sluttylyingliar | for Paul - timed for mid-september

for Paul - timed for mid-september

Rachel's not doing well. She is not doing well at all. By now the entire island knows about Brooke, more or less. She's not exactly sure when she last ate but she's certain it was by Raylan's prompting and the only thing that has kept her from falling head first into a bottle is Danny's suspicion and the promise she made him. She's never wanted a drink so badly in her life and she prays, she prays that he's wrong. She can't be pregnant. She can't. But God if it's not likely. She's sick all the time and she doesn't know when the fuck her last period was and Christ, she cannot be pregnant. She slips up to the main clinic as quickly as she can, keeping her head down and praying she's got the shifts correct. It has to be Paul. She can't do this with anyone else. Her breath freezes in her chest when she spots him through the open door. "Paul," she croaks, knocking on the door frame. "I need to talk to you."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He looks up from the paperwork that he's doing, smile on his face when he hears her voice. The moment he sees the look on her face, though, that smile dies. He frowns, pushing up out of his seat.

"Rach?" he asks her, reaching out with one hand to catch her by the shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"I need to..." she starts, looking around for anyone who could be listening. "I need you to run a test, okay? It needs to be private because maybe it's nothing."

There's nobody else in the main clinic and he squeezes her shoulder, studying her face for a long moment. He doesn't know Raylan very well, but he knows that Rachel trusts him - he's got to wonder what's got her so upset and that she's here on her own.

"What?"

She turns to shut the door and wrings her hands, finally putting a voice to what she (and apparently Danny) have long suspected.

"I think I'm pregnant. It's been two months without a period. I'm sick all the time. I'm...fucking exhausted. I need to know. Raylan doesn't know."

For a moment, Paul's face is just blank and then he nods. The last thing she needs is for him to look like he doesn't believe her or like he can't process what he's saying.

He squeezes her shoulder and then offers her his hand.

"I can totally do that for you."

"Okay," she breathes, squeezing his hand tight, trying to anchor herself. "Is it...can we do an ultrasound? We'll know right away if we do that, right? And I stopped drinking a few weeks ago," she starts to babble. "Is that soon enough? I don't know how it works."

"We can do an ultrasound," he says, still squeezing her hand as he guides her in the direction of the equipment. "And, once we see what's going on, I can do an internal exam and make sure that everything's okay. And that's fine, Rachel. It's fine." He looks her in the face.

"You trust me, right?"

"I only trust you," she says softly. "I mean, as a friend and a doctor and all that. Do I just...do I just hop up there and then we know? Just like that?" she asks, eying the exam table.

"Hop up," he says, and he gets the machine fired up. He shifts closer, glancing into her face as he gets started on the scan. And then there it is, suddenly - a heartbeat. He studies the screen for a second and then reaches out to trace the image with his thumbnail.

"Spine," he says, gently. "Skull."

Rachel doesn't hear any of that. It's like all the sound gets sucked out of the room the second that first flutter comes up on the screen. She vaguely registers that she must be crying because her face feels hot and wet and she's having trouble getting her lungs to move.

She's pregnant. She's a mom and Brooke's gone and she's going to have Raylan's baby. Christ, she feels sick.

"Oh God," she whispers.

"It likes like everything's normal," he explains to her. "That's a good strong heartbeat. And you're...about two months along. Something like that."

He frowns and reaches out, smoothing her hair back from her face. "It's okay, Rachel. It's a good thing. Isn't it?"

"I can't be a mom," she chokes out, biting her lip as she stares at the screen. At her baby. "Paul I'm not...I'm a stripper and I, Jesus I barely eat and can you even breastfeed with fake boobs and I don't even know how to function without drinking and I have to tell Raylan."

"You can be a Mom," he says, gentle but firm, professional as he sets down the apparatus and leans in, covering her hand with his, the other still on her head. "Believe me, Rach, people have been great Moms and strippers before and you can breastfeed but we've got formula and bottles so you don't have to and Raylan will be fine."

She twines her fingers through his and just holds on, tears still trickling down her face. "You think the baby's okay?" she asks, voice croaking. "I didn't hurt it? I've got a stapled stomach. Do you think it's getting enough...food or whatever?"

He holds onto her as hard as she needs, leaning one elbow on the bed.

"I'll give you an exam in a minute to check," he says, gently. "But that heartbeat? Was great. And we'll look at how many calories you're getting. I am good at my job, Rachel. I am great at my job. And I am going to take care of you."

"Okay," she whispers, closing her eyes for a minute. She can't feel the baby, not beyond the fucking exhaustion and the nausea but she already wants so much to be better for it. To be better. Wishes it had a better start than her.

"Thank you," she says, trying to convey just how desperately thankful she is in those two words. "Can we do the exam, now? I want to get it over with."

"We can do it right now," he says, lifting her hand and pressing a kiss to the back of her hand before he lets it go. He moves around the bed, quickly and quietly. He goes about his business and, with every step, he explains what's about to happen.

It's every bit as uncomfortable as every other time she's had this kind of exam, and even more so because now she's paranoid the baby's going to fall out, or he'll say everything is wrong. She's so terrified that it's not even crossed her mind to be weirded out that it's Paul down there.

"Is it," she starts, trying to force her voice to be steadier. "Is it okay? Did I fuck it all up?"

"Everything's okay," says Paul, straightening up and starting to pull off his gloves, tugging a blanket into place to give her some privacy. "You're fine, Rach and the baby's fine, too. And now we know, we can start taking care of both of you."

"Okay," she breathes, resting back against the bed. "Okay. I'll try and eat more or something. Maybe there's more room to eat if I'm not drinking. And I do like, check ups, right? With you?"

"With me," he says, moving over to the sink to wash his hands. "I'm going to take care of you, Rach. Right up until the baby's born."

"You have to make it all really obvious," she insists, unconsciously resting her hand on her belly as she gets dressed. "I don't know anything about babies. Do you think Raylan's going to be mad I didn't tell him?"

"I'm good at my job, Rach. It'll be fine." He sits down at the desk to start her up a file.

"Of course he won't, Rach. You didn't know either and this baby...it's not planned. You need to get used to the idea yourself before you deal with him."

"This baby is super not planned," she snorts, taking a deep and hopefully calming breath. "I wish Brooke was here," she admits. "She'd be really happy about it."

"You're not?" he asks, getting up from the desk - the paperwork can wait - and coming back over to the bed, perching beside her. "What do you think Raylan's going to say?"

"I'm freaking out, Paul," she huffs. "I really don't know. I'm a stripper. I'm an addict. I'm twenty-five. I can barely take care of myself and I know whatever he thinks, Raylan will step up and be good about it. But I wish he had a better partner in this."

"Far as I can tell, he loves you, Rach," says Paul, arching an eyebrow and reaching for one of her hands. "He isn't going ot want anyone else."

"I know he won't, I just think he should," she admits, scrubbing her hand through her hair. "Can you go over the baby stuff with me? I need to go find him. I should find him soon. I need him to know."

"What stuff do you want me to go over?" he asks, shifting to get more comfortable on the bed beside her. "Tell me what you want to know and we'll go over it."

"Like, when do I come back?" she asks, twisting the sheet in one hand. "And what do I eat? I mean, seriously I mostly eat whiskey so I need to know like a calorie total, okay? And...shit can I still strip for now? Is that dangerous?"

"You come back as often as you need to, but, really, I need to see you once a month," he says, touching the back of her hand. "And I'll write you a list of what you can and can't eat. Good and bad foods. And don't worry about stripping. Dancing's fine while you feel up to it."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

for Paul - timed for mid-september

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject