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you were naturally a cold person.

you didn’t know why, but you’d always find at least one part of your body at a particularly freezing temperature. usually it was your feet or your hands. at night, you’d be curled up underneath a thick blanket, fluffy socks adorning your lower limbs to keep them cozy. during the day, you’d opt to be in the sun, soaking up the golden rays. anything to keep your body warm.

even craig had commented on your sheer frostiness. one touch from you and he recoiled back like a snake.

“jesus, what are you a vampire?” he’d yelped once when you grabbed his arm.

that’s why when you started dating andrew, he became your personal heater.

more often than not you’d find yourself hugged against him. his broad back against your chest. you’d lean your cheek against him, holding him tighter as you tried to soak up every bit of his warmth. when there would be a party at smurf’s, you’d be sat in his lap. his balmy hands rubbing at your thighs as you lied back against him.

it surprised you how hot he ran. with andrew’s silent and stoic demeanor, you wouldn’t have expected him to have been so toasty. but that’s what you liked about him. despite his initially cold impression, he was a sweetheart at his core.

your need for warmth was worse at the end of the day.

you’d practically throw yourself over andrew’s entire figure. nuzzling your face into the crook of his shoulder. your cold feet would wrap around his impossibly tepid calves, rubbing them softly to generate more friction.

andrew would tense at first, but then acclimate to your temperature. he relished in warming you up. it meant that you enjoyed him, the way his body felt against yours. andrew was a very touch starved person, and with your constant clinginess it made him feel comforted. he felt at ease in who he was, especially who he was with you.

of course there were other ways that he could warm you up… but for now he was content with your body curled up on top his own.

Daryl was still not entirely trusting this place. He would've lied if he said otherwise. But nevertheless had it been the right decision to move here temporarily. Without a doubt. It was better for Jude and RJ. Above all, though, it had been what was best for you. Alexandria wasn't the safest place at the moment. Especially not for birthing a baby and raising a newborn. The archer would've never forgiven himself if something happened to you or his baby girl. So, the decision had been quite an easy one to make.

Now, almost five months and a birth luckily without any complications later, Daryl was able to hold his four-month-old daughter in his arms. It was a rare day off of work for him - and he was eager to spend every spare minute of it with her, you, the other kids and Dog, of course. Family.

He actually hated that he had to be most of the times present and ready to serve as a Commonwealth soldier, but simultaneously he knew that he practically had no other choice. Daryl had to make sure to keep the food on the table for the six of you while you were on 'maternity leave' - as batshit crazy as it sounded. He had to provide, and that's what he'd do.

A small whimper redirected his attention; eyes dropping on the baby girl tucked in the crook of his arm. She was so tiny compared to him. He could easily hold her with just one hand. As if she weighed nothing. Ruby was so precious. So soft. Innocent. Pure. A miracle.

And she was his.

The archer smiled; marvelling at the even tinier fingers which clenched and unclenched to fists as she slightly wiggled around in her dad's hold. Her face scrunched up - about to let out a cry, but Daryl was on the scene; immediately tried his best to soothe her.

It was one of those nights and now days where Ruby had a rough time to sleep. She woke often; unsettled, restless. "Hey, baby girl. Wha's wrong, huh?" He spoke quietly - not wanting to risk waking you up. You had drifted off into a much needed, peaceful sleep while reading in bed two hours ago and Daryl was adamant to let it stay that way.

He gently started to rock Ruby; walking a few steps through the living room of the quiet apartment. The kids were at school and Dog with you asleep in bed. "Jus' can't seem 't find sleep, righ'?" A soft whimper left her pouty lips, before she put her fist to her mouth; starting to suckle.

By now, Daryl was kinda used to his new role as a father. Jude and RJ had helped him grow into this as well. He knew what his little girl tried to tell him. Not always, but mostly. "Ya hungry, sweetheart? Yeah?" Equally blue eyes looked up at him; filled with yet unshed tears. The archer smiled down at his baby and dipped his head to press a soft kiss on her fuzz covered head. "C'mon. Let's getcha sum'thin' 't eat. Hopefully yer mama has some milk in the fridge. Dun wanna wake 'er..." He mumbled the last few sentences more to himself while making his way over to the kitchen counter. His free hand reached for the fridge to open it; checking if you stored some breast milk there.

