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The pain starts on Friday evening.
It is small at first, enough that she writes it off as an early period cramp. She has always been irregular, and so it never occurs to her that it could be anything else.
Then, she starts feeling sick. And then the cramps get worse, and she spends her evening watching the television to try and distract herself from the aching in her lower abdomen.
In hindsight, watching old reruns of 'Didn't Even Know I was Pregnant' was probably not her best move. Watching eight episodes in a row was probably her next bad move, but she was invested in the stories of these women; she just kept pressing play even after 2 a.m. passed.
When she wakes up on Saturday morning, the pain is even worse, and the sickness grows more intense. She tries to ignore it, and she takes pain medication, but it does not even touch the sides.
She becomes convinced, when the cramping goes lower in her belly, that she is having a surprise baby.
Maybe that show was trying to warn her, she reasons with herself on Saturday night. Maybe her one crazy, terrible one-night stand seven months ago has led to this – though she prays for the opposite. How could she have never noticed? Is she as blind as Sharon from Manchester who had a baby boy?
She becomes so convinced, and terrified, that there is only one option for it.
That is how she ended up here, in A&E at ten o'clock at night in one of the busiest hospitals in London. Surrounded by drunks and minor injuries, and all she can think is, please don't let my baby be born next to a drunk homeless man.
Admittedly, said drunk homeless man was very kind and offered her water when she cried out in pain, but still. This is not how she saw herself becoming a mother.
She has always wanted to be a mother, dreamed of it many times, in fact. She always had these bright ideas of being married to a man who dotes on her and is by her side, holding her hand and panicking about everything because he loves her so much.
This is not what she wanted.
The more convinced she is of her surprise baby theory, the more it grows on her, and she wants better than a hospital waiting room all alone for it. When a nurse calls her through to be checked out, she breathes a sigh of relief, though the cramping in her belly is intense enough she doubles over from the pain the second she stands.
"I really think this is a surprise baby," Penelope admits to the nurse when she is on a bed and behind a curtain, seeing the woman's shocked face. "I know it sounds crazy! But Sharon from Manchester had these cramps, and now she has a baby boy named Leopold!"
The nurse blinks at her, "What?"
"A surprise baby." She repeats, groaning in pain for a moment before continuing. "Back pain, cramping in the belly, feeling sick, irregular periods, I mean, it is adding up!"
At that, the nurse smiles politely and nods once, "How about I get the doctor to come to you first?" She offers.
"Thank you!" She exclaims, clutching her belly.
It is twenty minutes of pain and curling up in her bed later that she hears hushed voices outside of her curtain, making her frown as she listens to them.
"A surprise bloody baby?" A man asks, incredulous and disbelieving. "Who has a surprise baby?! I have never heard of that!"
"She is convinced." She hears the nurse from before say. "Completely convinced, and she is having the pains."
"But a surprise baby?" He asks again, and Penelope can practically hear his eyes rolling, and she fully expects some fifty-year-old man to walk through the curtain any second now. "I have been an obstetrician for three years, and not once have I heard of a surprise baby."
"Just go!" The nurse implores. "Check her out. If it is, we need to get her to the maternity ward."
The man comes through the curtain then, and Penelope wishes to take back every insult she was curating in her head for him. For the man who walks in is not fifty, nor is he disgusting, nor does he look like a creep. He looks…like he is her age, maybe his mid-thirties, and is, in a word – fucking beautiful.
"Oh." She whispers.
He just had to be tall, she thinks. And look like every made-up character in her head when she thinks about having babies one day. But as her husband, not the man delivering the baby.
He is tall and handsome and dark-haired and blue-eyed and has light stubble on his face that somehow makes him look even more attractive, if possible. He looks like something in a TV show from her dreams, not an obstetrician on a late Saturday night.
Of course, she had to meet the most attractive man in her life when she hasn't washed her hair in three days, her curls are a rat's nest at the top of her head, she is in joggers and a stained t-shirt, and she is having a surprise baby from another man. Because, yes, she is convinced of her baby being born.
