Knocked Up

Chapter Two

# # #

The restaurant had been, indeed, both hoity and toity. One of those trendy, frou-frou, fusion places that combined ingredients that should in no way ever share the same restaurant—let alone the same plate.

But Sam and Cassie had been so enthusiastic about it all that Jack hadn't balked at the weird concoctions. Or the lamentable lack of meat on the menu. Or the fact that they only served local-sourced experimental wines with nary a beer in sight.

He'd ordered a salad. It had seemed to be the safest option. And then, he'd sat back sipping his lukewarm water and watching the uppity melange of humanity milling around trying their hardest to be seen. Only he and the occupants of his table seemed to be interested in actually eating. The rest of the clientele were there for the social scene.

Picking at his food, he'd watched Cassie carefully, replaying the overheard conversation in his head, trying to glean anything from the dinner conversation that might help him help her later on.

Because regardless whether she'd wanted him to know—or even told him on her own—the facts remained. Cassie was pregnant. She wanted to continue with her schooling and keep the child. That was a tough row to hoe—no matter how smart and determined you were. But Sam was right. Between the three of them, they could figure out how to keep Cassie on track with her education and deal with a baby. The strategist in Jack had immediately started formulating plans—there was a lot to accomplish to make it all work.

Devyn also needed to be dealt with. Jack had met the guy several times. Tall and lanky. Athletic, but not a jock. He was handsome—although Jack wasn't the best judge of that kind of thing. He'd seemed nice. Intelligent. Funny. Both Jack and Daniel had approved of him from the beginning.

But then, Sara's dad had approved of Jack at first, and everyone knew how that one had worked out.

Still—if Dumbass was the father of Cassie's baby, then Dumbass needed to help hoe that row right alongside Cassie.

Speaking of gardening—

His stomach was complaining—just a bit. The salad had been less than satisfying; lettuce and tomatoes and cucumbers acting as camouflage for other—more insidious—ingredients. Corn. Grapes. Tofu. Craisins. All drenched in a dressing that had reminded him of Netu. Yeesh.

Craisins. What the hell were craisins, anyway? Sam had tried to explain, but he'd only listened with half an ear, concentrating instead on carefully fishing the desiccated bits of fruit out of the rest of his entree and pushing them to the side of his plate to sit in 'time-out' next to the tofu.

It's not like there hadn't been room on the plate for his discards. For whatever reason, the cost of one's meal seemed to rise in direct proportion to the inadequacy of the portion. His salad had looked like it might have fed a hamster. Or served as a snack for a guinea pig. Even Sam had glared down at her plate when they'd finally been served—and she usually only finished half of her meals on a good day.

At least Cassie had perked up with the arrival of their food. She'd gotten some sort of quasi-taco, while Sam had ordered pasta. They'd talked about anything and nothing—the intimacy of their earlier tableau replaced temporarily by the novelty of the meal, and the atmosphere, and the crowd. Jack had been grateful for the distraction of the evening out. It had given Cassie a chance to focus on something else.

Like she was now focused on him.

"What did you think about the restaurant, Jack?" Cassie leaned close, raising her voice to be heard over the heavy grumble of Jack's Super Duty. "Wasn't the food great?"

"Sure." Jack met her eyes in the rear-view mirror. "It was food. Food is good."

"All of the ingredients that they use there are locally sourced from family-owned farms."

"Oh, really?"

"And it's all grown without pesticides or chemicals." She leaned back in the seat, fiddling with her purse on her lap. She'd elected to sit in the middle of the back bench, just as she had when she'd been a kid. She'd always liked to be part of the conversation. "So, it's healthier than commercially grown produce."

Jack glanced sideways at Sam, who had been quiet since leaving the restaurant. Right now, she was relaxed back in her seat, watching the scenery flash past her window under quick bursts from the streetlights. She looked—pensive. Worried. Distracted. Not surprising, given the situation.

"Sure. Food grown in smaller, organic farms has more actual nutritional value in it. We learned about it in my diet and nutrition class in college."

"That's important stuff." Jack flickered a look at Cassie in his rear view mirror. He tried to keep his tone casual. "And it'll be useful later when you have kids."

"It's useful now." Cassie's eyes widened as she scooted forward again. "Adults need to be more conscious about their nutrition. An improper or unbalanced diet affects everything about our health."

"But still—all that information will help when you're a mom, right?"