Luckily, you did. Daryl took one bottle out and put it into the baby bottle warmer Carol got you two. Sum real fancy shit, the archer thought when he had first seen and used it. Hell, he didn't even know something like that existed. Why should he?

It didn't take the little... device long to work its magic - which was a good thing since the baby on his arm got antsier and antsier with every minute that passed. "Jus' another minute, lil' princess. Almost there." Daryl tried his best to reassure Ruby. When the bottle was done, he squeezed a drop of milk on his wrist in order to test the temperature.

Safety first.

It was just right, so he adjusted Ruby in his arm and brought the tip of the bottle to her mouth; offering. She understood the assignment, of course, and instantly latched on. "There ya go." The archer smiled, threw a burp cloth - an item you had practically stowed away in every room somewhere in the apartment - over his shoulder for later and slowly made his way back over to the sofa where he sat down with Ruby.

He watched her suckle on the bottle; making the most adorable noises he had ever heard in his whole life. Another soft smile darted across his face; heart sloshing over with love for this miniature human. But then he noticed how fast and greedy Ruby ate. So greedy that a few droplets of milk didn't make it inside her mouth but dribbled down her chin. "Slow down, baby girl," Daryl spoke in a gentle, deep voice and pulled the rubber tip of the bottle back a little. "I know yer hungry, but ya jus' gonna choke on the milk. Tha' ain't good." He 'explained' quietly; trying to prevent this to happen. His 'tactic' worked but the archer had to repeat it a few times.

Once the bottle was empty and Ruby fed and satisfied, Daryl placed the bottle on the small coffee table in front of him. Then he took the burp cloth from his shoulder, carefully dabbing her mouth, chin and even neck to wipe away the milk she spilled. When that was done, he placed the white cloth back over his shoulder and adjusted the newborn. Wrapping both his big palms cautiously but securely around her slim torso - right underneath her little arms, he lifed her up to rest her head against his shoulder; one hand moving to cradle her bum. "A'right," he mumbled - again more to himself.

Of course, Daryl had done this a dozen times by now - but he was still highly focused on doing it right. He wanted to be everything his father never was. This precious girl deserved only the best - and hell, he'd give her the world and more.

A small burp ripped him out of his thoughts - and he smiled. Mission accomplished. "There we go. Good girl," Daryl praised the baby and lifted her off his shoulder again. But instead of laying her back down in the crook of his arm, he lifted her up higher - so that his arms where stretched. She was looking down at her dad now; arms and legs dangling freely in the air. The archer didn't know why, but Ruby loved this. Whenever he held her like that, she was the happiest little girl. It never failed to make her smile. This time either...

"Hey, baby girl," Daryl said; locking eyes with her. As soon as she realised what was going on, a big smile stretched over her face and she giggled. By god, if the laugh of his daughter wasn't one of the best things he ever heard. Music to his ears. He'd never get tired of hearing it. The archer couldn't help but smile as well. "Yer a happy little princess now, aintcha? Yeah, ya are." Ruby continued to smile, giggle and gurgle happily; little legs dangling and tiny hands trying to reach for him.

Daryl kept on smiling and lowered her a little; biceps bulging in the black sweater he wore. Ruby's little hands were instantly on his face. He let her 'explore', of course; having to squeeze an eye shut from time to time. But then she found his goatee - and was fascinated. Eyes wide; tiny fingers feeling the soft, coarse greyish hair underneath her small palms. "Been waitin' on this day, ya know. When ya gonna start findin' yer daddy's beard interestin'," he said; chuckling softly. "Da da da," the little girl babbled back. The archer nodded, "Tha's right, sweetheart. 'M yer daddy." and smiled, then lowered her further to pepper her cute chubby cheek with kisses.

