gold Rush

You’d been at the Squawk with Steve and Robin, the three of you crammed into the booth like always. Robin, as usual, was rambling about something while Steve laughed and bumped his knee into yours under the table, grounding you without even trying. 

By the time the clock crept past 8:30, the air outside was already dark and heavy, that familiar tightness had started curling in your chest; one that always showed up when it got late.

You’d told yourself you could handle it, that you were fine and you weren’t helpless, but you still asked Steve to accompany you home anyway, too afraid to go on your own.

“Can you come with me?” you’d asked casually, “or at least drive me home?”

Steve frowned, glancing at Robin. “Baby, you’ll be fine. You can go on your own. I’ll be back in like an hour, okay? ”

You nodded and kissed him goodbye, then you walked out to your car telling yourself you weren’t a scared little kid, and that nothing can harm you anymore.

Only to realize halfway down the lot that your coat was still inside.

So you turned around.

That was all; a forgotten coat, a stupid, normal thing, and you would have been in and out in seconds if not for your name cutting through the noise in the squawk as you heard Steve mention you to Robin.

You shouldn’t have listened, you knew that. You were raised better than to hover at doors and steal pieces of conversations that weren’t yours to hear, but your body didn’t listen to reason anymore.

Your feet stayed planted, your lungs forgot how to work as panic washed over you so fast and so violently that for a second you weren’t in Hawkins at all.

You were back in the Upside Down.

Back in that choking red sky, where  the air is thick and cold. You could feel all over again the vines slick and alive under your hands as you ran, heart tearing itself apart inside your chest. 

You could still feel the demobats, the weight of them, the wet snap of their wings, the sound of flesh ripping, the blood, so much blood, everywhere you looked there was bloodbloodbloodbloodblood—

—the combined screams of yours and Eddie’s. You remembered the way his body had gone still, the way Steve had dragged your bloodied body away as your entire abdomen was ripped apart, shaking so badly you couldn’t even scream.

You remember the way you’d thought you were going to die there with your throat ripped open and your bones scattered across that fucked-up place.

You hadn’t felt safe since.

Four months, five months? however long it had been, it didn’t matter. Fear had latched onto you like a parasite and refused to let go.

Everything startled you now, doors, clocks, cold air on your neck, cars backfiring, footsteps too close behind you. The world felt like a nightmare, and the night was only much worse.

Steve was the only place that didn’t feel like that.

Steve made it quiet. Steve made it stop.

You hadn’t even realized you’d started clinging until it was already done, until your body had decided he was shelter, that he was protection, that if he was near then nothing could touch you. 

And now you were standing outside a door, listening to him talk about you.

“I don’t know, Robin,” he says again, voice rough and worn down, like he’s been chewing on the same thought for weeks and it’s finally gone bloody. “She’s just… different. Ever since.”

Robin leans back against the counter, arms crossed, watching him carefully. “Yeah,” she says, slow and measured. “No shit. She went to literal hell, Steve.”

“I know that,” he snaps too fast, immediately regretting the edge in his voice. He exhales, drags a hand down his face. “I know. I do. That’s the problem. I know, and I still feel like shit about how I feel.”

She waits. Robin’s good at that. At letting him talk himself into the truth.

“It’s like,” he starts again, quieter but faster, words tumbling over each other now, “she’s everywhere. All the time. Wherever I go, she’s already there or tryin’ to be. If I grab my keys, suddenly she needs to leave too. If I’m sittin’ down, she’s sittin’ down. If I say I’m tired, she’s tired. It’s like she can’t exist unless I’m right next to her.”

Your stomach drops where you stand, frozen just outside the door, fingers clenched tight around the strap of your bag.

“I’m serious,” Steve keeps going, oblivious, frustration bleeding through every word. “If I’m goin’ to see Dustin, she’s got a reason to come. If I’m headin’ to the Squawk, somehow we’re paired up for drills again. She doesn’t do anything alone, Robin. Never. She’s just… latched onto me.”

He laughs humorless. “And I sound like a dick sayin’ it, I know I do, but it’s fuckin’ suffocating.”

Suffocating. Like he’s drowning because of you.

Robin doesn’t answer right away. When she finally speaks, her voice is softer, more careful. “Steve. That’s not weird, matter of fact it's a normal response given what she's been through. That’s her brain trying to keep her alive.”

“I know,” he says, rubbing at his neck like it physically hurts to admit it. “I know she’s not doing it on purpose.”

“She nearly died,” Robin presses. “She watched Eddie die right in front of her. She got dragged into the Upside Down and came back with scars all over her body. She wakes up screaming, Steve. You’re the only thing that makes her feel safe.”

“I didn’t say she was the bad guy,” he snaps, voice cracking despite himself. “I’m just sayin’ I’m overwhelmed. She’s so clingy, Robin. You saw her tonight. She didn’t wanna leave without me. I had to practically beg her to go first.”

Your vision blurs. You press a hand to your mouth, swallowing hard.

“It’s like I gotta make up excuses just to be alone,” he admits, quieter now, stripped bare. “I need space. I need to breathe. And I can’t say that without soundin’ like a heartless asshole because yeah, she’s traumatized, and then suddenly I’m the villain for wantin’ five goddamn minutes to myself.”

Robin scoffs, pushing off the counter. “Steve, you idiot. You said it yourself. Your girlfriend is traumatized.”

“Yeah,” he shoots back, voice rising, “but how the hell do I tell my traumatized girlfriend to back off without destroyin’ her. How do I say ‘hey, I love you, but you’re smotherin’ me,’ and not absolutely fuck her up more than she already is.”

“You don’t call her clingy,” Robin says immediately. “For starters. That word is banned and most girls, including Vickie, hate it.”

Steve lets out a short, bitter laugh. “Well, she is.”

Robin gasps dramatically, clutching her chest. “Oh nooo,” she mocks, voice high and obnoxious. “I’m Steve Harrington and my girlfriend loves me so much. Oh noooo, she feels safe with me. My life is helllll.”

“Shut up,” Steve mutters, shoving her shoulder.

