Hanna barely has time to wake up before her stomach flips over – she throws back the covers and stumbles into the bathroom, taking care to swing the door shut behind her, and drops to her knees beside the toilet so she can empty the contents of her stomach into it.

She groans, then realizes she might have alerted Caleb to her situation, if he isn't already aware.

"Hanna," he calls through the door, "are you okay?"

In reply, she can only duck her head back into the bowl. Clearly this is an adequate response, because then he says, "You've been sick all week."

"I'm not going to the doctor," she retorts sharply, just before she vomits again.

There's silence. She thinks he's left and almost lets herself heave a sigh of relief, but –

"I'm coming in."

"Caleb, no –"

An irrational panic grips her; he can't see her like this, she won't let him, he can't know what's happening –

Caleb eases the door open gently. Hanna feels his eyes land on her, but doesn't meet his gaze, not least of all because she's once again occupied. Quick as lightning, he crosses the bathroom with two long strides and pulls her hair away from her face, holding it back and resting a hand between her shoulder blades.

Once she's done (for good, it seems), he helps her sit against the wall. She closes her eyes, wiping her mouth and taking deep breaths.

"Feeling better?" asks Caleb.

She nods. The cool tile is soothing on the back of her head. "You've gotten better at the hair-holding," she tells him, chuckling weakly. "You should make a career out of it."

When she cracks an eye at him, however, he isn't smiling, not even a little bit. His eyebrows are creased and his mouth is just barely turned down at the corners, so it looks like his whole face is frowning. Looking at her worriedly, he tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and kisses her forward, standing and bending down to help her up.

"Stop it," she says; she realizes she sounds slightly whiny but doesn't much care. "I'm sick, not dying."

All the same, her heart flutters in her chest at his tenderness. God knows she hadn't been treated this well after she finished purging – but she pushes the thought away. She doesn't like to dwell on that.

Hanna gets to her feet, using Caleb's hand to pull herself up despite her protests, and snatches up her toothbrush: The vile taste in her mouth is beyond unpleasant, not to mention horribly familiar, and she thinks that if it lingers there much longer she might throw up again.

Caleb touches her shoulder. "You're sure you're okay?"

As she applies toothpaste, she rolls her eyes. "Yes, I'm positive."

"All right," he sighs.

Damn him and his damn big brown eyes. It's like he's always working the puppy dog angle, even when he doesn't mean to.

"Hey," she says, looking at him in the mirror, "you don't have to worry about me. I promise."

He presses a kiss to the back of her neck. "Doesn't mean I'm not going to."

She turns around to glance at him and he leans in, but she stops him.

"I still taste like puke."

"I think I can handle it." He kisses her briefly on the lips, making a face when he pulls away. "Okay, I lied." He leans over and spits into the sink. Hanna smirks.

"So you can go ahead and scrub your mouth out for an hour, and I'm just gonna go make a… doctor's… appointment…" he says as he walks out, his voice trailing off at the end like he's just realized that perhaps he shouldn't be thinking aloud.

"Don't," she pleads. "Please. Seriously, I hate the doctor."

"Yeah," Caleb allows, pulling yesterday's shirt over his head so that his words are muffled. "But I hate seeing you sick more."

He picks up his phone from the bedside table and leaves the room. A little irritated, though truly she has no reason to be, Hanna yells after him, "And why the hell did you need to put a shirt on to call? It's not like they're going to see you!"

She jams the toothbrush into her mouth, brushing angrily. She spits several times more than she usually has to, but the taste will not leave her tongue. With a resigned sigh, she shuts the water off and wipes her face with a towel, trying to think of a cause for her illness. Food poisoning? She's sure she hasn't eaten any questionable foods lately; and anyway, it would've been out of her system after a day or two at most. The flu, maybe? But if that's the case, she'd be three times as miserable, and she wouldn't have gone back to feeling herself once she was done throwing up each morning.

Then a thought comes to her – a thought so terrifying and at the same time so exhilarating that her heart skips two whole beats and her stomach knots so tightly she doesn't think she'll ever be able to digest anything again.