"Miss Featherington?" The doctor grabs her attention again, making her blink up at him. "I am Doctor Bridgerton. I am an obstetrician from downstairs. Nurse Sharma has told me you think you are having a…"
"Surprise baby, yeah." She confirms, frowning when her belly cramps again. "Convinced, to be honest."
"Right." He nods once, not looking as convinced as she is. "And what evidence has led to you thinking this?" He asks, grabbing a couple of gloves from one of the many boxes by the wall nearest to him.
"Well," She sits up slightly, her hands still clasped over her belly, and she notices his eyes follow them like he is trying to see a bump. "I have really bad stomach cramps that come and go every few minutes and have gotten worse. I feel really sick; I have back pain…All of it points to a surprise baby if what happened to Sharon from Manchester is to be believed."
Doctor Bridgerton looks at her, even more confused at that, "Who?"
"Sharon from Manchester." She repeats. "She was on that show where women have babies and didn't even know it. She had all the same symptoms!"
"And Sharon from Manchester, she is a doctor?" He asks, coming closer to her bed.
"No. A barista. But the symptoms really line up." She explains, making him nod and look even more like he does not believe a word she is saying. "It sounds insane, I know, but it is possible."
He hums as he puts on the gloves, "When was your last period?"
"Two months ago."
He frowns, "Well, I doubt-"
"I have always been irregular." She explains, blushing at having to explain this to an attractive doctor. Oh, how she wishes he were old now. "It was really light, more so than usual, and I think it wasn't a real period, I mean…it all adds up."
"Does it?" He asks, decidedly unconvinced.
Penelope nods enthusiastically, "Yes. Sharon from Manchester thought she had food poisoning."
Doctor Bridgerton closes his eyes briefly, "There is no universe in which Sharon from Manchester is a reliable medical source."
"That is what her doctor said."
His eyes open again, "Her doctor?"
"Before she had a surprise baby."
A silence falls between them for a moment, with her eyes finding his, imploring him to believe her, "Miss Featherington." He starts.
"Yes?"
"Please stop citing Sharon from Manchester."
"But-"
"Please." He insists, and she nods. "Have you taken a pregnancy test?"
"No."
"Right…" He looks about ready to walk out the door, not believing her, and yet something in him compels him to stay with her and figure it out.
He should just make her do a test and see a negative and leave her in the care of the other A&E doctors. He should be back in the maternity unit, not trying to convince a crazed (however, beautiful) woman of her non-pregnancy issue.
He has delivered a lot of babies; he has seen a lot of different pregnant women, and not once has he ever had a surprise baby. He has also never thought of a patient as attractive, which is a good thing.
No ring, no mention of a partner, and she thinks she is having a baby, meaning he can only assume something casual, or hope is the better word. Not that he could do much about it; he would never go out with a patient, which only makes him hope further she is not having a surprise baby because then she would not be his patient.
He does not know why, but he finds himself asking, speaking without thinking, knowing he should be doing his examination. "Have you thought about what you will do if you are pregnant?"
"Well, obviously I would keep it."
Colin pauses, raising an eyebrow at her in interest, "Obviously?"
"Doctor Bridgerton, if I have somehow grown an entire child without noticing, I feel I owe it to them to commit to the situation." She expresses, and he finds himself laughing even though he does not think he should.
"I need to have a feel of your abdomen; is that okay?" He checks, and she nods, lifting her shirt enough for him, and he goes into doctor mode in his mind as he does his examination. "Does this hurt?" He presses gently on her lower belly.
"Yup." She winces.
He moves his hand and presses somewhere else, "Here?"
"Yes."
He moves his hand closer to the middle of her lower belly, and she winces and yelps audibly, "Worst here?" She nods. "Sorry."
"It all hurts." She groans.
The pain gets worse for a second after his hands have left her, and she cries out, grabbing onto the bed rail. Her actions make any of his joking immediately leave him, and he switches to full doctor mode.
His concern is obvious, the care in his voice more so when he tells her, "Hey, it's okay, look at me."
Her eyes flick up to find his.
"You're okay." He promises. "Scale of one to ten?"
"Seven." She grits.
"Okay." He nods, and a wave hits her again.
