I'm super sorry this one took so long-I had laptop issues, so I wrote the ending of this in the doc editor on fanfic dot net so that I could finish the chapter on my ipad, but the doc editor gave me so many problems I ended up writing and re-writing the same section of this chapter 5 times (seriously) because it kept getting deleted. It made me super frustrated, but I generally like this chapter, so I hope you do to!

Also, thank you for the super kind reviews you've been submitting. The reviews for the last chapter especially were very kind (although, it was a pretty cute chapter, if I do say so myself) and I really appreciated them. Thank you for reading and reviewing!

I've always tended to get sick at the worst possible moment. When I was a kid, before I was at Gallagher, I got the stomach flu three Christmases in a row. I had strep throat on my 16th birthday, the flu on my 21st, and possibly the worst of all, I came down with chickenpox the day before we buried my mother.

My immune system has gotten stronger since then, but I still tend to come down with colds and coughs and infections at the worst possible times.

Two mornings before Matt left for a three-week long mission to a classified location, I was pretty certain that I was coming down with something. I woke up and the idea of having anything more substantial than orange juice for breakfast made my stomach turn, and I felt the general sense of sluggish malaise that I always feel when I'm about to get sick.

Matt was concerned, as he usually is when confronted with a problem that he couldn't do anything to solve, but I was able to rationalize my lack of appetite and exhaustion. I'd just gotten back from a long week of wearing suits and eavesdropping on diplomatic meetings in Australia. I told him I was still jetlagged, and that my appetite must be lagging behind as well.

When Matt kissed me goodbye and left early this morning, when the sky was still inky black, I was feeling roughly the same way that I had been feeling for two days—off.

My revelation came two hours after he left, when the newspaper was dropped on our front doorstep.

It was Sunday.

I should have gotten my period on Tuesday. Since going off my birth control, I have gotten every single one of my periods on a Tuesday.

It stared at the date on the front page (April 6) for precisely 30 seconds before I knew that I was pregnant. A late period and a general lack of appetite weren't exactly incontrovertible evidence—it wouldn't hold up in court—but I work in intelligence and not law enforcement for a reason. My intuition told me that I was pregnant and that was all I needed.

Also, Matt and I had been trying to get pregnant, so it's not exactly a crazy assumption.

And then I lived through the two longest hours of my life. It was six in the morning on a Sunday, and while I could have gone to the medical center in Langley to take the blood test immediately, I didn't. My coworkers are the worst gossips I know, and I knew the second I walked into headquarters on my day off, I would be swarmed by people who just had to know what brought me there.

So for two hours, I waited for the nearest pharmacy to open, and then, after those two hours, I decided to wait another hour, because I didn't want to look too eager or too panicked as I bought a pregnancy test first thing in the morning. I tried every possible thing I could think of to distract myself, including but not limited to cleaning the bathroom (but then I worried about the chemicals in the cleaners, should I be avoiding them?), doing laundry (what about fabric softener, is that safe?), reading mission reports (but that did nothing to calm me down), and meditation (which I have always been bad at). Once all of those failed, I took a long shower. I hadn't planned on spending so long in the shower, but I was trying to find any sign that my body had changed—I didn't find one. And then I dressed, pulled my hair up, and spent five whole minutes working up the courage to grab my keys and walk out the front door.

I had planned on walking to the pharmacy, to give the crisp morning air a chance to clear my head, but then I realized I would have to walk back from the pharmacy with a pregnancy test, and it's one thing to walk a half of a mile with a bomb in your purse, but it's another to walk that far with a pregnancy test.

So I drove, ten miles an hour above the speed limit on the way there, and on the way back.

I had bought three tests—two to take today, and another to take the day of my doctor's appointment, which of course, I hadn't actually scheduled, but I knew there were several things that could cause a false positive, and it usually takes a few days to see the doctors at Langley unless there was an emergency—

And then I realized that technically, pregnancy was an emergency. No one in the Agency would even think about letting a pregnant operative in the field—all of my upcoming jobs would have to be re-assigned.

The overwhelming nausea that I felt as I take the first test is, I'm certain, the combination of stress and morning sickness.