About a year ago, she and Caleb decided that, after three years of marriage, they were ready to start a family. For nearly six months they tried to get pregnant, but aside from a couple hopeful instances, they had no luck. Caleb suggested visiting a fertility clinic, but Hanna, afraid of being told that she would never be able to have children, said that maybe this was a sign that they should take a break from trying for a while. (Secretly, she also had doubts that she would ever be any good as a mother.)

However, it hadn't really occurred to her to get back on birth control. They weren't trying not to get pregnant. They just… weren't trying.

Hanna does a quick count in her head. How long has it been? She was really uncomfortable at that get-together they'd all had on Labor Day (and not just because of Alison), and that was… what, more than a month ago? So that would make her late by… two weeks. Maybe three.

She lets out a shaky breath she hasn't realized she's been holding in. In the living room she can hear Caleb moving around while the phone rings on the other line, she guesses.

Folding her arms so tightly she's almost hugging herself, she walks out and stands against the doorframe. "Hang up," she demands.

Caleb shoots her a look.

"Don't make the appointment yet, okay? Just… please?"

She speaks through a tight throat, and she must sound serious enough or he must notice because he lowers the phone from his ear just as somebody picks up.

"What's wrong?" he asks, approaching her.

She takes his hand and makes a point of watching herself lace their fingers, then looks up into his face for a long moment. "I think I might be pregnant," she says quietly.

The brief second of silence that precedes Caleb's reaction seems to last forever – for the first time, Hanna wonders what he'll think. Has he changed his mind? Does he even still want kids? What'll they do if he doesn't?

But he smiles – he grins, he beams, his eyes lighting up like the Fourth of July, his eyebrows lifting in (apparently pleasant) surprise.

"Wh-what?" he laughs with disbelief. "Are you serious?"

Smiling just slightly, she bites her lip and nods as he engulfs her in his arms; he pulls back when he realizes she's standing stiffly in his embrace, motionless.

"Is it – is it okay, for me to be excited?" he asks, sobering. "I mean, how… how are you feeling about this?"

"I just, I, I…" She brushes her hair out of her face, tries to keep the tears from her voice. "I don't want to get my hopes up again."

His expression softens. "Don't think like that."

"I know, I know…" She rubs her eyes, sniffles once, and smiles, truly this time. "I am excited. Really. And I'm nervous and scared, but I'm happy, too. But I – I want this so badly. And…"

She shakes her head, stepping forward and hugging Caleb instead of rambling on about things she can't articulate in her head, much less out loud. He holds her tight, but delicately, as though she's something that might break if handled incorrectly. The observation annoys her, but then Caleb's rocking them from side to side, swaying to music just beyond her range of hearing. Hanna's pressed so close to his chest she can hear his heartbeat, and she thinks that it just might be the song's rhythm.

"So here's what we're gonna do," he murmurs into her ear, and the words sound kind of squished because his cheek is squished against the side of her head. "I'm gonna call into work and say you got me sick. Then I'm driving you to the drug store, and we're picking up a test… and then we'll know."

"You don't have to miss work," she mutters, but the prospect of waiting all by herself to find out if she's pregnant isn't exactly appealing.

"Yeah, I do. It's hard enough focusing already, I'd be sitting there pissing myself until lunch."

The mental image this gives her makes her laugh and she feels him smile. "In that case," she says, "I'm sorry I got you sick."

"I don't mind."

They stay like this for a while longer before they separate, when Caleb takes the opportunity to swiftly peck her on the lips.

Hanna hums contentedly and opens her eyes. "I'm gonna go get dressed."

He squeezes her hand and lets her go. She walks back into the bathroom, closes the door again, stripping off her clothes while the shower heats up.

She examines her naked body in the mirror. Her stomach's flat – and of course, it will be for several more weeks. If she's pregnant, anyway. If is the operative word right now. And she knows that if she's pregnant… there could be a life growing beneath her very skin.

And suddenly, she's so overwhelmed by this she almost starts crying again. She might be in front of the toilet every morning for months to come. In nine months, all she's suffered through – including the diet and exercise she forced herself into once she realized she lost control – could be just gone. No flat stomach. The Hanna in front of the mirror will be unrecognizable.