It caused Ruby to giggle even more.

Daryl smiled and stood up to lay the baby on a soft blanket on the floor; giving her a toy to play with while he cleaned up the bottle and burp cloth. It was a plush rattle in the shape of a caterpillar.

Cleaning up didn't take the archer long - five minutes at the most, but when his blue eyes landed back on his daughter, she had switched positions. The four-month-old had rolled over and was now laying on her tummy. Much to his surprise. Sure, she had often tried to do that - to roll her body over but until now, Ruby had never made it. The bowman was impressed and proud of course. His lips curved yet into another soft smile as he watched her for a long moment. She's growin', he thought; getting reminded how fast time suddenly flew by.

After Daryl had cleaned up, he decided to take Ruby on a little walk. She enjoyed walks and they mostly helped lulling her to sleep. Given the situation and circumstances they were in today - a rough day for her to get sleep, this seemed like the best idea. Plus the weather was not that bad for a late morning in early March. Spring was definitely approaching, but slowly. It was cloudy and cool but not raining like yesterday. So, the decision was quickly made.

Daryl snuck quietly down the short hallway to Ruby's small nursery; passing by yours and his shared bedroom. He got some warmer clothes for her, then returned to his child. Instead of picking her up off the blanket, he knelt down on the floor and rolled the cooing, babbling baby over on her back again. Another smile darted across the tiny girl's face when she recognised her father - which in turn made Daryl's heart skip a beat.

He would've never seen it coming but hell, he loved this. He loved being a father.

"Ya gonna go with daddy on a walk, little princess?" A sweet gurgle left her tiny lips. "Yeah? Thought so," he chuckled quietly; big hands working to get the antsy infant in some warmer clothes. It took the archer a hot moment, but with a little patience, he managed to put her in the warm, white fleece overall. Now she looked like a polar bear cub. Literally. The overall had two ears attached on top. Daryl would've lied if he said it wasn't one of his favourite outfits for her.

"A'right. 'M gonna slip inside my jacket real quick, look after yer mama 'n then we get goin'." Said and done. The archer slipped inside his chosen piece of clothing - a black-ish jeans jacket, which would keep him warm outside and, of course, threw his signature angel-winged vest on as well. Then he snuck down the hallway again, but this time entering your shared bedroom - quietly, of course. He checked on you; noticing that you were still peacefully asleep. Your partner smiled and watched you for a moment, before he gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear which had fallen into your face. He leaned down to press a gentle kiss against your temple.

Unlike you, Dog was awake but still laying on the bed beside you; taking in Daryl's side of the bed. He watched his master with perked ears. "Ya gonna join me, boy?" Daryl addressed his animal best friend then; whispering. "Walkies?" The Malinois was definitely less excited than he was. Dog huffed and rested his head back down on the blanket. "Nah?" The canine had made his choice; choosing you this time. The bowman shrugged his shoulders, "'Kay. 'M goin' alone with Ruby then." and quietly left the bedroom again.

Of course, the man didn't leave the house without writing you a note where he and Ruby went. He didn't want you to worry in case you woke up before he returned.

Daryl slipped in his boots, picked his baby girl up and quietly left the apartment; making his way downstairs where the stroller was parked. With one hand he got the 'vehicle' ready and carefully laid Ruby in the baby crib. "Almost ready, little princess," he kept talking to her while tucking her in; making sure the warm blanket was snugly wrapped around her. Not the easiest task, since this little lady was really wriggly today. But eventually, he made it.

No five minutes later, Daryl was casually walking down the street; pushing the stroller. Again, he had never thought that he would be the man he was today. Especially not after the world went to shit - which was actually the wrong term. For everybody else did the world end, but for him... It actually started. A new beginning. A new life. It healed him. It brought him all the close friends he called family and would've never crossed paths with if all that shit didn't happen. He would've never met you. Never got Dog, and certainly never became a father.