As I sat on the tiled bathroom floor, and watched the kitchen timer count down, I thought.

If this test is positive, I will have to talk to the doctors at work.

But if this test is positive, and if the blood test at the doctor's is positive, which it will be, am I going to wait three weeks and let Matt be the first to know? Should I tell Abby? Or maybe Linda or Christine or Jennifer. Would one of them figure it out without me telling them? How obvious was it? Did I have that pregnant woman glow? Did that even exist? Mom didn't glow when she was pregnant with Abby, she was constantly sick and pale and she had told me that she had been the same way when she was pregnant with me. Would I take after her? Because mom was only in labor with Abby and myself for only about eight hours, and I wouldn't mind that, but—

As I watched the timer slowly creep towards zero, I became more and more certain that I was pregnant, and more and more anxious about the fact that I didn't know what to do with myself if I did find out that I was pregnant. As there were three minutes left, I became so anxious that I threw up in the toilet. With two minutes left, I brushed my teeth.

With thirty seconds left, the phone rang. The important phone, not the one that was connected to the number that could be found in the phonebook.

Without thinking, I dashed down the hall and picked up the phone.

"It's Joe."

"Hey," I replied. "What's up?"

Ten seconds until the timer rang.

"Rachel?" Joe asked, drawing out my name. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no. Nothing's wrong. I'm just in the middle of—"

The timer rang.

"Rachel, are you cooking?"

"No, Joe, I need—I need to put the timer—I mean, the phone—down for just a minute."

Without waiting for a reply, I dropped the phone, which dangled by its cord against the wall. I ran halfway to the bathroom, and then realized that if I slipped on the hardwood floor, that would be very bad, so I kind of skipped and jumped the rest of the way down the hall.

I'd left the test immediately next to the sink, and without even looking closely, I could see the second line on the test.

I'm pregnant.

I'm pregnant.

I quickly snatched up the test, and stared at the two little blue lines as my feet carried me back to the phone.

"Hello, Rachel? Rach, are you okay?"

"I'm pregnant."

There was a sudden and complete silence in the receiver.

I didn't realize that I'd picked up the phone, or said anything out loud.

Or that the very first person that I'd told about my pregnancy was my husband's best friend.

"That's… That's amazing, Rach. When did you find out?"

"Fifteen seconds ago."

I leaned against the wall, and slid down to the floor.

"… So I take it I called at a bad time?"

"Kind of. But you are officially the first person to know." That I'm pregnant.

"I'm… honored. How—how far are you?"

The development of a pregnancy is counted from the last day of the woman's last period before her missed period, my seventh-grade biological science teacher's voice reminded me.

"Only four weeks."

"So… Matt doesn't know because—"

"Because I had no idea until after he left this morning."

"Oh. Well. That's—that's not good timing." I don't think I have ever heard Joe Solomon ever sound so far out of his depth. "Listen, about that—I called to see if, since Matt's out of town, you wanted to get lunch? If you feel up to it."

"I feel fine." I feel pregnant. "Did you have somewhere in mind?" Do I really feel pregnant or does knowing that I'm pregnant just change things?

"I was thinking that café in Rosslyn that Dave recommended."

"That sounds great. Noon?"

"That's perfect. I'll see you then, Rach."

Joe Solomon was, as he usually is, a source of wisdom and understanding. As we sat and ate our sandwiches and sipped our coffee (mine, I realized just as I was ordering, needed to be decaff), he helped me to decide that I was going to wait until Matt came home to tell him about the baby (since, apparently, his mission was low-risk, a fact that Joe knew that I did not), and that, aside from Joe, I wasn't going to tell anyone else until I could tell Matt. Joe also agreed to serve as my ally in my secret keeping over the next few weeks.

The following day, I stopped by the doctor's offices during my lunch hour, and the blood test they gave me confirmed what I had known for the past twenty four hours—I was pregnant. The doctors set up an appointment at my civilian OB/GYN's office, gave me a few pamphlets on what I was and was not supposed to eat and do while pregnant, and officially placed me on the desk-work-only list; the op I was supposed to go on at the end of the following week was going to be immediately reassigned to another operative. Within thirty minutes of returning to my desk, I was met with my first test.

