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It's embarrassing, is what it is.
Hannah has never in her life, not even as a wet behind the ears, green as grass first year med student, vomited in front of a patient. But there's obviously a first time for everything as she feels sweat prickle on the back of her neck, her stomach flipping in an unpleasantly familiar way. She turns away quickly, just about manages to grab an emesis bag in time and the last thing she sees before she closes her eyes as she surrenders to nausea and humiliation is Doris's wide, horrified gaze.
When she comes back to herself, Lenox is at her patient's side, Dean is at hers. Dean's eyes are worried, Lenox's shrewd. "I've got this," she says, all business. "Doctor Asher, Doctor Archer will take a look at you."
For a second, there's a flicker of something in her eyes, to say nothing of the very barest uptick of her lips. Does she know? Hannah considers the question for only a second, then she's distracted by Dean's firm hand on the small of her back.
"Come on," he says, in a tone that brooks no argument. To anyone else that is. Hannah can hear the concern underneath. "Let's get you checked out."
He brings her into the furthest exam room he can, which she wants to tell him is a staggering overreaction, as well as a waste of resources. They both know what's wrong with her. When he sits her on the side of the bed, fingers curling loosely around her wrist to take her pulse, she doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. "This is unnecessary."
Dean hums, a sound of doubt, disapproval. "You just tossed your cookies in front of a patient. And Doris." He quirks an eyebrow. She tries not to squirm.
"I'm getting used to it."
Too late she realises that that was definitely the wrong thing to say. There are always furrows in Dean's brow but they deepen to Mariana Trench levels as her words register. "You shouldn't be." He starts moving monitors around, searching for leads and that's definitely overkill in Hannah's expert opinion. Not that he gives her a chance to say that. "What does your OB say?"
It's two days since she laid all this on him. Barely a week since she found out herself. And she's a Board Certified OBGYN who is one thousand percent sure of her dates because there is only one possible conception date. So making an appointment hadn't really been her first thought. "I haven't seen her-" she starts and Dean opens his mouth like he's going to argue with her but just then the curtain swishes open and straight out a bad dream, Mitch is standing there, eyes wide, looking between her and Dean.
Hannah can feel the blood drain out of her face. Of all the ways she'd thought of Mitch finding out, of all the ways she'd planned to tell him, this was not on her list. "You're pregnant?" he demands, having evidently put two and two, her sickness and mention of an OBGYN, together and come up with the right answer. Well, she'd never said he was a lousy doctor.
There's no point denying it, so she doesn't. And when she sees him glancing at her abdomen, she rips off the bandaid. "Almost seven weeks." Thereby answering the question he didn't know how to ask.
She sees him register the information. Feels Dean take a half step closer to her. She doesn't want him fighting her battles for her but she won't deny she's grateful for the silent show of support. Especially when she sees the look in Mitch's eyes as he goes to speak. She's seen that look before, can still hear the words "That's your issue, not mine," thrown in her face. So when he says, "Wow," it's actually less than she was expecting. Until he follows it up with, "You move on fast."
Just because she was expecting the punch doesn't mean it doesn't leave her spinning. She's not sure if Dean's "Hey!" is born out of shock or indignation but either way it draws Mitch's attention to his presence there.
"How come he gets to know?" he demands, gesturing towards Dean and Hannah can see it coming, like a slow motion car crash. The suspicion. The dawning realisation.
And of course the fact that Dean, unbeknownst to most of the ED but very well known by her, is a snarky little troll when he wants to be.
"Well, since you ask..." Dean lets his voice trail off, the implication obvious. Mitch's jaw drops, his head swivelling between the two of them. His eyes are wide, shocked.
"You?"
Dean gives him a firm, short nod. "Me."
Hannah's head is swimming and it's nothing to do with morning sickness. "Mitch, I didn't want you to find out like this..." It's the truth but she knows from one look at Mitch's face that he doesn't want to hear it. Not right now. Maybe not ever. His expression is a brick wall, his eyes stormy and she braces herself for the wave to hit. It never comes. Instead he huffs out a breath, turns on his heels and walks out of the cubicle.
Hannah drops her head, squeezes the bridge of her nose, her nausea now fully back. She breathes deeply as she feels the bed dip beside her. "I could have handled that better." It's as close to an apology as she's going to get from Dean. Then again, there was no possible way Mitch was going to take the news of her pregnancy well. Frankly, Hannah had been expecting worse.
"He had to find out somehow." Lifting her head, she finds Dean looking at her, his gaze steady. "I mean, I can only hide it for so long."
"Definitely if you're having all day morning sickness." Something in his tone tells Hannah he's not going to let that nugget drop. He follows it up with, "You should call your OB."
Knowing it's what she'd be telling an ED walk-in, sickness or no sickness, Hannah nods. "I'll do it at lunch. But you know it's perfectly normal in the first trimester."