Daryl had found the most precious thing in the ruins of the world... Love - in several different variations. Self-love. Friendship. Brotherly love. Actual romantic love. And fatherly love.

Now he was here, and hell, he would lie if he said he didn't enjoy the domesticity of it all. For once, it was quiet. No unstable walls or missing food to worry about. No threats - be it walkers or humans. No wars. No blood shedding. Just peace.

Sure, his senses were still sharp. He was still a fighter and survivor after all, but... In this very moment? All he cared about was that miniature human inside that stroller.

"Daryl, hey!" A voice suddenly urged to his ears. A very familiar voice. He stopped, and looked around - finding himself standing opposite the little bakery his best friend worked in. He smiled as he spotted Carol; jutted his head at her in greeting and made his way across the 'street'. "Yer up for a lil' detour, sweetheart? Wanna see aunt Carol?" Ruby cooed and looked up at her dad with big eyes; still not asleep. Well, admittedly, he was only about five or ten minutes on the way, so...

Carol stepped out of the little shop and awaited him with a smile. "Hey," they said in union; greeting each other and leaning in for a short hug. "Ya good?" The woman nodded. "Work's a little busier but not bad. And you?" Her eyes landed on the stroller, which Daryl was softly pushing back and fro; trying to keep it in motion to help Ruby fall asleep. "Taking a walk with Ruby?" He nodded. "Yah. She ain't really sleepin' today. Thought the weather ain't bad 'n decided to give it a try." "I'd say put her in a car and drive for a while - it always helped Sophia, but I guess that's a difficult thing to do here." The archer huffed. "Kinda. Stroller has 't be enough."

A particularly loud coo from inside the stroller interrupted the two. Carol smiled and bent down a little to peak inside and look directly at her best friend's daughter. "Hello, Ruby. Are you complaining? Right of you to do so. Your dad and auntie Carol just speaking about your sleep schedule and not asking you. That's truly rude." Daryl scoffed with a smile, while the four-month-old continued to babble at the woman - as if she was talking to her. Carol played along, of course; nodding, "Mhm, I see, yeah." and kept talking to her.

"She ain't ever gonna sleep if ya keep entertainin' 'er," Daryl teased his best friend; trying to 'peel' her away from the infant. But Carol was Carol and he actually knew better. An answer came promptly. She straightened up again and looked at the archer. "Ruby complains about your snoring every time she naps on your chest."

Tit-for-tat.

Daryl scoffed again and shook his head. "Ain't snorin'." "Yes, you do. Sometimes at least. Ruby knows it, I know it- Shall we ask Y/N?" "Shuddup." The woman smiled and giggled; placing a hand on his arm - as if in apology. "I should get going again. My break is over in less than two minutes." Daryl nodded. "'Kay, yeah. See ya?" Carol nodded as well, "Of course." then looked at her niece again. "Bye, Ruby." She waved at the baby and got a smile in return.

The archer continued on his walk; mission still the same. Ten minutes later, Ruby's mood shifted again. She turned from a happy baby into a discontent baby. Whining, whimpering and close to crying. Daryl sighed; stopping for a moment to adjust the blanket over her. She was wriggling around constantly. "C'mon, baby girl. Get some sleep. I know yer tired. Can tell." He placed one big palm on her tummy - or well, front upper body and moved it in small slow circles; trying to somehow calm her down. This tactic wasn't quite a success either, but Daryl had one more ace up his sleeve... A pacifier.

His hand vanished in the changing bag attached to the stroller - searching and finding the object of his desire. He got the pacifier and offered it his daughter. Ruby was a bit hesitant at first, but then accepted the item; suckling on it. And this time, the archer's plan worked. The pacifier in combination with the constant movement of the stroller managed to finally lull the baby to sleep. Something Daryl was utterly glad and relieved about.

He decided to walk a few yards more - just to be on the safe side. Another ten minutes later, he turned around to walk back home.