Christine, who was supposed to be my handler on my just-canceled op, stopped by my desk. I'd known Christine since our very first day at Gallagher.

"Hey, Rach. Is everything okay? Why did the doctors bench you?" She asked, leaning against my desk.

"It's nothing too bad, Chris. I have a stomach ulcer—" I gave a half-hearted wave to the new bottle of antacids on my desk. "The docs don't want me in the field until it's gone."

"Really?" She asked. Her eyes flickered down to my hands, which were folded in my lap—once upon a time, picking at my nails used to be my tell. But my hands remained steady.

"Mmhmm. Apparently, vomiting in the middle of a field op isn't very covert. Anyway, who did they reassign the op to?"

"Oh, a rookie Blackthorne boy." She rolled her eyes. "So we'll see how he manages to mess up a simple intell exchange."

And then she left.

As Christine walked out of my cubicle and down to the break room to the right, Joe Solomon appeared to from the hall to the left.

"Hey, Rach—how are you feeling?" He asked. He was turned toward me, but I noticed him watching as Christine walked away in his periphery.

"I have a stomach ulcer." I said, my voice flat. Wouldn't it have been great if he had showed up two minutes ago?

"Oh." He said, nodding. "Well, I hope you feel better soon."

The next test came when Abby arrived home from a two-week-long op. She stopped by my cubicle immediately after her debriefing was finished, and, without asking, pushed aside my files and reports and sat on my desk.

"Hey, do you want to go and grab some drinks after work and catch up?"

"I can't." I shook my head. "I have a stomach ulcer—I can't drink. Do you want to get pizza instead?"

"A stomach ulcer?" She asked.

"Yeah. I haven't had an appetite since this weekend." As I replied, I noticed her eyes flicker down to my hands, waiting to see if I was lying.

Did no one think that I might have learned to fix my most obvious tell?

"Hmm. Well, pizza sounds good. Actually, can your stomach ulcer handle pizza? The tomato sauce is acidic—"

"Oh." Right. I hadn't thought of that. "White pizza?"

"Sure." She shrugged. "Anyway, I have to drop by the disguise room to return a ball gown I borrowed. See you later." With a little wave of her fingers, she slid off of my desk. Just as she exited my cubicle, her head turned, she called out, "Hey Joe!" and then left.

A half a beat behind her, Joe Solomon appeared, his eyebrows raised.

"I still have a stomach ulcer. Also, Abby pointed out that I can't have pizza."

And he, without questioning the totally absurd things which I said, nodded, turned on his heels, and left.

Another test came midway through the second week of Matt's absence, the midway point of my time of secret-keeping. That was the first morning that my daily lack of appetite and sluggishness turned into full-blown morning sickness. And of course, it couldn't have happened when I was home. My own breakfast of oatmeal and herbal tea sat with my stomach as well as anything possibly could, but twenty minutes after getting to work and settling into my desk, the smell of my neighbor's coffee turned my stomach so suddenly that I was immediately running to the bathroom.

As I was washing my mouth out with water from the sink, Linda emerged from one of the bathroom stalls behind me. Her face was twisted into a look of panic as she took in my complexion and watery eyes.

"Stomach ulcer." I said, shaking my head, and darting out of the bathroom.

Standing along the opposite wall, next to the door to the men's restroom, was, once again, Joe Solomon.

Taking a steadying breath, I asked, "Does anyone believe that I have a stomach ulcer?"

Joe looked at me for just a moment, before simply replying "Some people."

I nodded.

"Okay."

And then I returned to my desk.

After that, I started coming into work later than was usual. I invented another lie when Abby, Linda, Christine, and some of my other friends noticed that I was coming in later and staying later. After that, not only did I have a stomach ulcer, I also had a plumber coming into to update the upstairs bathroom who I needed to let into the townhouse every morning (and then watch, just incase he was a foreign operative).

I knew that nearly everyone at the Agency that I was close to was suspicious about my illness and my behavior, but I was determined. Matt deserved to be the first person to know that we were expecting a baby, and I wanted to tell Matt before I told anyone else. Before I told Abby, before I told my father, before I told my friends. I wanted to tell Matt.