“Oww, you asshole!” Robin shoots back, swatting him in return, then sobers as she gets all serious again. “You’re not wrong for being tired. You are wrong for talking about her like she’s a burden.”

Steve goes still. “I don’t think she’s a burden,” he says quietly, and this time it sounds like the truth. “I just… I don’t wanna be the only thing keepin’ her together. What happens if I fuck up? What happens if I leave?”

Robin sighs. “Then you talk to her. You communicate, dingus.”

You step back before they can see you, heart pounding, every word replaying in your head on a brutal loop. Suffocating. Clingy. Everywhere.

You don’t grab your coat when you leave.

You don’t even realize you’re driving until you’re already halfway home, knuckles white on the steering wheel as every memory crashes into you at once. Begging him to stay while you showered because you were convinced something would crawl out of the drain. Nights you woke up screaming, clinging to his shirt like it was the only safe place left in the world. Training days for the crawl where you stuck close, too afraid to be alone, grateful when you were paired with him again.

You could see it all, every single little thing you had leaned on him for, flashing through your mind like some god-awful horror slideshow.

Steve’s words had been like a bucket of ice water dumped on you, shocking you into clarity whether you wanted it or not. 

Maybe you had been too sensitive. Maybe you had been unbearable. Maybe you had been so clingy that it wasn’t fair for him, and maybe you needed to let go, at least a little. 

It wasn’t as if you had been the only one stuck in the Upside Down. Will had survived a week in that hell, seen things that should have ripped him apart, and yet he had come back and carried himself with a strength you couldn’t even muster. 

Dustin had lost Eddie too, but he hadn’t latched onto anyone, hadn’t made himself a burden. Eleven had been tortured, exploited, experimented on, broken in ways that should have left her crushed, and yet she still managed to find herself amidst everything, to stand and breathe and continue on. 

And here you were, the only one who seemed incapable of moving past it, of finding even a fragment of independence, still tethered to Steve as if without him you would fall apart.

Somehow, without realizing it, you had arrived at your shared home with Steve, parked your car in the driveway, and walked inside on autopilot, your body carrying you through familiar motions while your mind carried the full weight of guilt, shame, and heartbreak.

You stripped off your clothes in the bathroom, letting the water hit your skin in a rhythm you used to find comfort in, and prepared some dinner. You heated up leftovers, the smell of food filling the kitchen like it always had, but this time there was no laughter, no shared commentary on who had eaten what, no teasing Steve about his obsession with ketchup. 

By the time Steve arrived, the house was quiet. You were already in bed, tucked under the covers, something you hadn’t done alone in months because for months you hadn’t slept unless his arms were wrapped around you. 

But tonight, the house felt empty, and he found himself standing in the kitchen, fork in hand, staring at the warm meal you had prepared for him, and realizing that for the first time in an eternity, you weren’t waiting for him.

The next morning only deepened the silence. Steve woke to an empty bed, the sunlight spilling across rumpled sheets that smelled faintly of your perfume, and felt a prickling, cold panic he couldn’t name at first. 

You were already dressed, shoes on, ready to leave.

“Where are you heading?” he asked, voice rough.

“Going to get some stuff from the store,” you replied dryly.

“Want me to come with you, sweetheart?” His words carried that familiar gentleness, but you couldn’t look past it without feeling like a burden.

“No,” you said simply.

It was such a small, simple word. It shouldn’t feel like this. Except it made Steve sit in bed alone, blood running cold, realizing far too late that you were beginning to avoid him.

You leave early and don’t come back until the sky is already dimming, the house dark except for the kitchen light that Steve has turned on and off three times now like it might summon you home faster.

By the time you unlock the front door, he has been pacing a groove into the living room carpet, heart in his throat, mind running through every worst case scenario he promised himself he wouldn’t think about anymore. The second the lock clicks and the door opens, he’s there, crowding your space before you can even hang up your coat.

“Where the hell were you?!” he blurts, voice tight and frantic, eyes scanning you like he’s checking for blood. “You’ve been outta the house for nearly six hours. Six. I was losin’ my goddamn mind. I thought somethin’ happened to you.”

You sigh, slow and tired, and for a split second when you really look at him, at the pure unfiltered worry etched into his face, you almost break.

Almost step into his arms, almost let yourself melt into him and admit how badly you missed him, how those six hours felt like six days without his voice or his hands or the steady reassurance of his presence. 

If six hours did this to him, then the space you were forcing had been tearing you apart twice as badly.

But then your brain betrays you, replays his words in his voice, clingy, suffocating, always there, and you harden.

“I was out, Steve,” you say quietly.

“Yeah, no shit,” he fires back, following you as you walk toward the kitchen. “Out where?”

You open the fridge, more for something to do than because you’re hungry, and shrug. “With Nancy. We hung out and I accidentally lost track of time.”

The tension drains out of him immediately, shoulders sagging in relief. “Jesus,” he breathes. “Why didn’t you tell me, huh? I was freakin’ out. Is everything okay? Did somethin’ happen?”

You shake your head. “No, nothing happened, don’t worry.”

He nods quickly, like he’s trying not to push. “Okay. Okay. I won’t pry.” He hesitates, then softens. “Hey, I was thinkin’ dinner. You want lasagna or pizza?”

“I’m not hungry,” you say, already turning away. “I’m gonna go sleep, okay.”

He frowns. “But I thought we could just hang out a little, I mean we barely saw each other toda—”

“Maybe another time, alright? Goodnight, Steve.”

He exhales, defeated. “Goodnight,” he says softly. “I love you.”

You pause just long enough to whisper it back before disappearing down the hall. “I love you too,”

The days after are worse.

Steve wakes up and barely gets a word in before you’re already pulling on shoes, mumbling something about a jog. If he waits, you need a shower. If he waits longer, you’re late to see your nana. 

If he suggests the Squawk, you’re already going with Nancy. It’s like every time he reaches out, you slip through his fingers a little more, like trying to grasp smoke.

Not long ago, you haunted him with your presence. You were everywhere, constant, inescapable, but now you ghost him with your absence. He doesn’t know where you go or what you do, only that the house feels emptier even when you’re technically still there.

