says simply. "I actually enjoy it quite a bit." He departs easily.

Once the couch is in place, she collapses on it, closing her eyes for just a second. Pregnant or no, the idea of a sofa in-office is heavenly.

She's rudely awoken by Don gently shaking her. "Shit," she says, jumping up with a start before realizing that is not a good idea. She settles back down onto her side until the spell passes. "Can you hand me the crackers? They're on my desk. And that ginger ale, please. What time is it?" Don moves to grab both.

"It's five till three," Will says, from a spot she can't see. Shit.

"I need to be on the air soon. I need to go talk to Julia about the script." Once I am able to move.

"Eat a cracker first. Did you eat lunch?"

"No, I fell asleep around 2:15. Why didn't anyone wake me up?"

"We didn't know; you should be fine for four," Don says. "You do need to get to makeup now."

"Yeah. Just give me a sec. Could you actually go grab me a sandwich? No, you've got a story meeting at 3:30." She presses her palms to her head. That seems to help.

"I'll get you a damn sandwich first," he says. "They can wait for a second."

"Are you sick?" Will asks.

"Yes," she answers at the same time Don says no. She shoots him a look, then stands up, taking another swig of the ginger ale. "I'm not sick, I just feel sick. I probably had some bad shrimp. Or lobster, that can go bad too. It's not contagious, so you don't need to buy a SARS mask."

Will stares at her, then at Don. "You're pregnant," he says simply.

"No," she says at the same time Don says yes. "Hey," she says, since they weren't telling people.

He shrugs. "Yeah, that wasn't going to last long with him. And we said we wouldn't tell people, not that we'd lie when they guessed."

"If you want other people to not guess, you'd better become better liars," Will says. "Congrats."

"Thanks," she smiles. "But seriously, this is locked down. This is in a vault. We haven't told our parents, and we haven't been to a doctor's, and it's probably about seven weeks along, so this is getting buried like Jimmy Hoffa."

Will nods and smiles. "This is going to be fun."

"Hopefully we won't screw it up too much," she says, crunching through another cracker. "All right. I need to get going."

"I'll grab you the sandwich," Don promises.

"You two are going to be good at this," Will says, after Don leaves.

"No choice now, is there?"

"Doesn't matter; you will be."

That evening, as she's leaving to go home at exactly 9:02, Kenzie stops her in the newsroom. "Are we still on for the MOMA opening tomorrow night?"

Shit. "Kenz, I'm really sorry, I completely forgot, and Don and I booked this weekend in Newport. Can you go with Will instead?"

"Newport? Why are you going to Newport?"

"I hate Montauk?" she tries. That is true.

"Is everything OK with you and Don?" Kenzie asks, in a low voice, since they are in public. She starts heading toward her office, and Sloan has no choice but to follow.

"Of course. We're great. Why would you think that?"

"Because you've been distant, and the two of you have barely spoken all week, and you're leaving early, and you look exhausted. You've been short with people as well, and you look stressed. When he brought you breakfast the other morning you could barely stand to be near him. I know marriage is probably a little overwhelming —"

"Kenzie," she stops her friend before she really gets on a roll, and opens the door to Kenzie's office, ushering her in. "No. Absolutely not. I'm more tired than usual, yes, so I'm leaving earlier and probably a little baggy-eyed. But I swear, this has nothing to do with Don. At all. He's great. We're great. That's why we're going to Newport — we just wanted to spend some time together. That's it."

"Because it's OK to have rough patches."

"We're not having a rough patch."

"I'm just saying it's OK, I know you guys got married quickly, which I think is great, and I think you're great, but I know you didn't really have any rough patches that I just think you should know that it's not a make-or-break mo—"

Oh dear god. "Kenzie, I'm pregnant," she hisses, looking around furtively even though they are in Kenzie's office. "I took some tests earlier this week and then as soon as I did, I started being tired and nauseated. The other day? The smell of coffee makes me feel like I'm going to projectile vomit in front of a million people, that's why I didn't look happy with Don. I'm pregnant. That's why I've been sick, and tired, and crabby, and why Don decided to tie up the elevator for two hours yesterday as he had sofas delivered."

"Oh my god," Kenzie cries, and then gives her a big hug. "You're pregnant!"

"Yes," she whispers. Just in case. "Probably seven weeks, if the way the internet says to calculate is correct. I didn't want to tell anyone for another month. I still don't want to make any sort of public announcement for another three months. I actually don't want to make a public announcement at all, but that is clearly impossible," Kenzie looks like she's about to start crying with excitement. "So please, keep it under wraps. We haven't even been to the doctor yet. We haven't told our parents. We haven't told Charlie. Will … figured it out this afternoon. And actually, Bethany figured it out yesterday too. But please. Keep it to yourself."

"Wow," Kenzie is stunned. "I didn't know … I mean, that's stupid of me, since you're married and bought a place so why wouldn't you want to have kids, but it seemed..."