But Cassie only shrugged and made a strange, noncommittal noise in the back of her throat.

Okay. He let things sit for a minute before trying again. "So, Cass?"

"Yeah?"

"How did you hear about that restaurant?" Jack slowed at a red light, easing into the left turn lane. "It's not the kind of place you usually want to go to."

"One of my friends at the hospital suggested it." Cassie wrapped the strap of her bag around her fist. "I told him I was coming here for a visit, and he told me that I just had to check it out."

"Ah."

"His sister is one of the chefs, or something." She shrugged, but the gesture was listless. "I don't know for sure. I don't really know him that well."

Jack made the turn, muttering under his breath when the truck swung out a little wide. A motorcycle had slid into the lane behind him and then zoomed past. Rather than cause an accident, Jack merged into the right lane and pressed the accelerator to make speed.

"Anyway." Cassie unfurled the strap, only to wind it back around her hand again. "I just thought that it might be nice to do something different."

This part of the drive was usually less-traveled, so Jack didn't bother signaling before easing back over into the left lane. Once he'd completed the action, he took a moment to check out the mirror again, making a longer study of the young woman he'd helped raise.

She was grown—but still so young. Too intelligent for her own good—she'd always given him a run for his money at chess, and she'd gotten a high enough score on her MCAT that she'd been scouted by a few different medical schools. She'd never been the giggly, vacant type, despite what Jack had told Daniel earlier. She'd been dealt a rough hand early in life and had overcome in grand fashion—developing an old soul in the process.

Her hair was a little darker now, but she'd done something to it with blond streaks and a funky cut that made her look edgy and modern. Her makeup seemed a little much—more than Sam had ever worn—but judging by her peers at the restaurant, it was no more than any other young twenty-something was wearing these days..

She'd never gotten as tall as Sam, but she'd filled out a little over the past year, giving her face a maturity that she hadn't had as a teen. She'd been a pretty girl, and had grown into a lovely young woman.

And she was her mother's daughter—a Fraiser through and through. So she was smart and caring, but could also kick your ass. The best of both worlds.

He was proud of her—even though he had no right to be. He'd had little enough to do with how she'd turned out. He'd taken her out for the fun stuff—fishing at the reservoir and ice skating around Christmas time. Shown her how to hit a baseball and a hockey puck. How to change her oil and a tire. He'd taught her how to inhale air and belch like a pro, and instructed her on precisely where to knee a guy if he got too handsy.

In return, she'd let him take her to the Daddy/Daughter dance in middle school. She'd cried on his shoulder the first time she'd had her heart broken. He still had the crayon portrait she'd drawn of everyone—Janet, Sam, Hammond, Daniel, Teal'c, and himself—gathered around her on the day her adoption was finalized. She'd written 'family' on the bottom of the page in her neatest cursive. It had been the second thing he'd displayed in his office at the Pentagon—the first being a snapshot taken right after he and Sam had said their 'I Dos'.

Cassie had been a bit of a second chance for him. A second opportunity at doing that whole 'dad' thing.

"How about you, Sam?" Cassie slid forward again in her seat, craning her head and tapping on the side of the passenger seat to get Sam's attention. "Did you like it?"

"Hmm?" Sam dragged her gaze away from the window. "The restaurant? Yeah. It was fine."

"Fine?"

"It was good." Sam smiled.

A smile which looked a little bit forced, but Jack wasn't going to dwell on that. She was probably just still hungry—maybe a little tired. He laid on the brakes and pulled up at a stop light.

"Just 'good'?" Cassie's eyes narrowed, then rolled as she slunk back into her seat. "So, you didn't like it."

"What? No." Sam shifted in her seat, turning to look over her shoulder at the younger woman. "No. I liked it."

"But you didn't love it."

"It was good, Cassie."

"Then what's wrong?"

"Nothing." But her voice didn't quite convey the same answer.

The light changed, and Jack threw a quick glance at Sam before revving the engine and taking the turn. She looked—something. Not annoyed. Not upset. Concerned, maybe.

Preoccupied.

Probably just thinking about how best to help Cassie in the near—and not so near—future. If Sam was anything—it was a planner. A planner who possessed the propensity to imagine permutations and possibilities in and and around pretty much any scenario presented to her. He'd seen her do it so many times that he recognized the signs. Could practically see the cogs and gears working in her head.