That’s how he ends up sitting on the edge of the bed tonight, waiting for the bathroom door to open, heart pounding like he’s bracing for bad news. When you finally step out, hair damp, towel slung over your shoulder, he looks up like he’s been holding his breath.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says gently, like he’s testing the word to see if it still belongs to him.

You glance at him in the mirror and give him a small, careful smile. “Hi, Steve.”

He lingers there for a second, then steps closer, hands hovering before he settles them lightly at your waist, afraid you might flinch. He leans down and presses a kiss to your collarbone. 

“I missed you,” he murmurs. “You’ve been out all day. Didn’t even see you at the Squawk.”

Your body betrays you before your mouth does, a shiver running through you at the sound of his voice, the warmth of him behind you. For a heartbeat you let yourself feel it, the pull, the ache. Then you pull away, just enough to break the contact, reaching for your hairbrush like it’s a shield.

“Yeah,” you say lightly. “Nancy asked me to go shopping with her again.”

“Oh.” He straightens, nodding, trying to keep his tone easy. “Was it fun? I figured you’d come back with, like, ten bags or somethin’.”

You shrug, brushing through damp hair. “Didn’t need anything.”

He watches you in the mirror, the way you won’t quite look at him, the way your answers land flat and stop short. He clears his throat as heshifts his weight.

He hesitates, then clears his throat, trying again, voice low and careful. “Uh. We trained today. Me, Hopper, and El. She shaved her time down again.”

You pause only briefly, tugging at your hair with the brush.

“Thirty-three seconds,” he continues, a little brighter despite himself. “Last week it was thirty-six. She’s pissed about it too, which I guess is good. Means she knows she can do better.”

“That’s good,” you say quietly.

He nods, even though you’re not looking at him. “Yeah. She’s gettin’ scary strong again. In a good way.”

“Mhm.”

Steve frowns. He leans back on his hands, searching your face even though you’re facing away now. “We could all hang out this weekend. Just us, or maybe the kids too. Whatever you want. Thought it might be nice.”

“I’m actually quite tired,” you say quietly.

“Okay,” he says quickly. “Yeah. That’s fine. We don’t have to do anything big.” He pauses, then softly asks. “Hey. Are you okay? Like, really okay?”

You swallow. “I’m fine, Steve.”

There’s a beat of silence where he clearly wants to say more as his mouth opens and closes like he’s rearranging words that never come out right. 

He tries again, desperate now. “Did I do somethin’? Because if I did, I swear I’m not tryin’ to mess this up. I just need you to talk to me, okay.”

Your chest tightens. You squeeze your eyes shut.

“Steve,” you say softly, cutting him off before he can dig himself deeper, “can you turn off the light, please?”

He gets the hint; you don’t want to talk.

He freezes for a second, then nods once. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

He stands, reaches for the lamp, and the room falls into darkness. He lingers there for a moment longer, like he’s hoping you’ll turn back around, say his name, give him something to hold onto.

You don’t.

“Night,” he says quietly.

“Night,” you reply, barely audible.

He lies down beside you, careful not to touch, staring up at the ceiling with the awful, sinking realization that this is what losing you looks like..

As the days passed, then quietly turned into weeks, you built a new routine that did not include Steve in it at all. It happened slowly enough that it almost felt reasonable at first. 

You learned how to time your mornings so you were out the door before he woke up, learned how to come home late enough that conversation felt unnecessary, learned how to smile just enough to keep him from asking questions that you did not have the strength to answer.

Avoiding him became second nature. Lying became easy.

You spent most of your days outside, anywhere that was not the house and not around him. Sometimes you sat beside your nana’s hospital bed for hours, holding her hand and watching the rise and fall of her chest just to remind yourself that people stayed alive even when everything went wrong. 

Other days you walked until your legs ached, wandering neighborhoods you barely recognized, letting exhaustion drown out thought. Occasionally you called a friend, anyone who would answer, and let the hours blur together in cafes and parking lots and friendly conversations that never went anywhere deep enough to hurt.

It got to the point where you could not remember the last time you had kissed him without forcing yourself to think about it, and when you did, the number made your stomach twist. Four days. Four whole days since his mouth had been on yours, since his hands had found your waist without asking, since you had slept tangled together instead of inches apart. 

There was a time when five minutes apart felt unbearable, when you haunted each other in hallways and kitchens and doorways, hands always reaching, always searching.

You grew used to the distance. 

Steve though, did not.

His patience thinned in ways that showed. It did not help that things with Dustin were already strained. Steve started snapping again and retreating into old habits he thought he had outgrown. 

He tried to pull himself back every time he felt it happening, tried to reach for you like he always had.

And every time he did, you stepped further away.

That was how he found himself one late afternoon sitting on the couch, elbows braced on his knees, staring at the front door. 

You had been gone all day again, supposedly with Nancy, doing whatever it was you told him you were doing now. 

Steve knew you were close to her, knew you trusted her, but not to the point where you would spend hours every other day together. Still, he told himself not to judge. Girls were odd in their friendships, and he did not want to be the guy who questioned everything.

But his mind would not shut up.

Every instinct in him was screaming that something was wrong, that he needed to do something instead of sitting there waiting. He was snapped out of his thoughts when the doorbell rang.

Steve was on his feet instantly, relief and fear colliding in his chest as he rushed to the door. He yanked it open, already ready to say your name.

Instead, Nancy Wheeler stood there.

For a split second, his brain refused to process it. Then panic slammed into him so hard it stole the air from his lungs. If you were supposed to be with Nancy, then why is she standing here alone?

“Where is she?” he blurted out, voice sharp and scared. “Is she okay? What happened?”

Nancy blinked in shock at his reaction, taking in the way his shoulders were tight, the way his hands were already shaking like he’d been holding himself together by sheer force of will. “Whoa, Steve, hey,” she said quickly. “Slow down. What’s going on?”

“What,” he shot back, breath uneven, eyes already scanning the driveway behind her like you might suddenly appear. “Where’s she? Why are you here without her, Nancy?”

Nancy frowned. “Without who?”

