Moria had been knocking, rather loudly, at the door for some time now. Impatient, she entered the foyer and, without further ado, went in search of Pats the artist.

After looking in sensible places like the back porch, her upstairs office, and her studio, Moria finally found her. Pats was standing on a low, circular wooden table in the den, shirt discarded, legs splayed, feet on the edges, and bent completely in half over what looked like her latest painting. She was shouting at it.

"Is this a bad time?" Moria interjected.

Pats looked between her legs, upside down, at Moria. She was surprised, then snappy: "Yes! Quite bad, indeed!" She returned to shouting at the canvas. "Why?! You were perfectly fine without wings yesterday, and now you're giving me this crap?! Not every Faerie in Faerieland has wings, you know!"

Pats scooped up one of the brushes from beside her head and, contrary to her mood, carefully dipped the tip into the paint and squinted, as if about to administer surgery. Moria cleared her throat.

"What? Did I forget my phone bill again? My car insurance?" She looked back at the woman in the suit. From this angle, Pats could see the impatience. Well, she was impatient too. "Can it wait?"

"I'm here to discuss matters of dire importance, Ms Pats," Moria adjusted her briefcase.

"Well, spit it out then."

"I would prefer this be said in a more…business-like manner."

Pats looked at her strangely, then at her bare stomach and jogging pants. Ah. "I suppose so. But if 'little miss pixie' over here gets any ideas about wing changes, I'm blaming you," Pats pointed with her brush, and then stood up straight, stretching. Moria skittered back as she kept stretching, going over backwards to land on her hands and finally back on her feet. Pats again looked at her quizzically, and went to retrieve her shirt.

"To the kitchen!" Pats stuck out her hand, and, led by an invisible partner, seemed to stumble as if yanked into the next room. Moria shook her head.

"Tea or coffee?" Pats called back to her guest, remembering she was the hostess and getting a cup of mint tea for herself.

"No, thank you."

A shrug. "Suit yourself." She sat down at the over-large kitchen table and gestured for Moria to do the same. Her shirt was back on, and she made a semblance of smoothing out her brown hair.

Moria sat, wondering how such a young woman could be so strange. Shaking her head, she returned to the matter at hand. "I am representing Doctor Fairbourn in a report on your last visit to her, because it seems you are not able to keep appointment dates-"

"What appoi- oh, that one! I knew I'd forgotten something…" Pats trailed off, hand to her brow.

Moria cleared her throat again. "In your last visit, you had a few tests run, and blood taken as well. Your results are of a positive nature; you have high iron and are of a healthy weight, among other things you can see here," she passed a collection of papers from her briefcase to Pats, who examined them closely.

"There is another matter, however."

Pats raised an eyebrow.

"Your urine test came back with an unexpected result," Moria took a breath. She really did not know how to tell this girl, for really, she was still just a girl, something so simple.

Pats waved a hand impatiently, motioning for her to continue.

"You are pregnant." There. It was said.

The look in her eyes was disbelief. "Am not."

"Fortunately or unfortunately, you are. You complained about a late period, sickness in the morning, and tenderness, not to mention the urine sample clearly showed Doctor Fairbourn the reason for all of those symptoms."

Denial was turning into desperation. "But I don't get sick anymore, and I'm not showing at all!" Pats motioned at her stomach, still mostly flat under the shirt. "I haven't put on weight."

"That you know of. Your doctor estimates that you are into your eighth or ninth week already, and you will start showing soon. Already you should be increasing your cup size," Moria kept her business voice on, hoping Pats wouldn't go into hysterics.

Pats just kept shaking her head, as if doing so would make it go away.

"There is one more thing."

Pats looked up sharply.

"Your doctor asked me to come because I am also a counselor for young pregnant women. We can talk about what you plan to do."

"Plan to do about what?" Her head sunk into her hand.

"Your pregnancy. You are obviously very young, and are not prepared for this responsibility. I want to know if you plan to terminate your pregnancy."

Pats looked up again, only now she seemed…angry. "Terminate. Like an abortion."

"If you wish to term it that way. We try to use words that don't have so much emotion."

"Emotion, my left foot," Pats stood. "Get out."

"Are you sure you don't wish to discuss this further…?"

"Did you hear me? I said get out of my house," she pointed to the door.

"If I may ask why…?" Moria stood, closing her briefcase. She was none-too-gently ushered to the front door.

"I will not have you talking about that in my house. Good day." And the door promptly slammed in her face.

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A/N: Want more?