"I think that Sam's just a little tired, Cass."

"Too tired for our movie?"

"Movie?" Jack flicked on the high beams. Their house lay at the end of a long stretch of road—past a convenience store and a few other houses set far back from the street. Close enough to the city that his commute wasn't unbearable, but secluded enough that he could breathe. Far enough from the greater population that their light pollution didn't screw up his view of the stars.

This time of night, he rarely encountered other traffic—but he'd frequently come across deer and other critters. He slowed once he hit the rural section of road. Nothing ruined a night more quickly than killing Bambi.

Cassie leaned in again—this time closer to Jack. "We were going to watch Legally Blonde."

"Chick flick?"

"It's a 'dumped girl gets revenge' flick. Sort of. But it's funny, and Luke Wilson's kind of cute and looks nothing like Devyn, so that's a masterpiece in my book." Sighing, she leaned back against the leather of the seat. "We thought it might help get my mind off things."

Ah. Jack maneuvered the truck down the long driveway, pulling into his spot next to Sam's Volvo. Turning the key, he waited for the big diesel to shudder to a stop before opening the door.

Cassie immediately slid out, landing on the pavers and heading to the door. Jack waited for a minute before looking over at Sam.

"So?"

"So what?" She reached down for her purse, bringing it up to rest on her lap.

"Are you okay?" He glanced at her, but she wasn't looking back at him, instead gazing off into the distance past the garage and into the acreage south of the house.

"I'm just thinking." Another sigh, and then finally a fleeting smile as she tilted a look down at her bag.

"About Cassie?"

"And her situation." Sam shook her head, her hair flowing over her shoulder. "She's so hurt, Jack. Devastated, really. She was blindsided by the whole thing."

Jack had known his wife long enough that he was certain that she wasn't expecting a response, so he just waited for her to continue.

And eventually she did, her expression tightly drawn, her knuckles pale as her hands gripped the strap of her bag. "It's all just made me think about you and me. About how we got together."

"About how it took too damned long?"

She angled her head in a hint of a nod, cocking a single eyebrow. "And about how people were hurt in the process."

Jack lowered his chin, making a thorough study of his steering wheel. The leather was worn in places, nearly pristine in others. Anyone with half a brain could look at his truck and figure out exactly how he usually sat, where his hands held the wheel as he drove. Figure his height from the position of his seat, the angle of the mirrors. Hell—probably even how much weight he'd gained since he'd bought it by how the dent his butt made in his leather seat had expanded. Like rings on a tree—but for his ass.

People always left clues in the wakes of their lives. Always changed the world around them just by existing within it. Ripples in a pond—changing the flow and the direction of other ripples as their paths intersected.

He tried not to think about it all, to be honest. But he had to ask. "Are you feeling guilty about Pete?"

She made an odd noise before looking over at him. "Are you feeling guilty about Ms. Johnson?"

"Well." Jack rang his finger along the bumpy inner section of the wheel. "She broke up with me, so—there's that."

Sam sat there for a long beat before sucking in a deep breath. "Do you have any regrets?"

Did he? Of course he did. But not about the people they'd left behind. He regretted the years they'd wasted—he and Sam. The missed moments. Too many times when he should have retired, or quit, or thrown everything to hell and made a declaration that could have given them more of a future, allowed them to have more of a life together.

They'd missed out on so many things. So many opportunities had passed them by, just because he hadn't seized them. And he suddenly thought about that damned stick in his pocket, and the fact that it could have been them standing on this precipice—if only—

But what was that cliche about ships having sailed?

"I try not to dwell, Sam." His tone was carefully measured. "You know that."

"Yeah. I do." She sat up and reached for her door release. Throwing him a quick smile, she pulled it open and got out.

# # #

"So, what do you do in that hospital of yours, Cass?"

"A little bit of everything."

Jack threw his sports coat over the back of a chair and headed towards the fridge. Sam had headed upstairs to change as soon as they'd gotten inside, while Jack had focused more on finding something to fill his gullet that was a little more substantial than grass and mummified mystery fruit.

Cassie was pacing—a little restlessly, really, pulling her phone out of her pocket and checking her messages. Jack watched as she scowled down at the screen glowing in her hand, her lips tightly set—as if in silent response.

"Any real doctor stuff yet?" He found a piece of cheese swathed in multiple layers of plastic wrap. Unwinding the clingy film, he broke a bit off the corner, and took an experimental sniff. Cheddar. Probably. "Or are you relegated to grunt work?"