“Y/N,” he snapped, panic bleeding into anger because fear always did that to him. “I’m talking about Y/N.”

Her expression shifted immediately. “Yeah,” she said slowly, “that’s actually why I’m here. I haven’t heard from her in weeks. I just wanted to check in.”

The words hit him like a punch straight to the chest.

“What do you mean you haven’t heard from her?” he said, quieter now, like saying it louder might make it real. “You were literally  together today?”

Nancy let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Steve, no. I’ve been with Jonathan all day. He’s waiting in the car right now. I just stopped by because I was worried about her.”

The color drained from his face so fast it scared her.

“Steve,” she said carefully, stepping closer, “you’re freaking me out. What’s going on?”

He swallowed hard, throat tight like it was closing in on itself. “She’s been telling me she’s with you,” he said. “Every time she’s gone. She says she’s with you.”

Nancy stared at him. “Why would she lie about that?”

“I don’t know,” he said, voice cracking despite how hard he tried to keep it together. “That’s the thing, Nance, I don’t know. One day she was everywhere. Everywhere. I couldn’t turn around without her being there, couldn’t breathe without feelin’ her next to me, and then suddenly it’s like she vanished. We didn’t fight. I–i didn't do anything. At least not that I remember.”

Nancy sighed, rubbing her forehead, her tone firm but not unkind. “Steve. You don’t just wake up one day like that. Something must've happened.”

“No, no, no” he said immediately, shaking his head. “No, I would know. I would remember if I fucked up that bad.”

“And you didn’t think to ask her?” Nancy pressed.

“I did,” he snapped. “I tried. Every time I tried she’d shut it down, say she was tired or busy or fine. What the hell was I supposed to do, corner her?”

“She was clingy, okay. I’ll say it. I couldn’t go anywhere without her, couldn’t get a second alone, and then suddenly it’s like she was gone.”

Nancy’s head snapped up. “Don’t,” she said sharply.

“What?” he shot back.

“You do not call her clingy, Steve!” Nancy said, anger flaring now. “You don’t get to use that word with Y/N out of all people!”

He bristled. “Oh come on, Nancy. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yeah, you did,” she said. “And even if you didn’t, it doesn’t matter. In case you’ve forgotten, Harrington, we’re all wrapped up in this upside down bullshit because we have to be. I do it because of Mike and Barb. You do it because of Dustin. Guess what? She doesn’t have to be involved in it!”

Steve opened his mouth, then stopped.

“That girl is fucking traumatized, and she went through that shit because you dragged her into it!” Nancy continued, voice steady but fierce.

“She nearly died. She was attacked by monsters that shouldn’t exist. She watched Eddie die just like the rest of us, and she doesn’t get to talk about it with anyone outside this circle. She can’t go to her friends or her family and say, ‘hey, I got slimed by an interdimensional monster and almost got ripped apart.’ The only person she feels safe enough to lean on is you!”

His jaw tightened, guilt creeping in through the cracks.

“So yeah,” Nancy went on, “maybe she leaned too hard or she  didn’t know how to be alone after that. But that doesn’t make her clingy, Steve. That makes her scared.”

He dragged a hand down his face. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“I know,” Nancy said. “But intent doesn’t erase impact. Something you said or did made her feel like she was too much, like she was a burden, and instead of yelling or crying she did the only thing she could think to do. She disappeared.”

Steve let out a shaky breath. “She’s been lying to me, Nancy.”

“She’s protecting herself,” Nancy said. “You need to see things in her light”

Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy.

“So what,” he said finally, voice raw. “What if she’s just… done? What if she realized she doesn’t need me?”

Nancy softened then, stepping closer. “Steve. She needs you. She just doesn’t think she’s allowed to anymore. And that’s on you to fix.”

He looked at her, eyes glassy. “How?”

“You talk to her,” Nancy said simply. “Really talk. Don't accuse her or get defensive. Listen to her.”

She glanced back toward the driveway. “I’ll stop by tomorrow and check on her too, okay? But you can’t let this sit. Whatever’s going on, it’s clearly eating both of you alive.”

Steve nodded faintly, chest aching. “Yeah.”

Nancy opened the door, then paused. “And Steve.”

“Yeah?”

“Snap out of it,” she said firmly. “Before you lose her for real.”

With that, she left, heading back toward Jonathan’s car, while Steve stood alone in the doorway.

Ironically, barely ten minutes after Nancy and Jonathan pulled out of the driveway, you came home.

The house was dark. Too dark.

Your stomach dropped immediately, panic flaring hot and fast as you stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind you. No lights. No TV. No noise.

For a split second, every worst-case scenario you’d trained yourself not to think about came crashing in all at once.

“Steve?” you called out, voice tight.

Footsteps shuffled, and then he appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, lit only by the faint glow from the stove light.

“Hey,” he said, like nothing in the world was wrong.

You froze for half a beat. “Oh. Hi.”

There was something awkward in the air instantly, like you’d both stepped into the same room carrying entirely different weights. He leaned against the counter, trying to look casual.

“How was your day?” he asked.

You shrugged, slipping your shoes off. “It was… alright.”

His eyes drifted to the bag clutched in your hand, the crinkled plastic catching his attention. “What’s that?”

“Oh,” you said quickly, glancing down at it. “I stopped by the pharmacy to get the cream. For, uh… you know. The scarring.”

He nodded, softer now. “That’s good.”

Neither of you said anything else as you walked down the hall together. The bedroom felt smaller than usual as Steve sat on the edge of the bed while you set the bag down.

“Um,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you want me to help you apply it?”

You hesitated for a second. Then you nodded and handed him the bag.

He unsealed the ointment while you slipped your shirt off and sat cross-legged on the floor, your back to him. You were suddenly acutely aware of every scar—deep, jagged reminders carved across your back and abdomen from the demogorgon attack. Old wounds, but never really gone.

Steve didn’t react the way you always feared people might. He never did.

His hands were warm as he scooped some of the cream, spreading it carefully across your skin gently. He worked it into your shoulders, thumbs pressing lightly as he massaged your shoulders.

You let yourself breathe.