"Like this is sudden? Yeah, totally not planned. I'm thinking I screwed up some time zones while we were in Thailand," she says, edging it with a little self-deprecating laugh. "It's like one of those lightbulb jokes — how many doctorates does it take till you can figure out your birth control? More than two, we know now."

Kenzie turns her head at the tone. "Are you … How do you feel about it?" she tries for a more diplomatic approach.

Sloan sits, and realizes that this is the first time she can honestly think about and talk about how she feels. Because with Don, it's all the heady, crazy-fast anticipation of the coming roller coaster, and they have so many details to work out. And she's the detailed one, she's the one that does details, so she needs to focus on those. There's no time to process how she's feeling. She knows he's so happy about this. Yes, he was taken aback at first, but he's happy about this. She knows he'll be a great dad. She's excited for him to be the dad, to see him be a dad.

"I think I'll feel much better once we go to the doctor's on Monday and she tells me it's OK that I kept taking the Pill and drinking and downing excessive amounts of coffee and didn't increase my folate intake for the past month," she admits. "And then … Yeah. Is the whole concept of being a mother a little terrifying? Yes. Is it much earlier than we anticipated having a kid? Yes. Do I … wish we had more time before this happened? Yes. Is there a lot to work out, with our jobs and our schedules and schools and nannies and other things we wanted to do? Yes," at her friend's alarmed face, she quickly wraps up her rant: "But it's fine. I mean, it's great! I mean that," she reassures. "I married him. If having a child with him was going to be a problem I wouldn't have done that."

"I know! And you two are great," Kenzie searches her face. "But it has been quick. And neither are you are really the impulsive type, but you were impulsive about the wedding..."

"No we weren't," Sloan corrects. "That's the thing. We decided that wanted to be married, not engaged, and so put together a wedding quickly. That wasn't an impulsive choice. This isn't like we just dated for two years off and on and accidentally got pregnant; we're married. For better, for worse, we're married. We talked out kids, death, careers, finances, religion, when we were making that decision. Marriage was intentional. This kid … another story. But Don once told me that marriage wasn't a market prediction, and I argued with him. I said when choosing a spouse you were making a bet on the future. But he's right. It's choosing someone to help you pick the other stocks, and helping you deal with whatever the market throws at you. Like a baby. So yes, it's a curveball. I've never changed a diaper before, which freaks me out. I am worried about a lot of things. But am I worried about how this will work long term? Hell no." She notices tears in Kenzie's eyes. "What?"

"It's just … you two are always so low-key, and sarcastic, and you get along so naturally that sometimes it's easy to forget how good … and strong … you two are," Kenzie says. "That was just romantic, Sloan. It's … It's clear why you two figured it out so quickly."

"Thanks," she smiles, and grabs her bag. "So yeah, we booked a weekend out of town together because of this. It's just, I realized this is the last weekend before we become parents and it's no longer just the two of us. So I'm really sorry about MOMA, it honestly, absolutely slipped my mind."

"It's fine," MacKenzie says. "You two have a good time, alright?"

"Absolutely," Sloan says. "And remember — please. Don't tell anyone."

"Of course not," Kenzie smiles. "God, you two are going to be good at this."

It's the second time someone has made the pronouncement, and it makes Sloan a little uneasy. Because she's not entirely sure how objectively good she'll be at this. But she and Don are in it together, and the baby is en route, and so they're going to find out. "God, I hope so," she whispers against her friend's back.

Commentary: With this one, I really wanted to take a dramatic jump with the timeline to emphasize that these would be sort of scattered, and to suck people in by making them wonder how they got from relatively newly dating to married and dealing fairly calmly with an unplanned pregnancy. I quickly realized that I needed each piece to work on three levels: I needed it to be an actual oneshot that people could read on its own, since that's what was advertised; it needed to work as a chapter that sensically followed the one posted prior to it, since most people would read that way; and it needed to work chronologically, if anyone ever were to go through and piece them together. So when I hatched the 'Sloan and Don find out she's pregnant' plot bunny, it opened a whole can of questions that I had to answer first: How and when did they get married? In the future, where are they working? What's their relationship to the rest of the team? Where are they?

This was great because it really made me sit down and plot out their relationship. Doing so allowed me to sprinkle in a lot of references to things that, if you read all the chapters, have happened in the past: They talk about going to Market Diner, for instance (chapter 8 and 17); Clem and the kitchen renovation (chapter 13 and 18); the quickie wedding (chapter 3 and 6); and the honeymoon in Thailand (chapter 22, among others).

But there are other textual things that hint to major changes, and to me they're almost more interesting. My favorite visual of the whole chapter to write is Sloan telling him she's probably pregnant: She's freaking out, almost unable to talk, and, after Don sits down next to her, she puts her feet in his lap. Then he subconsciously starts giving her a foot massage. Including that part was a strategic decision. It's so casual and intimate — more than anything mentions, that points to a major change in their relationship and a different operating paradigm. They're confident, secure, casual. The relationship is sealed.