The sound of Caleb opening and closing a drawer in their bedroom jerks her out of her reverie. She tears her gaze away from her reflection and gets in the shower, which is so hot the room's sure to be steaming when she gets out.

She bathes quickly, wraps a towel around herself and opens the door. Her husband turns so she can see his bare chest. The shirt he slipped on earlier lies discarded on the floor and he holds a clean one in his hand. She offers him a small smile – he returns it – and moves toward the dresser and then the closet, pulling clothes out of each.

As she drops the towel, she knows without looking that Caleb's eyes are on her. The floor creaks under his (deliberately, no doubt) weighted steps. She's just stepped into a flowy skirt when his chest comes into contact with her exposed back. He still hasn't put the shirt on.

"I'm not sure," Hanna says, while he settles his hands on her waist, "but I think this is how we got into this situation."

He brushes his lips across the top of her jaw. "So?" he mumbles against her damp skin.

She can't help it – she melts. But not so much that she can't keep her head. She twists around and kisses him with such fervor she can taste his shock at how easily she's given in. His hands come up and cup her face, freeing the rest of her body to follow her shoulders. He's just running his hands along her arms when she breaks away, laughing at his puckered lips and closed eyes. By the time he opens them, she's dressed.

"Someone's optimistic today," she teases, and swats him with his shirt.

"And apparently someone else isn't," he notes.

He's pushing her on purpose, but that doesn't stop her heart from dropping. "Like I said, I don't wanna get my hopes up."

His head pops through the hole, his hair messy and tangled. She takes away his chance for sympathy and runs her fingers through it, combing it out just enough to look presentable.

"Am I ready?" he says sarcastically.

She heaves a dramatic sigh. "It'll have to do."

He hesitates and asks quietly, "Are you?"

She plops down on the edge of the bed and busies herself with fixing a pair of flats onto her feet.

"I guess it doesn't really matter, does it?" she says, walking out of the room without looking at him.

"Hanna –"

But Caleb's voice cuts off abruptly and he must've reconsidered whatever he was about to say.

Soon they're backing out of the driveway and turning out of the neighborhood. Hanna looks back at the house they've been living in for almost two years. They intentionally bought something bigger than they needed for just the two of them: Even back then, there was the promise of kids – plural – in their future. Now that this is a very real possibility, she thinks that she overestimated herself.

They drive in silence. When the pharmacy comes into view beyond a red light, Caleb takes her hand and grips it tightly.

Hanna gets out of the car the second Caleb switches off the ignition; he hurries to follow her inside, where she's already made short work of finding a rack of tests, all saying things like "20% more accuracy!" and "Get results FAST!",most sitting comfortably in various shades of pink boxes. Eventually, they approach the register with five different kinds – she really can't tell the difference between them and wants, needs to be sure. The cashier eyes them disapprovingly as she rings them up until Hanna, noticing her judging stare, deliberately sets her left hand on the counter, her wedding ring glinting in the fluorescent lights.

"Good luck," the cashier says with an apologetic smile, handing over the bag.

"Thanks," says Caleb, when his wife once again says nothing.

This time the drive's tense as well as quiet, except for the incessant rustling of the grocery sack. Our future could be in this bag, Hanna thinks. Our future could be in me.

She remembers Aria and Spencer's pregnancies, the way they complained about getting sick every morning and how they were quickly becoming emotional wrecks and they wished they could see their toes and how their feet and back hurt all the time, the weird sides they ordered with their meals when they ate out, how often they excused themselves to go to the bathroom and, most of all, she remembered the screaming coming from the delivery room that had never seemed to end. Can Hanna prepare herself for all that?

But she also remembers laughing with them while they suggested names and shopping for clothes and walking into the nursery for the first time and feeling the baby kick and the way they just glowed like the sun right after the baby was born and, a few months later, asking her and Caleb to watch the kid so they could have a date night and then rushing home early because they just couldn't stand being away from their child and Hanna wants that, she wants it so damn badly it hurts.