He kept going until he was done, smoothing the last of it in with quiet focus. As you started to shift, ready to stand and pull your shirt back on, you felt it—

Two soft kisses. One pressed over each long scar crossing your back.

Your heart kicked hard against your ribs.

You stood quickly, sliding your shirt back on, suddenly unsure what to do with all the space between you. You were halfway to the door when his voice stopped you.

“Uhm, Y/n.”

You turned. “Yeah?”

He reached out, fingers wrapping gently around your hand, and tugged you a step closer. “Can we talk?”

He keeps hold of your hand when you hesitate.

“Talk about what?” you ask quietly.

Steve doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he steps closer, close enough that you can feel the heat of him, the familiar gravity that’s always pulled you in whether you wanted it to or not. His hand tightens around yours like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he loosens his grip.

“I know I’ve been shitty,” he says again, like repeating it might finally make it land where it needs to. His voice is low and rough, scraped raw by guilt. “I know I’ve been so far away from you. I know you felt it. I saw it, even when I pretended I didn’t.” He swallows hard. 

“And I know you’re going through things—things I can’t even fully understand—and I hate that instead of being the person you could come to, the person who made it easier, I—”

He cuts himself off with a sharp breath, hand lifting to his face like he can physically stop the words from spilling.

Your chest tightens so painfully it almost steals your breath.

“I panicked,” he rushes on, panic bleeding straight through his words now. “I didn’t know how to handle it. Knowing someone was dependent on me, really dependent on me, not just for rides or babysitting or stupid shit like that, but emotionally.” His voice wavers. “I thought I was gonna screw it up. Thought I already was screwing it up. And instead of dealing with that like an adult, I freaked out.”

He laughs once, sharp and broken. “God, I thought I needed space. I thought if I pulled back, things would calm down, that we’d both breathe easier. But fuck—” His voice cracks hard on the word. “This is so much worse. You being gone is so much worse than you being everywhere. I’d give anything to have you hovering around me again, asking if I’m okay, touching my arm, sittin’ too close on the couch.”

He steps closer, hands shaking as they come up to your sides.

“Please,” he whispers, forehead nearly brushing yours now, eyes glossy and wrecked. “Please, sweetheart. Don’t stop being dependent on me. Don’t stop needing me. Don’t stop loving me.”

Your breath stutters, a broken sound caught somewhere between your chest and your throat.

“I need you to need me,” he says, the words spilling faster, desperate and unfiltered. “I didn’t realize it until you pulled away, but I do. I need it. I need you. Because I can’t do this anymore. I can’t wake up every day wondering if you’re okay and knowing it’s my fault you don’t tell me.” His voice drops to a whisper. 

“I can’t do this without you.”

That’s when you break.

The sob tears out of you violently, ripping through your chest like something finally gave way. Your knees nearly buckle as you fold into him, crying so hard your body shakes, hiccups jerking through each breath. 

Steve reacts instantly, arms wrapping around you tight, crushing you to his chest like if he lets go you’ll disappear for real this time.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into your hair, voice breaking completely now. “I’m so sorry. Fuck—fuck, baby, don’t cry. Please don’t cry.”

His hand moves up and down your back in slow, steady motions, grounding and familiar, his chin pressing into your hair. You cry into his shirt until it’s damp, until your throat burns and your lungs ache and you feel wrung out and hollow.

Eventually, trembling, you pull back just enough to look at him.

“I heard you, Steve,” you say, the words tripping over themselves.

He freezes. “You… heard what?”

Your hands curl into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms like you deserve the sting. “A few weeks ago. At the station. I left early and forgot my coat.” Your voice wobbles badly now. “I came back, and I heard you.”

The color drains from his face so fast it scares you.

“You were talking to Robin,” you continue, tears spilling again. “You said I was clingy. You said I was suffocating you.”

“Oh—no,” he breathes, panic exploding across his features. “No, no, no, baby, please—”

“I didn’t mean to be,” you sob. “I swear I didn’t. I wasn’t trying to trap you or make you feel stuck. I just—” Your breath breaks, the words barely making it out. “I only felt safe with you. And everyone else was doing okay. Everyone. And I wasn’t. I was falling apart and I didn’t know how to move on from everything that happened.”

You swallow hard, voice dropping to something small and raw. “And somewhere along the way, it started to feel like you weren’t loving me anymore.”

Your eyes lift to his, shining. “It felt like you were just… tolerating it. Tolerating me.”

Steve’s hands come up to cradle your face, thumbs brushing your tears away like each one physically hurts him.

“Baby,” he says fiercely, voice shaking as his arms tighten around you. “You can cling to me as tight as you want and as long as you want. I don’t ever want you to feel like you have to pull away to protect me.”

His voice drops, thick and aching, the words pressed straight into your hair. “I love you so much it hurts. I love you so much it scares me, and instead of owning that, I ran my mouth and said somethin’ stupid and careless. And I hate that it hurt you. I hate that I made you feel like you were too much when all you ever were was… you.”

He presses his forehead to yours, breath shaky. “You were never suffocating me. I was just scared of how much I needed you back.”

You search his face, eyes swollen, chest still hitching with quiet aftershocks of sobs. He looks wrecked and earnest and painfully open, like every wall he’s ever built has finally come down.

“It’s okay, Steve,” you whisper, even though the words wobble on the way out, even though they don’t quite feel solid yet.

He shakes his head immediately, curls bouncing with the movement. “It’s not. It’s really not.” His hands slide up your back, holding you close. “But we’re gonna fix it, okay? I will fix it. I promise. I don’t care how long it takes.”

His forehead presses against yours again, like he’s grounding himself. “Just… don’t pull away from me ever again.”

You nod, slow but sure, arms wrapping around him fully now as you bury your face into his chest. He holds you like he means it this time, rocking you gently, big hands warm and steady like they’re reminding you that he’s real, that he’s here.

You breathe him in.

And then—

Grrrgrgrgrgrgr.

You freeze for half a second.

Then you pull back just enough to look up at him, eyes still wet, face scrunched, and you burst out laughing—broken, hiccupy laughter that comes out of you mid-cry.