Cassie twisted a lock of hair between her fingers as she fiddled with the phone. "Um—mostly orderly stuff."

"Like what?"

She tore her gaze from the screen to squint over at him. "Usually, I clean bedpans and wipe drool. Sometimes I get to suction stuff. Other times, I take patients to different parts of the hospital for testing. I help them get in and out of their beds and into gurneys or wheelchairs."

"That sounds like a lot of heavy lifting." Frowning, Jack scowled down at the cheddar. Even he knew that kind of strain could be problematic for a pregnant woman.

"It's not too bad. If a patient is really heavy or immobile, we always work in pairs."

"So you're careful."

She shot him an odd look. "Yes, Jack. We're given all kinds of training."

"Where are you taking all these people?"

"Usually to the MRI suite or to the X-Ray labs."

"X-Rays?" Jack paused, a hunk of cheese raised halfway to his lips. He was pretty sure that he'd read that radiation could cause birth defects, right? Hell—he'd seen the effects of radiation a few times in his life, and things hadn't ended well. Surely Cassie shouldn't be putting herself or the baby in harm's way, should she? Clearing his throat, he tried to modulate his tone. "Is that safe?"

"Sure." She shrugged at him across the breakfast bar on the island. "As long as you take the correct precautions."

"What kinds of precautions?"

"They drape the patient with a lead apron or blanket on any part of them that isn't being X-Rayed, for one." She clicked her phone closed and set it on the counter. "The techs know exactly how much of a radiation dose is too much and how much is just enough."

Well, sure. He'd had enough pictures taken of his bones to know that. Still—it was concerning. "But you're not in the room when the X-Ray is happening?"

"Of course not." She frowned at him. "I'm an orderly, Jack. I go out and wait in the hall while the imaging is being done and then I take the patient back to their room."

"So, you're not in any danger."

"None." She toyed with her hair again, pulling it back into a ponytail before shaking it back out. Casting him an odd sort of look, she asked, "Why?"

"I've just heard that it's not advisable for people to be exposed to that much radiation." Jack leaned back against the counter. "It could cause all kinds of issues."

"What kinds of issues?"

"You know—for women." He cleared his throat. "Or kids. Or whatever."

"Kids?" Her hazel eyes made a long, thorough study of his face before she answered him. "We're all adults, and we're all trained in best practices, Jack."

What the hell did that mean? Still, he made an awkward sort of salute with his cheese. "Good. That's good."

"What's good?" Sam padded past the dining table and towards the kitchen. She'd gotten comfortable—exchanging the dress for a t-shirt and some soft pajama pants. She was barefoot, and she'd combed her hair out so that it flowed over her shoulders in a shimmering wave.

Coming to a stop at the end of the island, she passed a look between Jack and Cassie, her keen eyes taking in the subtle tension.

Tension which Jack attempted to gloss over, gesturing randomly with the cheese. "We were just talking about her job at the hospital."

"Oh? Has it changed from before?"

"Same old stuff." Cassie leaned forward, resting her weight on her elbows. "Long hours. Not enough pay."

"Long hours?"

"Yes, Jack." Rolling her eyes, Cass grinned. "It's supposed to give us an opportunity to learn about patient care and get first-hand experience in the healthcare system. It's also good preparation for residency and all that stuff. It's valuable for my education."

"But you're getting enough rest, aren't you?"

"Holy crap, Father." With a sharp sound, Cassie pushed back away from the island. "What is this? The third degree?"

"I'm just worried about you. You need to take care of yourself."

"I am."

"Really?" He folded the plastic wrap back over the cheese and laid the chunk back onto the counter. Straightening, he watched as the young woman rounded the opposite edge of the island and made her way into the kitchen. "Because it sounds like you work too hard, for too long, exposed to radiation and sick people's goo."

"Goo?" Sam's eyes widened. "There's goo?"

"Suctioning—stuff." Crossing his arms across his chest, he tried not to grimace again. "Those were her words."

"It's all part of the job of taking care of sick people and saving lives." Cass moved past him towards the refrigerator. "It's what I've signed up for. You, of all people, should understand that."

Sam sent her husband an odd look before turning back to answer Cassandra with a reassuring, "We do, honey."