On his way, he encountered another very familiar face - although dressed in Commonwealth soldier armor... Rosita. "Hey," she greeted him; helmet dangling from her hand. The archer stopped and greeted her back, of course. The co-worker she was with faded into the background; Daryl not giving him more than a short nod. "What brings you out here? It's not exactly great weather for a walk," Rosita remarked and he looked up; seeing the sky darkening with grey clouds. "Wasn't tha' bad half an hour ago... Had to take the little princess out. She ain't sleepin' today. Thought a walk might help." Realisation and clarity could be visibly seen on the woman's face. "Yeah, I know that problem," she said - referring to Coco, of course. Then she rounded the stroller and looked inside; smiling up at Daryl. "Looks like it worked, though." Daryl nodded with a grunt. "Yah, but jus' 'cause 'a tha' pacifier. Ain't been workin' without it. Took 'er longer than usually 't fall asleep. Dunno wha's off today."

Rosita shrugged her shoulders. "It just is sometimes. Coco's sleep schedule is all over the place sometimes, too. Despite Eugene's mathematical efforts." Daryl wanted to answer as Jacobs - the colleague of them suddenly jumped in and spoke up. "We gotta go, Rosita. Mercer waits." "Yeah I know," she answered; quickly turning to face the man before she redirected her attention again. "You'll get the hang of this all eventually." With a smile at her friend, Rosita walked on. "Let's go. Before you get your panties in a twist." Jacobs scoffed, "See you around." and jogged off to match Rosita's pace. Daryl walked on as well; not hearing what the other man said to Rosita. "Dixon's a father?" His voice was tinged in disbelief. "Obviously, yes. Why?" Jacobs shrugged his shoulders. "Don't know. Just didn't think he'd be the type to have a family. Always seemed to me like a lone wolf." Rosita gave the man a crooked smile. "You don't know shit about him."

Another fifteen minutes later, the archer parked the stroller in the main entrance hallway of the apartment building he and his family lived in. Carefully and with utmost caution, he lifted Ruby out of the stroller and carried her upstairs; praying to every force above that she wouldn't wake up and actually got a few hours of desperately needed sleep. So it was no wonder that Daryl was utterly relieved when he had her safely tucked in her baby bed; still sleeping peacefully. He switched on the baby monitor and shoved the other half in the back pocket of his jeans; quietly closing the door to her cosy, little room behind him. That was the moment he heard some muffled noises alongside the distinct sound of a flushing toilet, coming undoubtedly from the bathroom. He smiled. Looked like you woke up from your nap. The archer's feet let him automatically into direction bathroom - just in time for you to leave said room. When you saw him, a sleepy smile started to stretch over your face. "Hey." Your self-declared husband couldn't help but return the smile.

"Mornin'," he spoke in that deep, raspy voice as he bridged the distance between the both of you; hands instantly coming to rest on your hips. "Woke up, sleepin' beauty?" You scoffed; a little laugh leaving your lips as well. "Sleeping beauty?" You shook your head. "Certainly not, babe. More like vampire or Frankenstein's monster - or something else. Won't say zombie gone back to life. That's... No. Not a fitting saying anymore..." Now Daryl shook his head. "Nah. None of tha'. Sleepin' beauty. Definitely." You scoffed once again but smiled, then took another step closer to wrap your arms around his middle. You snuggled against him; head on his chest. A chuckle rumbled through his upper body, and he pressed a lingering kiss against the top of your head.

"Baby asleep?" You mumbled into his sweater. "Baby asleep, yah." A relieved sigh left your lips. "Thank God. Finally." Daryl hummed in agreement. "What did you do to get her to sleep? Took a walk?" "Mhm. Walk 'n pacifier." You pulled back just enough to be able to look up into his eyes. "You're the best dad I could've wished for Ruby." Your husband shrugged his shoulders - almost nonchalantly. "Nah. 'M jus' tryin' 't do the right thing." "Stop downplaying this, Dar. You're an amazing dad, babe," you stated again and squeezed his waist. "Really."

