I was very single-minded this weekend. I was determined to update. To any one who's reading and everyone who's, thank you so much. It's extremely appreciated. Anyone who celebrated-or is celebrating-Thanksgiving (because you're from Canada and that's how we roll :p), Happy Thanksgiving! And to anyone else, I hope you enjoyed your weekend.

This is not, I repeat is not, a fluffy Chloe is pregnant and the world is made up of cotton candy and rainbows story. Without further ado, chapter two

Decisions, decisions

I forced myself to loosen my grip on the wheel as Chloe's eyes slid from my face to my hands for what seemed like the hundredth time. Mangling my steering wheel-now indented with the shape of my hands-was not, and would not, ease my tension whatsoever. Chloe's knowing eyes returned to my face, where they had been for the whole car ride, narrowed in concentration as she had first tried to decipher my thoughts and now tried to come up with a plan of action, a way to properly approach the situation. She was humming with nervous energy; I could feel it rolling off of her. But underneath the anxiety, there was something stronger, something I knew all too well after eleven years together: determination. I could see it in the depth of her eyes, in the set of her shoulders.

She was determined to win this. But so was I.

We both knew what was coming. It was just a matter of time before one of us broached the topic and all hell broke loose. I didn't want to fight with Chloe, even though I still had some perverse attraction to it whenever we did. But this fight-no, this clash of opinions-would be different from the rest because it was about something of such serious nature, something we had never fought about before, and we were both set on coming out on top.

Feeling once again like an angst ridden sixteen year old, I, however, did not truly want to win. Every time I thought about what was to come, about what I had to say, my resolve practically crumbled.

I loved our babies, but they had yet to be concrete. Until I actually saw them, I'd have trouble even believing that I was actually going to be a father. The idea wasn't any less real, just more abstract. Whereas Chloe was real. She was alive and breathing and well. And she was mine.

My life. My everything.

And then I would remember Emily's words, her prognosis, and my resolve would once again strengthen, for I refused to risk losing all I had.

My hands reflexively tightened on the wheel. I had been holding this in for an hour, wanting to have this discussion at home, but I would soon burst. I heard Chloe take a deep breath, as if preparing herself to take the plunge.

"What should we name them?" she asked quietly, trying to keep her face and tone calm and collected.

I closed my eyes tightly for a moment, searching for the strength it would take to say it. I kept my voice low and even, wanting to convey my seriousness and needing to remain composed.

"Chloe. We're not keeping them." I looked over at her, gauging her reaction. To my surprise, she didn't look too taken aback-she had probably been expecting this from me. Her eyes widened in disbelief for a second though, before she quickly reined it in.

"You don't mean that." she said confidently, shaking her head for emphasis. "We're keeping these babies, whether you're scared or not."

And something in me just broke. I pulled over to the side of the road, thankful that we were on a lonely stretch of two-lane highway. I had momentarily forgotten her complete disregard for her own well-being and I was about to remind her that that was all I cared about at the moment. She had no right to call me scared. Undoubtedly, I was terrified-as she should be-but that wasn't the focal point, the most important thing to have in mind. She was missing the big picture.

"Chloe," I said, turning my body to face her directly, "this point is not debatable. We're not keeping them and that's that."

She turned towards me, eyes alight with fury. "Derek Souza. You have absolutely no right to tell me what we are and aren't doing. Especially when what you want is a lie."

I was getting worked up for she was refusing to understand where I was coming from, to see the unfailing logic behind my argument.

I hit the steering wheel, needing to release the pent up tension and fear and anger. "Damn it, Chloe! Did you not hear what Emily said? Weren't you listening? How could I even manage to raise two children with you dead? What would I do with you gone?" My voice rose with every passing second and my breathing had become slightly heavier.

Her eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and tenderness before she pushed it away. Her expression hardened and, without warning, she jumped out of the car, walking over to my side and opening the door, letting fresh air into the suddenly stifling confines.

She reached for me with one hand to cup the side of my face. I fixed my jaw; I did not lean into her touch. I would not. She sighed.

"I heard her. Apparently with more accuracy than you. Fifty percent. That's what she said. There's a fifty percent chance that things will go smoothly and a fifty percent chance that something could go wrong. Something. She never said there was a chance I would die. Just a chance that everything wouldn't be perfect." If we had been talking about anything other than this, I would have rolled my eyes at the petty distinction she was attempting to make. I fixed her with a look, one that said, you cannot minimize the gravity of the situation.

"It was implied."

"Nothing may even go wrong." she tried to reason.

"That's not a risk I'm willing to take." I said with finality. She stiffened and slowly removed her hand from where it rested so it hung at her side.

And in that moment, my heart broke. Chloe looked so vulnerable, so helpless. She didn't know what else to say, what else she could do, and she had realized it. Her eyes, which had been locked with mine, had slowly gone from being filled with earnest and hope to being filled with pleading. She was begging me with her eyes to let her keep these babies and it was so frustrating, so distressing, because having a child was so normal, but we had to worry about it, had to sacrifice it, because we weren't.

I reached for her, wanting to convey that this wasn't about what we wanted, because we wanted the same thing, but about what had to be done because there wasn't any other way. She climbed onto my lap, understanding, and molded herself to fit. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding and immediately felt calmer, soothed. Still, after all these years, proximity with her made me feel safer. My arms snaked around her waist and I quietly said, "I can't lose you. I won't."

Surprisingly, considering our luck, I had never come that close to losing Chloe. There had never been a time where she was on death's door or there was distinct possibility that I might not be able to save her from whatever trouble she had gotten herself into. But every time I thought I was close to losing her, or thought I had, the heart-stopping fear was never far behind.

Emily hadn't told us anything we didn't already know except that Chloe's pregnancy was likely to progress more quickly than average. But when she dropped the bomb, when she uncomfortably and quietly revealed Chloe's chance of survival-as l liked to refer to it-that same feeling, only this time, exacerbated, came back. My heart had begun to beat rapidly, almost drowning out all other noise, and I could have sworn time had stood still for a moment or two. Chloe had stiffened slightly and Emily had continued to speak, explaining her prognosis. And although I heard her, I couldn't consciously process her words. She had presented us with a fact and that fact had expanded and took up all the space in my mind. The words 'fifty percent' were like a mantra in my head.

She pulled back to place her forehead on mine.

"I don't want to lose you either, Derek. I can't. But I can't lose these babies either. Please. Don't make me choose." This last was said so fervently, so desperately, that I knew I couldn't make her do what I wanted. I didn't even want what I wanted. I didn't want to give up the babies. If it were to actually happen, to come to that, I wouldn't even be able to go through with it. I was just too scared to face the alternative.

Chloe must have sensed her victory because she placed her head back on my chest and murmured, "It'll all be alright."

I didn't nod or murmur any form of agreement because I didn't want to invest in what might be false hope. I simply held her more closely, enjoying the false sense of securtiy. After a while, she said, "I like the name Jake."

"I like Maggie."

She smiled brightly and kissed me. After a while of that, she scooted back over to her side of the car and we continued on our way home. Sliding a look my way, she raised her eyebrow and inclined her head towards the steering wheel. "You need to fix that."

I smiled and rolled my eyes, not wanting to damper the mood, but too anxious and preoccupied for much else. The next four months would probably simultaneously be the best and worst of my life and I didn't know how to begin to deal with it.

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