"I don't. I'm not a smarty-pants doctor." Frustrated, Jack paced towards the other side of the kitchen. "Therefore, I really don't get why you're so determined to put yourself—and others, maybe—into danger."

Yanking the door ajar, Cassie paused to look at him again, clearly annoyed. "From a medical perspective, I'm not. I'm just doing my job. But tell me, General O'Neill. How many years did you spend putting yourself in danger on distant planets—and on ships out in freaking space—in order to save lives here on Earth?"

To his credit, he only sputtered a little. "That's not the same thing at all."

"Oh, I think it is." Spearing him with a triumphant glare, she opened the door of the refrigerator wide. "It's exactly the same thing."

"Jack?" Sam's expression grew even more quizzical. "Cassie? What's really going on here?"

"Nothing." Cassie's response was immediate and sharp, even muffled from within the interior of the refrigerator..

"Nothing." Jack looked over to see his wife staring at him, concern clearly etched on her face. "Nothing. Really. I'm just a little worried that Cassie isn't taking care of herself the way she should."

"She's studying to be a doctor, Jack. It's bound to be a hard road." Sam reached out and picked up Jack's discarded cheese. Carefully, she worked at rearranging the plastic covering. "But she's young and healthy. I'm sure she's doing the best she can."

"Exactly." Cassie leaned back to see them from around the door of the fridge. "Living with Mom gave me a pretty good look into medicine and what it's like to be a doctor. I know what I'm getting into."

Stymied, Jack dropped his chin to glare down at his shoes. How was he supposed to support her—help her—if she wouldn't listen? She had to realize that everything would be harder with a kid. Glancing towards Sam, he wondered wildly if he could enlist her help in talking some sense into their young charge.

A charge who was still rummaging around in the fridge as if expecting that the appliance would disgorge the secret to the universe.

The condiment jars in the door suddenly rattled as Cassie shut the refrigerator door. In her hands was one of Jack's bottles of Heineken. "I need a drink. Anyone else want one?"

A beer? Really?

What the hell? Maybe she didn't know that it wasn't a good idea—that was possible, right? Maybe they hadn't covered that stuff yet in that school she was going to.

Or maybe she did know, and just didn't care.

He cleared his throat. Pointedly. "That's a beer."

Eloquent opening argument, there, Jack.

She wiggled the label in his direction. "It's not one of your hoarded bottles of Guinness. I figured this would be okay."

He pointed at the bottle and tried again. "Is that the kind of drink you really wanted? I think that there are some of Sam's Diet Cokes in there."

"I'm over twenty-one, Jack." Cassie tugged on the drawer next to the stove and dug around until she found an opener. Popping the cap off, she tossed the opener back into the drawer and closed it with a shove of her thigh. "I'm well over the legal age to drink alcohol."

"Yeah. But is alcohol the best idea for you?" He glanced over to where Sam was tidying things up. She'd stowed the cheese in the fridge and had started brushing crumbs off the counters into the sink. It looked like she was purposefully trying to stay out of the fray. Okay. So? He'd go it alone. Turning back to Cassie, he threw a pointed look at her abdomen. "You know—with the current state of things."

Cassie's hazel eyes narrowed at him as she raised the bottle—only to stop with it half-way to her mouth. "You mean, in my current state as an honors medical student fully aware of how alcoholic beverages might affect an adult human? Or in my current situation as a recently dumped bride?"

"Um—"

"Because if it's the dumped bride one, then the beer isn't nearly medicinal enough." She gave the bottle a thorough once-over. "I'd need some of that bourbon you keep in the cupboard for that. Or the vodka in the freezer."

Jack clenched his teeth together, suddenly wary. He wasn't supposed to know about the baby, right? He'd been attempting to play dumb. To act as if things were totally normal.

Still, the beer was not a good idea. He'd read the pamphlets. Seen the Public Service Announcements. Hell—he'd had a kid—thumbed through the myriad parenting books that Sara had left purposefully around the house. He knew stuff.

And all of a sudden, that damned stick felt like it was burning a hole in his trouser pocket.

He parsed his next words with care. "I'm talking about the rest of it. The other stuff going on in your life right now."

She was truly scowling now, snorting out a strangled chuckle. "Like what?"

"Like—what's happening with you."