“Are you—” you sniff, laughing harder, “—are you hungry?”

Steve’s face goes bright red.

“I—” he stammers, mortified. “I was gonna wait for you to come back, okay? I didn’t wanna eat without you.”

That just makes you laugh more. You press your face back into his chest, shoulders shaking, and he lets out a breathy laugh too, embarrassed but relieved, his arms tightening around you again.

“God,” he mutters. “Timing, huh.”

You tilt your head up and kiss him. He kisses you back immediately, like he’s been starving for it just as much as food. When you pull away, barely an inch, he leans in again and kisses you harder this time and deeper, pouring everything unsaid into it.

He breaks the kiss with a breathless laugh, forehead resting against yours. “Missed kissing you.”

You smile. “Me too.”

He exhales, then straightens suddenly like he’s had an epiphany. “You know what?”

“What?” you ask.

“I am starving,” he says, dead serious. “And I’m pretty sure you are too.”

You blink. “Steve—”

“Come on,” he says, already grabbing your hand and tugging you gently toward the door. “Grab a coat.”

“Wait,” you laugh, stumbling after him. “Where are we even going?”

He grins over his shoulder, that familiar boyish smile you fell in love with. “Enzo’s.”

Your eyes widen. “What? No, Steve, that place is expensive. And you need a reservation and— I can just heat something up, it’s fine—”

“Nope,” he cuts in immediately. “Absolutely not.”

“Steve—”

“I gotta spend the next year or so making it up to you,” he says, squeezing your hand. “Minimum.”

You gape at him. “But—”

“Too late,” he says cheerfully, already opening the door.

You stumble as he leads you out to the car, the night air cool against your skin. He opens your door for you like always, and excitedly smiles at you. As the engine starts and the house disappears in the rearview mirror, you lean back in your seat, heart full and sore and warm all at once.

Deep down, you know it again: Steve will stay by your side. He’ll wait while you heal. He’ll hold you steady until you’re strong enough to take steps on your own.

And Steve knows, wholeheartedly, that he’ll be the one clinging to you just as tightly. Because you’re the only one he’s ever loved enough to spill his heart to.

⋆𐙚 ̊.

September, 1983

Your locker was wide open as you rummaged through the mess inside. Red and green notebooks. Why didn't you have more colors to tell them apart? You felt stupid opening each one, failing to find the one you actually needed.

"Fucking hell," you finally groaned in frustration as the notebooks slid out of your locker, landing with a dull thud on the grimy tiles. "Goddammit." You knelt on the tips of your toes, keeping the fabric of your pants from touching the dirty floor.

Your fingers moved desperately, gathering the loose papers that had slipped out. You couldn't help the wave of frustration seeing your notebooks stained a dirty brown; nothing could get worse, or so you thought, but you've always believed life had a certain fixation for making you feel miserable.

"The piglet has finally found her place," you could hear Carol's voice behind you. You'd already found it strange not to have heard her in over ten minutes. "That's where people like you belong, in the filth."

You stood up properly, clutching the notebooks tightly against your chest as if they could offer some kind of heavenly comfort.

Carol's mocking eyes looked you up and down, her jaw moving from side to side as she noisily chewed her gum. Disgusting. Tommy's left arm was slung over her shoulders, pulling her close.

"Yeah, we can barely see you. You seem to blend right in with the dirt, Henderson." Your eyes moved to the source of the voice. You hated how you lost your breath whenever his light brown, almost green eyes looked at you.

Every day he looked a little more beautiful, or at least that's what you thought. His green and blue striped polo shirt made the color and shine of his eyes pop, while his jeans fit snug on his hips, making you avert your gaze to places you clearly shouldn't. His perfectly styled hair just made your fingers itch; you wanted to feel the softness of that hair under your fingertips.

"Why don't you just go to hell?" Your voice came out dry. You turned back to your locker to put the notebooks away, trying to ignore how your trembling fingers seemed intent on making a fool of you again.

"He'd have to ask you for directions then," Steve let out a snicker at Tommy's words. You slammed the locker door shut, making several heads turn in your direction.

Your eyes drifted back to Steve and the way his eyes seemed to despise you. You saw the corner of his lip curl before he rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, whatever," Steve complained, putting his hands on his hips. You almost could have let out a laugh, almost. The pose made him look older, and you'd swear his intention was to look more intimidating, but all you could think was that it was the perfect pose of an angry father. "I have far more important things to do than look at your sad and pathetic presence."

You sighed in relief when Carol and Tommy gave you one last look before deciding to walk away from you. Steve's eyes lingered on you a little longer before he turned around too. You leaned your back against the cold metal, making it rattle with your weight, your eyes still fixed on Steve's figure retreating down the hall. You wanted to repeatedly stab yourself in the chest with a dull knife.

You let your head fall back, hitting it against the locker. You wanted to cry. You hated how every part of you yearned to be seen by Steve in a different way. You hated how you had voluntarily chosen to fall in love with the cruelest, most despicable person that could possibly exist.

"Stupid," you sighed, closing your eyes.

⋆𐙚 ̊.

April, 1986

"Dustin!" You banged hard on his stubbornly closed bedroom door. Your fists hammered repeatedly on the wood. "I know you're in there, you little shit!" For a moment you thought about just taking the bobby pin from your hair and picking the lock, and you would have, without a doubt. But just as the plan crossed your mind, Dustin was already opening the door. "Do you have any idea what time it is?" You pushed Dustin gently with your arm to get into his bedroom.

You wrinkled your nose at the smell that quickly filled your nostrils. "Hey! I have a right to privacy!"

"Your room smells like shit." Dustin just flipped you off in response, making you roll your eyes.

"Your face is shit." You wanted to grab him by the hair and make him cry. Sometimes you let the intrusive thoughts (which were really a consequence of your own repressed behavior) take possession of your actions. But one thing you had sworn to yourself in this life was to take care of Dustin, from the very first moment you saw your mother arrive with him in her arms.

"How charming," you fake-smiled, making him give you one back. "I'm heading to work now. I left the milk on the counter and the cereal on the table. I also left you some cookies I bought." You smiled as his eyes softened.

