She watched the little window obsessively, trying not to squeeze her fists too hard so her nails wouldn't dig into her palms. The butterflies-on-steroids flutter in her stomach was enough to make her glad she was in the bathroom, with something handy to throw up in. She shifted on the toilet lid, tapped a foot impatiently, glanced at the watch lying beside the sink, tried not to worry.

But then there it was, the stark red plus sign in the window. Positive.

I'm pregnant. Oh, my God. What now?

She took a deep breath. Don't panic. Don't panic. With trembling fingers she wrapped the plastic stick with its tell-tale window in toilet paper and buried it in the trash can.

What now? What would he say? What should she … they … do now? Get married? Split up? Get an abortion?

Think. Think rationally, dammit. Don't panic. What are the options?

Of course she could get an abortion. But as soon as the thought crossed her mind, she felt a twisting, swooping feeling in her stomach. No. Just, no. She'd wanted a family, had been hoping for one all these years, waiting for the right time, waiting for a husband who would be a good dad…

Would he be a good dad? He was a good lover, and very sweet, but really, was he ever going to leave Dunder-Mifflin? Was he ever going to be anything more than a paper salesman? Could they raise a child on his salary alone?

Would he want to?

She felt a chill go down her back. Of course, it's one thing for him to say he loved her, for them to be together. But a lot of men ran when children came into the picture. Would he back away, turn away from her?

Demand she get an abortion?

Think. Got to think about the options.

But she found herself wondering what a child of theirs might look like. Would it have her eyes? His? Would it be a boy or a girl? She thought about the changes her body would go through, wondered whether she could breast feed it. He would love that, she was sure. Would he teach their child to throw a baseball? Operate a computer? Fish? Not that she was sure he could actually do any of those things. Most of all, would he be there for the colic and the flu and the temper tantrums and toilet training, or would he spend more and more time at the office? She remembered other times she'd seen men she'd worked with, with a new baby at home, staying later and later at work even though there was no real reason to, just because of the pressures of parenthood.

Well, maybe she would be strong enough for both of them. He liked that in her, leaned on her a little. That was okay, she had decided a while back that while he may be a lot more outgoing and funny and friendly than she was, still, she was the one with the strong back to carry this relationship.

A knock on the door jolted her out of her reverie.

"Hey, did you fall in?" His voice held both humor and concern.

She could put off telling him. She could delay for a "better time". But that wasn't her way. Better to get it over with now, deal with it. Maybe it would be okay. Maybe it wouldn't. Maybe he'd reject her and the child. She would just have to be strong enough for the two of them.

She took a deep breath, stood and smoothed her skirt. She opened the door, and he stood there, half smiling, handsome, a little confused looking.

"Michael, we have to talk."