"What do you mean? I-I thought I did everything right."

"You did. And you have."

Dr. Barrinski, whom I expected to not have to see until the end of the pregnancy, glances through his notes from the blood tests.

"It's not the H.C.M. that I'm worried about, which is preferred. Neither mother nor child have any issues in terms of their hearts."

Derek, whose hand has been clasped around mine since walking into the practice, squeezes it every so often.

"You're borderline stage three for C.O.P.D., otherwise known as severe C.O.P.D.."

"I-I-I was only in stage one before."

"Given the trauma you've experienced in such a short amount of time, your body is reacting and adapting as well as it can."

I lean back against the cushioned chair.

"And the baby?"

"For now, the baby is fine. But the birth. . .it can become fatal for both of you."

Tears well in my eyes, and with a shaky breath, I nod my head. Derek looks towards me, brows scrunched in question.

"I suggest —"

"I'm going through with the pregnancy."

I push myself out of the chair, followed closely and quickly by Derek.

"Henry, I know my body, alright? Symptom-wise, I see no change to now versus when I was first diagnosed. And I refuse to terminate this pregnancy when I'm so far along."

His hand cups the small of my back.

"I want this baby. I wanna hold them and care for them and love them."

"I'm not saying you have to terminate the pregnancy, but —"

"But that's essentially what you're saying, isn't it? Me or the baby. I can't make a decision like that, not as a mother. Not when there's no real danger yet."

"Leven —"

"You're a father. You know the feeling." My lips purse tightly. "How are Lacey and Logan?"

"They're well." The doctor swallows thickly.

"See you in a week."

Once we've reached the car, I step into the passenger seat with a little more difficulty than usual before shutting the door.

"I hate him. I hate him. I hate him."

"It's gonna be okay."

"You don't know that. Even if the C.O.P.D. or H.C.M. doesn't do anything, he could be choking on his cord or growing an extra limb. Or both."

"We're not gonna worry about it. Not unless we have to."

". . .he better come out with my judgment skills."

I run a hand over his head.

"And your head of hair."

"She could come out with my lack of judgment and your volume-less hair."

"Derek Christopher Shepherd!"

The growth of his amused expression shines over my shock, and Derek pulls out of the parking lot with a fresh grin.

As soon as we reach the hospital, Bailey pages me into her O.R. with a patient who was thought to have gallstones but in fact. . .has cancer.

"Damn it. It's in the liver." My exasperated breath puffs the mask.

"Oh, if she was teaching last week, it can't be that bad." Bailey assures calmly. "Alright, if we resect the liver, maybe we can get it all."

"Can't hurt to try."

But the moment we cut deeper, another problem arises.

"It's encasing the hepatic artery and the bile duct."

"We won't be able to take the artery if we continue."

Bailey sighs under her breath. "It's unresectable."

"Let's finish up and close, then." My lips press together.

After a brief session in the nearest supply closet, I move along to the attending lounge where Cristina has nearly paced a pathway into the floor.

"This is exactly what I was afraid of. The administrative crap is taking over my career. I mean, Russell called me someone on the board. He doesn't even see me as a surgeon. I'm just someone who cuts budgets."

Meanwhile, Baby Phoenix-Shepherd pounds away at my ribcage.

"Kick once if you're choking, twice if you're coming out early, or three times if you're just annoying the fuck out of me."

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

"I guess we're going with lucky number three."

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Of course I am. I'm just a little distracted by the fetus inside me."

She rolls and unrolls a magazine in her fist, eyes narrowed between me and the more-than-obvious baby bump.

"Could you talk to them?"

"Who?"

"He, she, the demon — ow."

"Why?"

"Whenever I tell it to stop, the baby just kicks more. Derek can calm it down most times, but I swear to God I'm gonna rip my uterus out by the end of the day."

"How?"

"What is this, twenty questions?"

With a simple roll of her eyes, Cristina tosses aside the magazine and props herself on the coffee table across from me.

"Hello. This is. . .Cristina. Yang."

"This isn't a job interview, dimwit."

"Well, I don't know. What do you want me to say?"

"Keep talking about any random crap you can pull out of your ass."

Bailey shoves her way through the entrance with a giant binder tucked under her arm. She gestures to Cristina to step aside before taking over.

"Hey, uh, this is Miranda Bailey. I am an excellent surgeon and a forward thinker. Your mother's a surgeon, your father's a surgeon, you'll very likely want to be one, too. But I'm hoping by the time it's your turn, there will be very little surgery left because human genome mapping will have given people information so that they can fight their diseases before they happen."

A brief pause fills the room, and I nod my head ecstatically.

"Well, go on. Keep talking."

"Um, armed with information, people will be able to live longer, healthier lives. Now, I know this is a very expensive undertaking, but maybe if you hadn't spent so much money on coffee sleeves and new logos, there'd be money in the budget to fund a forward thinker like me."

"I think she's talking to us now."

"She could yell at us for all I care. As long as it's working."

At the end of our shifts, Derek and I meet up in the recovery wing where he wishes his patient well and hands over the case to Ross for the night.

"What do you want for dinner?"

"I was thinking I could cook something. Maybe a salad on the side, too?"

"We can pick up dinner. You should be taking it easy, especially after a twelve-hour shift."

Derek palms my abdomen gently, feeling around for any sort of movement. In turn, I brush his hand away.

"What are you doing?" He frowns lightly.

"You shouldn't get too attached." A sigh hums against my throat. "In case something happens to me, or the baby. . .or the both of us."

"Leven, I need you to stop."

"We're magnets for bad things, Der. I just want you to be prepared in case. . ."

"In case I lose you?"

Tears well in my eyes involuntarily, and I cling to his dark blue scrubs as wet stains form over his chest.

"You're not going to die." He mutters gently into my ear. "And neither is our baby. You're both going to live for a very long time."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I just know."