Dustin coming into your life would always be, by far, the best thing that had ever happened to you. You had learned to grow up because of him. It wasn't just about being a sister and being there for him; you had to set a good example, teach him to be a good man. You had made sure he never felt looked down upon by anyone, not like you had.

The first memory that always came to mind when anyone asked about Dustin was the first time he arrived at the house. He was small, chubby, and slept all day. Your mother had handed him to you to hold, and the moment your hands felt his weight, you had started to cry—from joy, obviously. Your mother always said that Dustin would cry whenever you weren't nearby, that he needed to have you in his line of sight. And that bond remained to this day, even as you had to deal with his new shitty attitude.

"Thanks, you're the best." You walked towards the door again, holding the knob to close it.

"Do you want a ride to school?" Dustin nodded quickly, making you laugh softly. "You have 90 seconds to be ready."

"Holy shit," Dustin complained as your fingers closed his door to give him privacy. You went into the bathroom one more time to check your appearance one last time.

You smiled with satisfaction at your reflection, closing the bathroom door behind you. You picked up the car keys from the table near the door and waited for Dustin by the front door. You saw him with his backpack slung over his shoulder, his curls a mess, his 'Hellfire Club' t-shirt looking impeccable and worn with pride.

"Hellfire Club?" A giggle escaped your lips. It seemed surreal to you how Eddie had managed to get involved with your brother.

"It's cool." You raised an eyebrow. "You wouldn't get it. This shirt isn't just a shirt; it's a statement of radicalism. I am choosing to be a social outcast, knowing the consequences it will bring me. I choose to have Eddie Munson as my leader."

You couldn't help but part your lips in a surprised gasp. "Wow, that is so Eddie." You opened the door and started walking down the steps of your entrance, spotting the car parked outside—the Mercedes-Benz your mother had given you for your birthday.

You had few memories of Eddie; you'd never really talked to him, like really talked. Sure, you'd heard him ramble in the cafeteria and heard him get teased, but you were never really interested in what came out of his mouth.

But it made you happy that your brother got along with someone with at least somewhat intelligent qualities, rather than the popular assholes who thought they were better than everyone else.

A Duran Duran song was playing in the background; you think it was Save A Prayer. You complained as the sun's rays slightly blinded you. It wasn't that you hated summer—on the contrary, you loved it. But the sun often overwhelmed you more than it should.

You braked when you saw the high school full of people: teenagers in basketball team uniforms, cheerleaders, you saw the girls from the band.

"That's Robin!" Dustin said happily, opening the door. You could only do the same.

"Dustin!" you managed to shout as he started jogging towards Robin. You didn't know much about her. Dustin turned his head and raised an eyebrow. "Do you have lunch money?" He gave you a thumbs up.

"Yeah, thanks, sis. You're the best." You smiled, watching him walk towards Robin as she smiled back at him.

"Seems we're just being used as a taxi service." You tensed when you heard that voice behind you, refusing to turn your neck to look. You already knew who it was before seeing him; his voice alone was enough to freeze you and make you forget how to think. "We should start charging for gas."

You felt his footsteps sound louder than they really were. He stopped when he was in front of you. Your eyes scanned his face. He still had that perfect hair, a slight mustache accentuating his upper lip, his smile was flirty. A smile you'd seen a million times before, but never directed at you.

You moved to get back into the driver's seat, but Steve's hand stopped your movement. "Sorry," he let go of your wrist when he saw your frown. "Look, I'm trying to have a conversation with you, and the truth is, if I'd known the little shithead had a sister, I probably would've brought you flowers or something."

You wanted to laugh in his face. Bring you flowers? You had let yourself daydream about that for years; you wished he would bring you flowers and be interested in getting to know you. But you weren't in high school anymore. The wounds that had taken you years to close were threatening to reopen.

You wouldn't let Steve Harrington back into your heart.

"I'm late for work," was the only thing that came out of your lips. You got in the car and slammed the door harder than you should have.

"Yeah, me too." Steve's hands rested on your open window, and he crouched down to look at your face. "Look, I wish I'd made you part of this group a lot sooner, and I want to make up for that." A friendly smile settled on his lips. "This Friday, we're hanging out at my place. You're invited."

You could feel your chest tightening and your throat closing up. You felt your hands tremble and the all-too-familiar burn in the corners of your eyes.

"Dustin has my address. Hope to see you." You wanted to say no, but he was faster, already walking away. You sat there, watching him get into his car before giving you one last look through the glass.

You let a few tears fall from your eyes. You gripped the steering wheel until your knuckles turned white.

Screw Steve Harrington and his friendly smile.

⋆𐙚 ̊.

You tidied up the disorganized books on the shelves. Your shoes echoed on the library's old wooden floor.

You could still feel Steve's words echoing in your head. Your fingers moved on autopilot as you returned the books to their usual places. You felt lost somewhere in your mind, traveling back to the past, searching for clues to make sense of what had just happened.

"Hi." A voice snapped you out of your thoughts, making you jump. You turned around, still holding a few books. "Sorry, I didn't mean to bother you." Nancy Wheeler in all her splendor.

"No, no. You're not bothering me, I was just distracted." You gave her a kind smile. Your mind always reminded you of all the times you dreamed of being like her. It was your greatest punishment. You didn't understand why her and not you. "Do you need something?"

"I just wanted to know where I could find some books on the history of photography," she smiled enthusiastically. One of her curls fell over her forehead, making you smile. You had always thought she was perhaps prettier than the dolls you used to have as a child. "Jonathan loves photography, and I'd like to give him something really special for our anniversary."

You thought that Nancy and Jonathan's relationship was undoubtedly one of the sweetest in town, one you assumed was built on mutual respect for each other's interests. Nancy didn't seem like a bad girl or person either; she had always been kind to you and others.

"That's really sweet," you said with a smile. "Come, follow me." She nodded and followed you through the aisles, the wood creaking with every step you took. "I can recommend this one," your fingers pulled out a book, 'Historia de la Fotografía de Salvat Editores'.