She and Caleb looks at each other for a long moment: There are no words. Then, for the third time that day, she steps into the bathroom and closes the door, her hands shaking as she takes the boxes out of the bag.

Not too much later, she opens the door again so Caleb can wrap his arms around her. She knows the next few minutes will be the longest of her life (thus far) and there's no way she's waiting them out alone.

He begins to sway again. It doesn't help her twisting stomach, but she doesn't say anything. "How long?" he asks.

"I'm not sure. They all have different times on them."

"Okay." His voice is carefully controlled, like he's trying not to show how anxious he is. "Let's just give it five minutes and look, then."

Her silence is confirmation enough.

Hanna's heart pounds. She knows that if most of the tests are negative, they're going to a clinic. What if she or Caleb's infertile? There's that donor thing… but it kind of creeps her out; and anyway, it won't be the same, it won't be theirs. Adoption's always an option – Emily's always talking about how she looks forward to it, when she and Maya finally figure something out – but Hanna thinks of how it'll feel to hear a child call her its mother when she isn't, when she can never be anyone's mother because there's something broken inside her.

And then what if she is?

Stop thinking, she tells herself.

Just a moment later, Caleb's stepping back from her and taking her hands, looking at her so intensely he's almost looking through her, and she knows the wait's over.

Already? she thinks, panicking. The minutes are supposed to drag on, aren't they?

He senses her hesitance. "Should I –"

"No." She takes a deep breath. "I need to…"

To know first. To deliver the news. To be free to react.

Two steps. Pale reflection. Thin, mature face of a woman, with dimples hidden in her cheeks. Not the chubby girl who would think of fitting into the clothes she's wearing now and wipe away a tear and take another bite of cheesecake or ice cream or chocolate. A different person.

She glances down at the first two, of the same brand, in line on the counter.

Two blue plus signs looks back at her.

Her heart leaps. She nods, half to herself and half to Caleb, watching her, and sets them aside, puffing a breath in unison with her husband.

The next one: a pink plus. She bites her lip to keep from smiling.

Two pink lines, one last plus – Hanna turns and practically throws herself at Caleb, letting out a sound somewhere between a squeal and a shriek and saying, "I'm pregnant!" somewhere in the middle of it all, locking her arms around his neck when he hugs her so tightly he lifts her off the ground; he says, "Oh my God," once in a small, choked voice and then nothing and she pretends not to notice one hand leave her back briefly to rub his eyes as he tries not to cry and then she's crying too, just a little, and she wonders if she's dead because it's like her heart's grown wings and is soaring among the clouds.

They stand there with their faces pressed into each other's shoulders, breathing deeply and trying to stem the tears. Hanna's trembling: She doesn't think she realized exactly how scared she was or how much she wanted this until it was all done and over with.

No, that's wrong – it's only just beginning.

Finally, she and Caleb pull back, both grinning like maniacs. What's wrong with her? She's smiling so wide it feels like her face is going to fracture.

He kisses her. "I" – another kiss – "love you" – kiss – "so" – kiss – "much."

His eyes are shining and she can't do anything but stand there and smile like an idiot.

Shakily, he drops to his knees and puts his hands on her hips.

"And I know," he says to her stomach, still shaking, ever so gently rubbing the sides of her abdomen with his thumbs, "I will love you just as much. More. I promise."

He leans forward to kiss the spot just below her belly button, but she's suddenly very protective of it and suddenly no longer smiling. She crosses her arms over her middle, walks around him, and sits on the bed, determinedly avoiding eye contact.

"Hanna," says Caleb, and he sounds confused and worried and slightly hurt. "I thought you were happy about this."

"I am," she insists, but – God, why does she have to start crying now? "I'm… ecstatic."

"But…" he prompts, to no effect. "Hanna," he repeats firmly.

She doesn't want to tell him. She doesn't want to tell anyone. How can she? How can she tell him that feelings she's struggled with for almost her entire life, feelings that tortured her all through her adolescence, are now back in full force as a result of the child she's now carrying, and she's terrified that she'll never truly be free of them?