"Like what?" Picking up the bottle cap, she flicked it into the trash can next to the island before stalking out of the kitchen and through the dining room. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"What am I talking about? The rest of it. The stuff that will be happening soon in your life." He gestured randomly in the air as he trailed behind her into the other room. "In the next few months."

"What's happening in the next few months?" Sam wandered past him on her way to the couch. She had an open carton of ice cream in one hand, and a spoon in the other. Obviously, the tofu hadn't been enough for her, either.

"Who the hell knows?" Cassie took a long draw from the bottle before crossing the living room to flump herself down on the couch. "Jack's talking complete nonsense."

"I'm just saying that maybe Cassie shouldn't be drinking alcohol."

"Why not?" Sam followed the younger woman to the couch, tucking her leg underneath her as she sat down. Pulling her spoon from her pint, she frowned up at her husband. "She's legal."

"It doesn't matter if it's legal." Jack groaned. "What matters is the harm it's doing."

"To whom? Cassie?"

"Not to Cassie." Jack scratched at the back of his neck. Damn it—this was going south on him. He tried one last tack. "To someone else. You know? Someone—else."

Cassie couldn't have looked more confused if she'd tried. Wide-eyed—blank. As if Jack had suddenly and inexplicably started speaking in an alien language.

Which had happened before—so it wasn't completely outside the realm of possibility.

But he digressed.

Bowing to the inevitable, Jack let out a harsh breath. When he spoke, his voice carried a hint of surrender. "Cassie—I found it."

Silence.

And then the sound of Cassie taking another long draw from the bottle. She swallowed slowly before meeting his eyes again. "Found what?"

It was disconcerting to have all that feminine ire focused on him at once. Cassie's turbulent hazel eyes and Sam's piercing blue ones pilloried him from two different angles—like that damned ball that had tried to kill him in the 'Gateroom so many years before. Only this was more painful, if that was possible. The air in the room felt icy—void—decidedly less than convivial.

Damn it all. Thrusting his hand into his pocket, he retrieved his evidence and brandished it. "This. I found this."

Cassie's eyebrows flew high, and she snorted before laughing out loud. "Is that what I think it is?"

Sam, on the other hand, wasn't laughing at all. Her expression was closer to horror. Or terror. Her cheeks went pale, and she stuck her spoon back into her ice cream as if it were a stake and the Rocky Road were a vampire. "What are you doing with that?"

"I found it."

"When?"

"Where?"

They'd spoken over each other. Cassie stuck her bottle down between two couch cushions and rose to her feet, pointing at the test in his hands. "Where did you find that?"

Sam followed that up with a confused shake of her head. "And when?"

"In the trash." He tried to sound casual about it, but was pretty sure he failed spectacularly. "In the guest bathroom. This afternoon."

Sam's eyebrows flew upwards. "You're going through the trash now?"

"No, I wasn't going through the trash."

"And yet you found it—in the trash." Sam's tone was coolly patient. As if she were speaking to a slow-witted bureaucrat. "Isn't that what you said?"

Jack grunted, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Damned genius wife. "I was looking for the soap."

"And you thought you'd find it in the garbage?" Cassie folded her arms across her body, eyeing him with a nasty, speculative little smile. "That's unusual."

"No." Jack ran an exasperated hand through his hair. "It was that soap dispenser thing—one of the new fancy-schmancy pieces of cra—er—decor that Sam keeps filling my house with."

"Your house?" Sam's brows rose. "I thought it was our house."

"You know what I mean."

"Do I?" And damned but if it wasn't clear from her expression that she most certainly did not.

Klaxons. He was pretty sure he was hearing klaxons—only there was no self-destruct code to enter that would get him out of this particular pickle. Nobody watching his six—proverbial or otherwise. He was on his own. Unarmed. Behind what were rapidly appearing to be enemy lines.

Sucking in a deep breath, Jack looked from one irate woman to another. "Look. The important thing is that we all know about it now. So? We can all talk about it."

"What's there to talk about?" Cassie took a few steps in his direction. "What's the test say?"

Jack flickered a look at the tiny screen on the plastic. "It's—uh—positive."

"A positive pregnancy test?" A few more steps brought her next to him. She grabbed his arm, tilting it so that she could read the results. "So? Someone's knocked up."

"Cassie—" Jack schooled his face into something he hoped was benign. "I think we know who that is, don't we?"

More silence—except that this time, it was louder. Oppressive and menacing—as if silence could spontaneously combust. Jack watched as understanding dawned on Cassandra's face—as she sorted through everything and searched for the correct conclusion.