He smiled bashfully; blushing softly. "'Kay. If ya say so." "Know so." You smiled as well, "Kiss?" and puckered your lips. Daryl huffed, but of course dipped his head to grant your wish. "Yer something else, woman." You giggled, "Pot kettle." and stood on your tiptoes to kiss Daryl again.

If he wasn’t saving lives in the ER, he was risking his own. It doesn’t matter that you’ve knelt in front of him, the hardwood cool and unforgiving, as you pleaded for him to take a day off. Just one. 

There is always something. A colleague who has children and needs that day to take them to Disneyland. Or a patient who only trusts him. A shift he just has to cover.  

You’ve heard nearly every excuse possible and smiled like it didn’t matter, like you didn’t matter, because maybe you didn’t. 

When you and Jack first started dating, he warned you that surgeons are the worst kinds of doctors to date because of their pretentiousness. He seemed to have forgotten to mention that ER doctors came in second on that list. 

It wasn’t the desire for fame or hubris that made Jack so careless about your feelings. It was his devotion to everyone but you. 

Sure, he’d kiss you and make you feel special—on a day when he could afford it. When he wasn’t chasing the high of being needed by strangers who’d maybe not even remember his name once he had saved them. 

You know the placement of every freckle on his body, and still, it doesn’t change anything. 

The third glass of wine doesn’t taste as bitter as the first. You don’t particularly like this brand or year or anything about it—you just know that Jack had bought it for today, back when he was still telling himself that he’d be home to celebrate with you. 

As the cap of the bottle dances between your fingers, the metal now warm from your body heat, you glance at the clock. 

Three hours and twelve minutes.

God, you’re a fucking loser. 

Maybe it would be a different story if you were married. Maybe you could forgive yourself for your desperation, your constant attempts to convince yourself you mattered to him as much as he mattered to you. If there were a little bit of proof of his commitment, you’d be able to look into the mirror without feeling sick with shame. 

But there is no ring on your finger or the promise that one will come one day. Jack doesn’t want to get married again. He says you two don’t need that. 

Three hours, thirteen minutes. 

You slosh the wine in your mouth while the darkest of thoughts creep in. It’s just a little fantasy you’ve curated and perfected over the years, and it’s an insane one, but you love to lose yourself in it every now and then. 

Jack comes home. The house is quiet. Too quiet. Goosebumps creep up his arms and neck as he calls out your name. When no answer comes, he runs up the stairs and finds the bathroom door ajar. Light seeps out under it, along with a small pool of water tainted light pink. 

Fine. You’re a little melodramatic. Maybe Jack’s neglect has driven you to regress into your teenage self who also fantasized about this whenever her dad yelled at her. 

Once the fourth hour starts, the wine bottle is empty, and you’re so drunk it feels like time has stopped. The tears certainly have. They’ve been replaced by this hollow laugh that echoes through the house while you watch the trashiest TV show you could find. 

While the alcohol courses through your veins, your eyes zero in on the women’s lip and cheek fillers. It stands out to you like black ink on white paper. 

You wish Jack would’ve been a plastic surgeon instead. You wouldn’t care that he sees women’s naked breasts and gives BBLs on a daily basis if that meant that he was home in time for dinner. 

Once you stand up to get a new bottle, you feel all the blood rushing to your head. Your legs are unsteady, and your forehead and nose feel so heavy, like they’re pulling you forward. 

You find out just how firm the fridge is when you knock against it. 

It’s not like you feel it anyway. 

The next bottle of wine is closed with a cork stopper. You’ve seen Jack open this kind of bottle with that metal apparatus that looks like you could find it in a gynecologist’s office. You have no idea how to use it. So you take a knife and start hacking away. You only miss your fingers by pure, dumb luck. 

That luck runs out when you try to pop out the cork stopper by hitting the bottom of the wine against the kitchen counter. 

What used to be the bottle is now a bunch of shards and a cold, wet feeling seeping through your socks. 

You laugh hysterically and drop to your knees, not half as careful as you should be. Something pierces your big toe, but you don’t care. 