But she has to. He knows her too well.

There are a few seconds of deafening silence before she bursts into borderline hysterical speech.

"I don't know if I can handle being fat again!" she says, and understanding dawns across Caleb's face. "I don't know if I can handle throwing up every day for the next four months, because I'm just so scared that it'll suck me back in again and I won't be able to stop!" and she isn't sure, but this might be the most she's ever shared with him about her bulimia. "I tried so – hard when I was younger, because I wanted to be pretty, because I wanted to be able to wear a swimsuit in public, because I was so sick of being the fat girl that everyone made fun of and who was always the gross option in Would You Rather and because I didn't want to be Hefty Hanna anymore! But I'm scared that she'll always be a part of me that I can't get rid of! I'm scared that she'll always have control over me! I'm scared that…" She takes in a deep, deep breath that rattles in her lungs. "I don't know if I'm strong enough not to be… the person I was then. And I'm scared of that person. She's stronger than me."

He's sitting next to her on the opposite side of the bed, trying to find something to say, opening and closing his mouth. She takes another breath, sniffing, the tears just below the surface, and plows on:

"And… I'm scared that… if I become – her, again… you won't think I'm beautiful anymore. And I'll lose you."

The first tear fell; she swipes it away before it gets halfway down her cheek. She still does not meet Caleb's gaze.

"Hey," he says softly. "Look at me."

She does.

Shifting closer, he cups her face in his callused hands, just staring at her for the longest moment ever, and she's so relieved because it's the exact same way he looked at her yesterday, and the day before, and every day before that.

"You are the strongest person I know," he says, "and I love you. Nothing is ever going to change that – not this baby," (he fights a smile with these words) "not the way you look. I fell in love with Hanna, and the way she makes me feel, and the rest of her, no matter how she changes. You will always be the most beautiful woman in the world to me, and I promise you I'll still think so, either nine months or nine years from now."

She grasps his wrists and leans into his touch, unable to restrain a sob.

"Even when I'm the size of an elephant and peeing all over the place and shoving my feet in your face to massage and, and waking you up at three in the morning to make you get me a peanut butter and jalapeno salad and ripping your clothes off every chance I get?"

"I like elephants," he jokes, eliciting a watery laugh from her while he wipes away the last of her tears. His face melts into a smile. "You're not fat, Han. You're pregnant."

"Yeah," she says, and beams. "I guess I am."

Leaning forward, she hugs him, pressing a kiss to the crook of his neck and muttering an emotional, "Thank you."

Then she clutches him tighter as she laughs and starts crying again; only this time they're happy tears, because something inside her has been fixed after being damaged for so long and she knows – just as surely as she knows that Caleb won't let go until she does – if she does – that with the life growing within her (she's going to be a mother!), nothing will ever break her again.

a/n: didn't expect this to be so long. but it is, and i thank you for reading it.

i've wanted to write this for a really long time, because i just feel like there's so much behind the kind of the thinking that leads to bulimia and my heart just broke for Hanna when i first found out and, honestly, i just feel so bad for her, in the show and in this story.

notice i didn't mention Aria and Spencer's husbands... that's 'cause this is 'sposed to focus on Hanna and her problems and it's from her head, so it would be such a regular thing for her she wouldn't mention it, mentally. (and also it's sposed to free you up to imagine whoever you want as their husbands. ;D)

i'm considering doing a kind of companion piece to this from Caleb's point of view that would take place in the days following the baby's birth, about his worries about being a father because he's never had one. if i do decide to do it, it won't be for a while, but it's a very strong contender.

so. get pumped for monday. i have a weekly rant in my profile, riddled with spoilers, and the song that's going to play during the Ezria kiss - "my heart with you" - is also linked there, near the top. i know i'm going to cry or get very close to crying this week - if you ever wanna PM me and "discuss", aka freak out about, the episode, feel free. :)

again, thanks for reading, and i would really appreciate it if you reviewed.

~whispered touches

disclaimer: pretty little liars belongs to Sara Shepard and ABC Family. no copyright infringement is intended.