A.N- Sorry for the long wait... Been really busy... so, so, so sorry...

When he awoke the next morning, the sun was shining brightly on his cheek. It took him a few seconds to remember where he was and what happend. Mort realized where he was, on the floor of his bathroom, and he realized how he got there... He had fainted. Fainted from something someone had told him. What was that something and someone? It was about Katie and Mort. Katie had told him-

"Shit!" Mort cursed suddenly and loudly as he pushed himself off of the floor in an instant. He felt dizzy as he sat up so suddenly, his head felt heavy, his vision even went black for a moment, then, to his great disappointment, quickly returned. It was disappointing because, well maybe if he didn't see Katie or anything that reminded him of her, she'd just simply be forgotten.

He stood up, gripping onto the sink, looking at himself in the mirror. A smirking image of himself looked back. "I told you so."

"What?" Mort stared at him with a mouth slightly hanging open, "What the fuck did you say to me, you dumb fuck?"

"Language, language, language, Morten, you didn't want your child to have a mouth like that, do you? I had said, 'Just fire her before you do anything you'll regret', but you didn't listen."

Mort opened his mouth to say a reply, but he said nothing. Nothing at all came out. He closed his mouth, shaking his head. "I don't regret it."

"In a way you do, in a way you don't. You regret it because now you can't be the priority of your life, it can't be just about you, you'll actually be responisble for another person's life. A child's life. No more of this sleeping till two in the afternoon, only to go back to bed at seven... You don't regret it, because you think that you won't hurt Katie. You think that if you know she is carrying your child, you won't at all do anything to her."

"Shut the hell up." Mort growled as he left his bathroom.

As soon as left the bathroom he went to the steps, he looked over the railing for any sign of Katie. He hoped to see her laying on the couch, peacefully sleeping. Mort would cook her a gentle breakfast, and softly wake her up. Then they would talk about the situation in thoughtful whispers, chins in their hands, staring off at random things while speaking, avoiding all eye contact. But then, at the end, there would be a silence, and their eyes would slowly go to eachother's and be filled with delight. They'd smile at eachother, then Katie would throw her arms around his neck, hugging him. Everything would be okay.

But, she was not there on the couch. There wouldn't be a chance for that. Mort gripped onto the railing as he slowly went down the stairs with heavy feet. He glanced into the kitchen, the porch, the living room, and even the small closet. She was nowhere to be found. What happend after he fainted, locked away in his bathroom? Did she declare she loved him or that she hated him? Did she sit and wait for him to come up, or leave right away?

He roamed back into his messy kitchen in a daze and sat at the kitchen table. He stared at the contents ontop. Some Jack Daniels bottles, old newspapers from weeks before, a six month old magazine, a few near emty cans of Mountain Dew, and two stale bags of Doritos. Blinking, he shook his head and looked away from the junk to the ceiling, then to the floor, then back to the table. With a growl of frustration, he whipped his arms over the table, knocking everything to the floor. Leaning forward on his elbows, he held his head in his hands.

Could he honestly see himself as a father?

It was nice to think, nice for Mort to imagine, to dream of, but honestly he couldn't see himself as a father. Teaching a boy to play catch, and having him come into the house crying with scraped knees after falling off his bike, he couldn't really see himself doing. What if it was a little girl though? He couldn't see himself bouncing a little girl on his knee, painting a room pink, and buying her things that say "daddy's little girl". Mort couldn't imagine himself being the dad to small children, preteens, or teens. There was no possible way.

But sudden an imagine came into his mind that he could easily see himself doing.

His child getting a bad grade or mouthing off, or maybe they wouldn't be doing anything wrong at all. Maybe Mort just stumbled into his home completely drunk. Maybe just hours before he drowned himself with whiskey, beer, wine, who knows what else? But those small eyes would look up to him in love and the child with throw themself at him, hugging his legs. But he would be irritated by the drinks, and push them away, much harder than needed. They'd start crying, like children naturally do. This would only bother him more, and Mort would tell them to stop, be quiet, then he'd raise his voice, screaming at them to shut-up. Maybe he could even go up to the child, and take their small arm with a tight grip, lifting them off of the ground. Katie would come out and scream at Mort to put the kid down. Mort would, after glaring at the kid a few low-toned comments, then he yell at Katie and shove her away before storming out of the house to the car. He'd drive away to some back, hardly-used road to sit and think about what just happened. Guilt would overcome his drunk self and he would pull a gun from the glove-compartment. Mort would open his mouth, putting the barrel to his lips...

"Dammit!" He shouted out loud at the thought, slamming his fist onto the table. Mort closed his eyes tightly, tears escaping.

Why could he not see himself as a good father but he could easily see himself as an awful, drunk, short-tempered father and husband, shoving his family around? Is that what would happen? Is that what would be?

"No!" He groaned, dropping his head to the table, "I won't...I won't..."

After a few moments of thoughtful silence, he sat up, looking out of the window. , "I'd be the best damn dad in this god-damned place. I'd be the one always drinking out of those number-one-dad cups, no doubt... I'd be drinking out of them in a bigger, better house... People always wanting my autograph... I'd win all of the damn author awards."

Author...writing...stories...

His dark eyes instantly looked out of the doorway, up the steps to the loft, to his desk. The story was almost finished, he remembered. He had written quite a few chapters while having his breakdown. Chapters filled with hopelessness, being lost, darkness... but they were good chapters. Chapters that could actually be made into a book.

Mort narrowed his eyes, as he was growing more thougtful.

If he could finish this book and have it published, he'd have more money. Well, you need money to have more money, so... Mort would have money, but a good amount.

A good enough amount to make a nursery room and buy things to go with it. A crib, toys, shelves, a changing table and whatever else was needed. That way he could convince Katie that he wanted to be a father, so maybe she'd move in with him. Maybe romance would erupt and they'd be married. Maybe he'd then get enough money to buy a bigger, better house someplace, someplace that was far, far away from where he was now living. He'd be able to start a new life...

Start with a clean sheet...