Without thinking, her hand moves from the bedrail to take his gloved hand. She squeezes his hand until the pain has passed, and he does not make any move to leave her or take away her one source of comfort.
"We will get you sorted." He promises her, his voice gentle, so soft with her despite his disbelief. He believes she is in pain, and every cell in him wants that to end. "I will make sure of it."
She sniffs, tears in her eyes as a little fear creeps in, "Promise?"
Doctors should never make promises. It is one of the first things he was ever told, especially to a woman in labour if things are not going the way they should. Never make a promise you cannot keep.
But he finds himself nodding, "I promise."
Some of the tension leaves her shoulders, and her grip on his hand loosens slightly.
Colin should probably let go. Instead, he remains exactly where he is, and he tells himself it is because she is in pain and because frightened patients often benefit from reassurance. He tells himself several things, in fact.
None of them adequately explain why he is still standing there with her fingers wrapped around his gloved hand.
When her pain has passed, she blinks up at him, trying to move on from her fear and feeling so vulnerable in front of a man she barely knows, "Do you know who else had seven out of ten pain?"
He smirks at that, "Sharon from Manchester?"
"It was Sharon from Manchester."
He chuckles, finally releasing her hand, "Well, Miss Featherington from London, I think I should continue investigating to find out if your theory is correct."
"Penelope." She supplies. "Call me Penelope, please. If you end up at the business end of a baby coming out of me, I want to be on first name terms."
Colin can't help his laughter at that, "Colin." He tells her. "Colin Bridgerton." He adds, making her smile. "I do not think I will end up at the business end of a baby being born with you, but I do think first name terms are agreeable."
The smile she gives him at that makes his stomach swoop in a way it hasn't since he was sixteen.
One blood test and half an hour later, Colin returns to find Penelope is sitting cross-legged on the hospital bed, scrolling aimlessly through her phone, her hand over her abdomen still.
She looks up immediately when he enters, and his stomach does that irritating little swoop again.
"Penelope." He greets, closing the curtain behind him.
"Colin." She notices the folded sheet of paper in his hand and immediately straightens. "Well?"
Colin sits down on the chair beside her bed, holding out the results for her to take, though she does not move to take them. "The blood test is back."
"And?"
"So," Colin starts patiently. "Penelope, you are not pregnant."
Her eyes widen in shock at that, a little cramp coming with the news as if her body is surprised about it too. "No surprise baby?"
"No surprise baby." He confirms. "No emergency infant."
"No secret nine-month stowaway?"
"Not even slightly."
For a moment she just stares at him and expects her to go on about the bloody woman from Manchester or to cheer. He does not expect her to slump slightly, and he supposes he never considered the possibility that she wanted it to be true. Though she seemed so scared, he assumed she did not.
That is what he gets for assuming.
"Oh." She nods, looking at her abdomen. "So…No going planning names for me, I guess."
Colin nods, placing the paper on the bed beside her. "Your results did show your inflammation markers are up. Based on that and your other symptoms, I would say this is a gut infection."
"A gut infection." She repeats.
"A glamorous diagnosis, I know."
That gets the smallest smile out of her, "So Sharon from Manchester was wrong."
Colin feels an unreasonable amount of triumph about that, as if a woman from Manchester with zero medical knowledge would outdo his years of experience and training. "Spectacularly wrong."
"She seemed so convincing."
He hums, seeing her eyes dart down to her stomach, "Penelope."
"Hm?"
"Can I ask you something?"
Her eyes lift to his, "Depends."
He is hesitant to ask, knowing it is none of his business, and he does not know what it is that draws him to her, but there is something about her. Maybe it is because she disagreed with him before and argued with him, the bloody doctor, and he liked that she wasn't afraid to do so, "Were you actually hoping it was a baby?"
She laughs softly at that, shaking her head, "God, no."
Colin relaxes slightly at that, though he does not understand fully, "Right."
"I mean, a surprise baby would be objectively disastrous."
"I'm glad we are finally on the same page."
"But..." She trails off, and Colin waits for her to add, "For an hour or two I thought there was a little person in there." Her hand settles unconsciously over her stomach once more. "And then I started thinking about what I would call them."
Colin's chest does something strange at that, "You got as far as names?"