There's an unhappy sound from the back of Dean's throat. "Doesn't mean I have to like it."
Hannah's not exactly a fan of it either but he looks so miserable about it that she can't help but smile. In the full knowledge of where they are, how easy it would be for someone to walk in just like Mitch had, she leans in, lets her head fall on his shoulder. She feels as well as hears him sigh before his head inclines to rest against hers and his left hand reaches across to take her right. His grip is strong and warm and makes her remember how they got here in the first place, how his hand travelled from her hand to her cheek to all over her body.
This time, when her stomach flips, it's nothing to do with pregnancy nausea.
"You're going to have to get used to it. We both are." It's possible she's not just talking about the nausea.
"Yeah." His voice is neutral. He squeezes her hand. "How are you feeling?"
The abrupt question catches her by surprise. "Better." It's always the way. A brief swell then a welcome lull that could last minutes or hours.
"Walk with me a minute?" He stands as he asks the question, not letting go of her hand. She stares up at him, at their joined hands and has the brief, hysterical thought that if anyone walks in on them, they'll be the talk of the hospital.
Then again, that's another thing they're going to have to get used to.
"Sure." She gets to her feet and he holds her hand until he's sure she's steady. He doesn't drop it until he pushes open the privacy curtain and she thinks they might attract second or third looks as they walk through the ED but no one seems to notice them. He leads her to the locker room and Hannah's stomach swims at the memories of previous conversations that were, looking back, a sure sign that things were changing between them.
Of course you're a reason to stay.
You deserve more. And you don't see that. I do.
She will not cry, she tells herself. Stupid hormones.
Dean is standing at his locker when she walks down memory lane, pulls out a small package. "I couldn't sleep when you left the other night." The night she dropped the bomb on him. "And I, ah... I ended up ordering this." She frowns as he hands it to her, sits down on the bench to open it up. Her knees feel wobbly somehow and she's not sure why.
The package is small and light, soft to the touch. When she opens it, there's a small bundle of fabric inside and when she pulls it out, shakes it open, her breath catches in her throat. It's the tiniest onesie she's ever seen in her life, Chicago Cubs logo proudly embroidered on the left hand side.
She will not cry, she tells herself again.
Except she already is. Dean reaches up and wipes away her tears, a somewhat self deprecating smile on his face. "I get I may have been a little... less than enthusiastic with my reaction."
She shakes her head. His hand is still on her cheek. "You weren't expecting this," she counters but he doesn't let her let him off the hook.
"Neither of us were. But I want you to know... whatever you need from me, whatever you want from me, that's what I'll give you." His free hand moves to her other cheek and this is so like that night that Hannah can barely breathe. Or maybe that's because of the way he's looking at her. Like she's everything he ever wanted and nothing he ever thought he'd have. "I will love this child unconditionally, I promise you..." His eyes drop down to the onesie in her hands. "But I'll be damned if I'm raising a White Sox fan."
She's heard him and Sean talk about their outings to Wrigley Field. She's been known to avoid him after a particularly hard loss to a heated rival. The image of him doing the same thing with their baby makes her smile, even as tears are still rolling down her cheeks. It's hard to make sense of the jumble of thoughts in her head but there's one that comes to the forefront, appears on the tip of her tongue and emerges before she can fully process what she's asking.
"Just the baby?"
Dean blinks, just once. Then he goes very, very still. He doesn't drop his hands. The only part of him that moves are his eyes, searching her face like he's searching for the Holy Grail. "What are you..." His voice trails off.
Hannah swallows hard, knowing she's about to drop another bomb on their relationship but unable to stop herself. "Will you only love the baby?" she whispers, the question echoing loud in the empty locker room.
"Hannah..." Her name is a breath from his lips. His head falls forward so that their foreheads are touching and she's not sure if her heart is hammering from fear or something else. His hands are still on her cheeks and when he straightens up, looks into her eyes, what she sees there is exactly what she saw that night in his bedroom. "I don't only love the baby."
If she hadn't already been crying, that would have done it. If she hadn't been sitting down, she would have needed to. As it is, her heart is beating so quickly that she's surprised he can't hear it, and it only increases as he leans in and brushes his lips across hers.
Compared to their kisses from that night, it's gentle, tender, possibly in deference to where they are, possibly because of her physical and emotional state. She still feels the impact of it down to her core, shivers racing along her spine, goosebumps rising on her skin.
When he pulls back, he once again rests his forehead against hers. "Come home with me tonight," he says. "We have a lot of plans to discuss."
One of Hannah's hands is still clutching the onesie. The other is on his chest, right over his heart. Which is pounding almost as hard as hers. His whole countenance is lighter, his eyes dancing, lips curling up in a smile. That's what makes her brave enough to tease him a little, to ask, "So you just want to... talk?"
His lips twitch a little more. "No," he says before he kisses her again.