And finally, finally, Matt's three week long op came to a close.

Matt was scheduled to be home in time for dinner, but I knew that was unlikely to happen. Debriefings and check ups at the doctor's offices always take longer than expected, and there are always more people wandering around the halls at Langley who wanted to welcome you home and tell you about what you missed while you were gone. Regardless, I was going to wait up for Matt, to welcome him home.

And tell him. Because I'd already waited long enough to let him know that we, in mid January, would welcome a perfect and beautiful baby to our family.

It was nearing midnight when Matt called and said that his debrief was finally over, and that he would be home soon. I, once again, tried and failed to find a way to occupy my time as I waited that final twenty minutes. So I just curled up, in my sweatpants and one of Matt's Georgetown sweatshirts, in the new armchair we had bought together, and waited. As soon as I heard a car pull into the driveway, I was up, I disable the alarm system, and was standing in the cold night air before Matt was even able to pull his duffle bag from the back seat.

"Hey, there." I called. Matt's head snapped up, and he smiled once he saw me. I smiled in return, even as I noticed a small cut, and another scab, along the right side of his jaw. Despite the dark circles under his eyes, he pushed the car door shut and scampered up the driveway and up the stairs.

"Rachel." He sighed. He wrapped his arms around me, and, spinning as if we were dancing in a grand ballroom, and pulled me inside. As the door swung shut and locked behind us, we kissed, and then wrapped our arms around each other, fitting together more closely than before—especially as Matt, who was so clearly exhausted, began to lean on me. He still smelled like airplane.

"Waiting at the door for me?" Matt asked, his words slightly slurred as he spoke into my shoulder.

"Mmhmm. Matt?" I loosened my embrace, and drew back. Matt's brows were scrunched together, and he, almost immediately started biting at his lip.

"What?" He asked.

"Matt, I'm pregnant."

After three seconds, his jaw dropped, and I swear, Matt grew two inches as he stood tall, as he held his shoulders straighter.

"Are you?"

I nodded. I couldn't help myself. I could feel my smile growing as his eyes searched my face for any and every sign of how I was feeling.

"Seven weeks." I answered.

"Oh my god." He sighed, and then hugged me again, his arms around my back rather than my waist. After a few moments spent remembering what it was like to be with each other and to hold each other, he started to run his fingers through the ends of my hair. "Rach."

"Yeah."

After a few moment's pause, he murmured "When did you find out?"

"The day you left." I whispered.

"Really?" It was Matt, this time, who pulled back. His eyes were sparkling.

"I wanted to wait and tell you in person."

"I'm glad you did. If you'd told me over the phone, or through a dead drop..." He shook his head, imagining a scenario too classified for me to imagine. "Thats..." He laughed once, and then kissed me soundly. He was obviously so tired, I could tell, but his smiled hadn't budged, his eyes were still shining. "I love you."

"I love you too."

"And I've known about them for a whole two minutes, but, I love our baby." Matt, said, sliding a hand down to my stomach. I rolled my eyes, but giggled. "Did—does anyone else know?"

My heart skipped a beat, but there was no point in lying. Not to Matt—

"Abby and some other friends at work have been suspicious of my morning sickness, but I haven't actually told them. As far as people who officially know, the doctor at Langley that gave me the blood test, my civilian gynecologist, and I, um, might have told Joe."

"Joe?"

"He, um, called to ask if I wanted to meet for lunch just as I was waiting for the first test to develop. I kind of... Blurted it out."

He laughed.

"Thats—wait, did you say morning sickness? How bad has it been?"

I shook my head.

"Matt, don't worry. It's not so bad. Although, there's a new house rule, and it's that there will be no more coffee in this house until the start of my second trimester, at the earliest."

"What?" He was both horrified and confused.

"We can talk about it in the morning. And we can celebrate tomorrow" I insisted, pushing the strap of his duffle bag off of Matt's shoulder, causing the bag itself to fall to the floor. "Come on. You're exhausted. Come to bed."

Matt sighed.

"That's the second most wonderful thing you've said since I got home. God, I love you."

"I love you too." And then, taking him by the hand, I led him up the steps.