"I like to be prepared."
That earns a laugh from him, a soft one, yes, but still a laugh, "Prepared?" He asks. "The woman who told me she was having a surprise baby wanted to be prepared?"
"I had approximately two names picked out."
"That's not preparation, Penelope, that is panic."
Now she is smiling properly, but Colin can still see the truth underneath it that she is not mourning a baby, but she is mourning an idea. A little one, sure, but it was still a future she had accidentally imagined for an hour.
And because he is already far too invested in a woman he met tonight, he hears himself ask, "What were the names?"
Penelope looks up at him in surprise at that, "You want to know?"
He shrugs, hoping he looks casually interested, "I am curious."
"You spent the last two hours mocking my medical judgment."
"Your medical judgment deserved mocking." He reminds her. "Doctor." He points at his scrubs.
"Fair." She smiles. "For a girl, I liked Agatha." She admits, and he finds himself smiling at the name as if he were the father. "And, for a boy, I like Thomas." She adds. "I always thought I would have a girl first."
How funny, he always thought the same about himself. His older brothers both had boys first, and had wanted boys first, but he has always been convinced and desired having a daughter first. Even if it were just to piss off his brothers who now want daughters and have had more sons.
He can see himself with a daughter first, and his sisters always tease him and say he would be 'a great girl dad'. He is thirty-three years old. He has no wife, no girlfriend, and certainly no children, but he is still convinced he will have a daughter first. He has always wanted a little girl first.
"You too?" She questions softly, seeing the way his eyes had sort of moved away from her at her admission. "You have any names?"
He should probably be discussing medications or ways for her to go home and deal with this there, not need him anymore. Instead, he is debating baby names with a woman who is not pregnant.
"Jane." He answers honestly. "Or Daphne, after one of my sisters. We are very close."
Penelope smiles at that, "Daphne Jane would be sweet." She muses, as if it is something she would consider.
When their eyes meet again, he has to force himself not to get involved, to end this now and move on and get her medications and to go home. "I, uh," He coughs once. "The doctor in A&E will take it from here. Get you sorted and get you home. I have to…"
"Head back down to maternity?" She guesses, and he nods, hating that disappointment in his gut. "Thank you, Colin. I am sorry I wasted your time; I am sure an actual pregnant woman needed you more than me being scared-"
"No." He interrupts gently. "Penelope, you did not waste my time; you were afraid, and I am…I am glad if I alleviated that, even a little."
Her smile is tiny, but it is a smile, "Until next time, doctor."
Next time would imply the next time she has an actual baby, and he tries to push that from his mind, instead smiling and standing so she will not see his disappointment show.
As he leaves her, that churning remains in his gut.
Three weeks later, her gut infection is well and truly gone. She wishes she could say the same about her thoughts about Colin Bridgerton, but he remains in her mind.
On a Saturday morning, she is sitting in the café down the street, her nose in her book, a coffee on the table in front of her.
She reaches down for her coffee, lowering her book, and there he is.
Colin Bridgerton.
"Doctor Bridgerton?" She finds herself saying, seeing him opposite her, his tea halfway up to his lips.
"Penelope." He smiles, placing his tea down, and they both find themselves walking up to one another, meeting right in the middle.
He has thought about her more than once in the past three weeks, wishing he had been stupid and reckless and able to ask her out that day. In the oddest meeting story ever known to man.
Maybe he can be stupid and reckless now.
"What are the chances of meeting twice in one month?" She laughs.
"Probably lower than a surprise baby." He says, making her grin. "Penelope, at the risk of sounding odd, given our meeting, I was wondering..."
"Yes?"
"Now that you aren't my patient."
"I wasn't your patient three weeks ago either." She reminds him gently, a smirk on her face.
"Details."
"Hm?"
"Would you maybe like to have dinner with me?"
Her mouth curves into a real smile, her nod resolute and firm, "I would love that."
They never do come to agree on the fact that surprise babies do exist. Not even over dates over the next few months that turn into more.
Surprise pregnancies, however, are very real, as they discover six months later.
(They name her Agatha, and her dreams of a man who adores her being by her side very much come true.)