The front door opens. Jack steps inside. And his eyes widen. If anything, Jack has always had one hell of a timing.

You’re a fucking mess. 

“Jackie,” you slur. 

You try to get up, but your muscles protest. 

“Jesus, what the fuck?” he hisses. 

He is by your side in an instant, stepping over the glass carefully. It crunches underneath his boots when he picks you up by your underarms and puts you down on the counter. 

“Baby, what the fuck happened?”

You giggle. You fucking love it when he calls you baby. 

“Oopsie,” you whisper. 

Jack stares at you with disbelief. His fingers catch your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his.  For a second, his mouth opens, and you await the lecture that never comes. Instead, his eyes dart over your face, taking it all in—the smeared makeup, the heat radiating from your cheeks, the glassy, far-away look. 

“Are you drunk?” he asks, his voice trembling slightly. 

You try to bite back a smile as you reply, “As a skunk.”

He lets go of your chin and takes a step back, running a hand through his hair.  You let yourself slide off the counter, trying to close the distance again. 

“Stop,” Jack yells.  His arm snaps forward, pushing you back. For a moment, you stumble. Your back hits the counter, and you look up at Jack with a hurt expression. Then your eyes follow his, and you realize that you almost stepped into the glass. A stupid smile spreads over your face.

Jack’s expression falls. 

“Hey,” he says sharply. “What the fuck is wrong with you? What are you doing, huh?”

He grabs you by your biceps and pulls you away from the sharp mess on the floor. You only feel the closeness as his fingers dig into your skin. 

“I missed you today,” you murmur dreamily.  Even to you, your own voice sounds far away. Or maybe only to you? You can’t tell. 

Jack stares at you, his eyes searching for something. Anything. 

“Talk to me,” he demands. “What is going on? Why are you wasted on a fucking Thursday?”

Oh, that one blows.  On a Thursday. Yes, a random Thursday.

You giggle so hard your throat hurts. 

“You’re never gonna believe this, but—” As you pause dramatically, Jack’s eyebrow twitches, “—it’s kinda an important Thursday. Like… really important.”

It’s almost visible how the wheels in Jack’s head start turning. They spark, creak, and squeak as he searches for the answer that’s written all over your face in the runny mascara and that look bordering on insanity. 

 His face falls when the wheels come to a stop.

“Fuck,” he whispers. 

As his eyes dart to the calendar pinned to the fridge, you feel your stomach turning. 

“Yeah,” you say.  Your mouth feels dry now, and nothing’s quite as funny anymore.

Jack looks at you, but you don’t meet his eyes. 

“I’m sorry.” You believe him. That’s the worst part. But it doesn’t matter how sorry he is, because you’re sorrier. To the little girl you once were who thought she’d be happier than her parents ever got to be.

You shift your weight and wince softly. 

Jack’s eyes widen.

“Are you hurt?” he asks.  His voice comes out rough. 

“No,” you murmur. 

Jack pats you down anyway, his hands searching alongside his eyes as he inspects your legs. At the end, he finds a small shard of glass stuck in your big toe.  You're holding onto Jack’s head as he looks at your foot. His ears have grown red. 

“You are hurt,” he mumbles. “I—Lemme…”

Torn between another apology and his worry, Jack picks you up. His arms slide under your back and your knees. The room tilts dangerously—you had almost forgotten that the contents of an entire wine bottle were coursing through your veins. 

“Rollercoaster,” you whisper.

He shushes you as he carries you to the upstairs bathroom where you keep the first aid kit.  The bright, white light flickers to life and hurts your eyes, making you groan. Jack only glances at you with more concern before he sets you down on the bathroom counter. 

“Hold still,” he instructs.  His arms keep you in place for a few seconds, like he is trying to show your body how to keep balance. “Don’t fall, please,” he adds, a little gentler. 

Then he crouches down, grunting a little as his knee pops. Somewhere through the haze of the wine, you remember that he just worked for sixteen hours. But then again, it’s your anniversary, and your empathy for his exhaustion is outweighed by your own misery. By far.