And then, as she found it. "You think it's me."

"Cass—"

"You go rooting around in the garbage, find a positive pregnancy test, and immediately think that it's mine?" Her voice had risen not only in volume, but also in pitch. "You think that I'm pregnant?"

Jack answered before he could think of a better thing to do. "Well—yeah."

"Why?"

"Why?" He'd frequently felt more comfortable while being shot. Looking down at the stick in his hand, he groaned. "Because."

"Because." Cassie took a step backwards, turning to look over at Sam briefly before focusing back on Jack. "Because? Because I'm young and stupid? Because you think I'm so immature that I was careless enough to get myself knocked up?"

"I don't think that you're—" but the look on her face stopped him.

"Unbelieveable." Cassie raked her hair back off her face, stalking over towards the couch and bending to grab her bottle. Raising it to her lips, she sent another sour smile in his direction. "Un-freaking-believable."

"Cass—"

"That test could belong to anyone, Jack." Setting her dessert on the coffee table, Sam stood. It only took her a few steps to reach Cassie's side. "It's not necessarily Cassie's."

"Oh really?" Jack squinted at his wife. "Like who? Because you already told me it wasn't you, and I don't have the requisite plumbing."

"It really could be anyone." Sam's voice seemed too high—too intense. Her lips were thin, and a flush of color had crept up from her throat to tinge her cheeks pink. "Cassie's had a few friends over since she's been here. Two came for coffee yesterday while you were at work."

"Whitney and Kylie. From college. They both used the downstairs bathroom while they were here." Cassie bracketed her hands on her hips. "Or, it could have been Connie Seaver."

"Who?"

"Our neighbor, Jack." Sam rolled her eyes. "She lives down the road. She came over yesterday to use the restroom and fill up a few jugs with water while the water lines at her property were shut off for some reason."

Cassie supplied the answer. "Leaky irrigation."

"Right." Sam nodded in the younger woman's direction. "She stayed for a little while and we got to know each other. She used the bathroom before she went home."

"Or what about Susan?" Cassie pointed at Jack with the bottle. "She was here all day the day before yesterday."

Jack frowned. "Susan the cleaning lady? Isn't she a little old for this kind of thing?"

Sam's expression took on a dangerous glint. He'd seen that look before—usually right before someone started screaming. That look was scary on entirely too many levels.

As was her tone when she finally responded. "She's a year younger than I am, Jack."

Oh, damn. Jack frowned down at the plastic stick still in his hand. "You expect me to believe that one of these women came over to our house and suddenly decided—'hey. I think I'll take a pregnancy test while I'm in these nice people's bathroom'?"

"Stranger things have happened." Sam passed her tongue across her lips and looked down at her feet.

Jack had to give that one to her. They were in the remarkable position to know that yes, indeed, stranger things had happened. He suppressed yet another groan. "Well, it's got to be someone. Someone took this test."

"And that someone is not me." Cassie took yet another swig, taking her time swallowing the brew. "With everything else going on in my life right now, the last thing that I would be is irresponsible enough to get pregnant. I mean—seriously. I'm a little smarter than that, aren't I? Give me a little credit."

"I do."

"Obviously, Jack. You don't."

For a long time, the room fell quiet—the only sound was the faint 'tick-tick-tick' coming from the clock on the wall in the dining room and the sudden muffled sound of ice cascading into the tray from the ice maker in the fridge..

Swearing, Jack let out a rough sigh, shuffling backwards to lean against the entertainment center. "Cassie—"

She stopped him with an upraised hand. Her eyes were brighter, now. Shining with more than righteous indignation. She looked more than a little upset. She looked hurt. As if she'd been betrayed all over again. "Holy crap, Jack. I can't believe you."

"I was just trying to help." Lame. Lame, even to his own ears.

"Well, next time?" Cassie ran a hand through her hair, pushing it back behind her ear. Sniffling, she stared down at the bottle suspended from her fingers. "Next time you want to help me? Don't."

"Come on, Cass." Jack pressed his lips together, casting a wary glance in her direction. "I'm sorry."

But she only shook her head, moving backwards and around the couch before raising the bottle at him in a crude salute. She reached the back door before she paused, sending a frown back over her shoulder at him as she turned the handle. "I need some air."

And with that, she slipped out into the night.