 He finds the first aid kit and takes a pair of tweezers before he catches your foot with his other hand. 

“It’s not too deep,” he says quietly. “Maybe that’s why you didn’t feel it until you moved.”

Yeah, you think to yourself, that’s definitely why. 

“Spoken like the doctor you are,” you answer. 

Jack looks up at you for a second, his lips pressed together. He murmurs something you don’t quite catch and then pulls out the shard.

You gasp as the pain shoots from your toe to your knee and pulls up high into your hip. 

“Ow, what the—?” you hiss. 

Jack keeps your leg still and rubs your shin slightly.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. 

“Not for that.”

The air in the room grows cold.  Jack straightens up, and his knee pops again. 

“I’m sorry for today, too,” he begins.  He doesn’t get very far because you immediately hold up your hand. 

“No,” you bite out sharply.

For a few seconds, you just sit on the counter, your legs swinging slightly. Jack watches, fumbling with his fingers as he searches your face. 

“Can I clean your cut, please?” he asks.  You shake your head vehemently. 

“It could get infected if I don’t,” he retorts.

You open your mouth to argue, but the words don’t come out. Instead, a wave of nausea hits you. 

“’m gonna be sick,” you mumble. 

Jack’s eyes widen before his hands land on your waist.  He half-carries, half-drags you to the toilet and makes it just in time as the wine comes back up, tasting ten times as bad as it did when it went down. 

“Shit, baby,” Jack curses. He gathers as much of your hair as he can save and rubs your back as you throw up once, then twice. 

It’s all liquid, too, because you haven’t eaten in a few hours—you were planning on having a big dinner with your boyfriend after all, as one does on their anniversary.  As your stomach cramps, you think about the muffins that you ordered, lemon batter and raspberry icing. 

The third time your tummy revolts, it’s just dry-heaving. 

Spit dribbles down your chin, and your hands tremble. You’re somehow sweating and shaking simultaneously. Jack whispers and shushes, but you don’t want his comfort. You want to keep drinking until you pass out. 

“Leave me alone,” you murmur, your hands flailing weakly. 

“And let you knock yourself unconscious? No, thank you,” he replies. “You’re so fucking drunk, you’re lucky you haven’t given yourself alcohol poisoning.” It’s clear he’s aiming for dry and sarcastic, but you hear the fear in his voice. 

“Get out,” you rasp. Your throat might as well be on fire.

“No,” he snaps. 

“You don’t care if I crack my head open,” you accuse. 

His grip on your arm tightens. “Hey,” he says sharply, “That’s not true. I care very much.”

You groan and rest your chin on the toilet seat as your head begins to spin again. 

“Then why are you never here?”

The silence that follows is only broken by your renewed retching. 

Once you’ve emptied your stomach, Jack leaves you by yourself on the bathroom tiles for a few seconds. His eyes keep flickering back to you as he turns on the shower, testing its warmth with the tips of his fingers. 

He returns to your side and flushes the toilet for you. 

“Can you stand?” he asks.  You’re surprised at just how soft his voice is. 

You shake your head. He doesn’t sigh. 

Instead, he nods quietly and maneuvers you against the wall. 

“Put your arms up, baby,” he instructs quietly. 

Piece by piece, he removes your clothes. You feel how his fingers tremble as he unhooks the clasps of your new bra, all black lace and clearly bought for today.  Once you’re down to nothing, he starts undressing, too. He leans his prosthetic against the wall and then manages to get both of you in the shower. 

The tiles are cold underneath you, but the warm spray from above keeps you quiet. Jack doesn’t say anything as he sits next to you, his grey curls slowly growing darker as the water hits. He doesn’t reach for you either, but his knee presses against yours. 

“You love me?” you whisper. 

Jack braces next to you. You feel the tension travel up from where his leg touches yours. 

“I do,” he murmurs. 

You swallow hard. “Then why do you never choose me?”