"You know," your eyes returned to her as her voice came out soft. You stretched your hand out to give her the book. "I always pictured you in a job like this." You smiled as she took the book. "I remember talking with Steve about it often; he loved bringing you up in our conversations." Your brow quickly furrowed as you looked at her in confusion.

"I don't think he even knew who I was back then, Nancy." Nancy's fingers tightened around the book. She could see your eyes slightly wide and your confused frown.

"I'm sure he did," her head tilted slightly to the side. "Well, at least that's what I remember. He always talked about you and how intelligent you seemed to be."

You had to blink several times to anchor yourself back in reality. The more you learned about Steve, the more you wanted to die. You never had a single kind word from him in all of high school; you found it hard to imagine him talking to his girlfriend about you.

"Thank you so much for the help, I'm going to go pay for this." You nodded, still frozen in the aisle. You watched her walk away, her skirt lightly brushing the floor.

All you could feel was your own breathing as Nancy's words continued to echo in your mind. You were no longer in the library and its infinite aisles of books; the creaky wood was no longer under your feet. Under your feet now were tiles, and the books were replaced by ugly lockers.

And there was Steve, leaning against his locker while your heart beat faster than normal. You saw him look at you for a second, and that was enough to make your cheeks blush.

You wanted to grab a book and hit your skull with it until you passed out. Steve Harrington was still in your mind, and he was still provoking the same feelings he did five years ago.

You were screwed. Completely screwed.

𐔌՞. .՞𐦯

⋆𐙚 ̊.

"Excuse me?" Your voice came out confused. When your doorbell rang, you didn't expect to see Steve Harrington standing at your door as if it were the most normal thing in the world, much less for him to casually announce he was taking your brother.

"Yeah, don't worry," one of your eyebrows rose. "I'm here to pick up Dustin. He told me to come get him at this time." A charming smile formed on his lips. You looked toward his car where you saw a short, red-haired girl in the passenger seat. "Didn't know Dustin had a babysitter."

"Excuse me?" The word left your lips for a second time, disbelief making your eyelashes flutter. "I'm his sister."

Steve's eyes widened slightly; his hand went to his hair, where he ran his fingers through it nervously. "I didn't know Henderson had a sister."

Of course he knew. 'Henderson, get out of my way.' 'Henderson, you're nothing but a nuisance.' He had called you by your last name countless times in the high school hallways, always with the same annoyed tone one uses to complain about a piece of furniture in the way. He had dismissed your existence so easily, as if you were just an obstacle in his routine.

"I don't care," your voice came out harsher than you intended. You hated that Steve was standing so casually in your doorway, denying your existence once again.

"Uh, sure," Steve scanned you quickly—your features, your hair, your clothing. You were nothing like he thought a Henderson would look. You were aesthetically pretty, and every detail of your appearance was in perfect order. How had he not noticed you before? He thinks he would have noticed; you were exactly his type, the kind of girl he desperately sought out in high school.

"What do you want with my brother?" Steve Harrington wasn't used to such a harsh tone of voice, especially from such a pretty girl.

"We planned a movie night at my place," he whispered timidly now, wishing he had brought a bouquet of flowers. That surely would have earned him a punch from Dustin. "You can come if you want. My friend Robin is coming too."

"She's not coming," Dustin's voice sounded before you had a chance to speak. You wanted to laugh at how surreal this situation was. Here was Steve, who years ago treated you like a bag of shit, now inviting you to a movie night at his house.

"Dustin," you looked at your brother with a furrowed brow. "Why am I not hearing about any of this?"

"I could say the same," Steve's voice came out, trying to joke, but your eyes told him he should just stay silent.

"One," Dustin looked at you, counting on his fingers. "I don't want you involved in my friend circle. Two; I don't want to hear him flirt with you," an offended look planted itself on Steve's face. "And three; I love you too much to expose you to what I do."

You furrowed your brow again in disbelief. Dustin quickly walked away from you without a second glance, just a simple, 'bye, sis.'

You watched him happily get into the red BMW, waving animatedly to the girl in the passenger seat. "Listen, next time you're invited," you shifted your gaze to Steve. You could see the nervousness and shyness in his brown eyes, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of pain in your stomach.

Why did you still care so much about what he thought of you? The era of social hierarchies in high school was long over, and now you were a strong woman. But for some reason, a single look from Steve was enough to send you back to those overly lit hallways, full of people.

"No," you flatly rejected Steve. "Take care of my brother, Harrington. Or I'll kill you with my own hands." And with that, you shut the door in his face.

Steve could only stare at your door, suddenly cursing Dustin in every way possible. He could have brought you a gift a long time ago, and now he was just left wanting to know more about you, about your personality. He couldn't understand why you had treated him with so much hostility.

"You're shit, Dustin," Steve growled angrily, getting into the car. He turned the keys, starting the engine.

"Asshole," Dustin muttered at him angrily. "My sister is off-limits, I'm warning you, Harrington."

The moment you closed the door, you felt all the weight crash onto your chest. Tears quickly flooded your eyes. You hated seeing Steve.

He wasn't just tangible proof of all the bad things that could happen to you in high school if you were a social outcast. He was also tangible proof that the heart doesn't choose who it falls in love with, because despite all the teasing and harassment, you had desperately yearned for Steve to notice you in high school.

And for the first time in your life, you allowed yourself to remember everything. You let yourself fall to the floor and let the sobs escape your lips.

You move bodily away from him with Leah clasped to your chest, wondering if you can beat him in, but then a chirp sounds near the door and you watch in slow motion as a young teenager brings a radio to his mouth and says, “Code milkshake!”

You hear a curse and can’t help looking back, right at the bimmer, where Steve is looking up through the windshield with a look of frozen trepidation on his face. 

—

So. 

How did you end up where you are? 

You aren’t one for thinking about the past. Don’t like doing it. In fact, you try your very hardest not to think of the past when you can help it. Once Leah was born, that was easy to do. Babies are demanding, they take over your entire life, and your new life in Portland was already busy to begin with. You find thinking of the past incessant and unnecessary, but. Things are happening oh so fast —you had genuinely figured you could get through your homecoming without being spotted. You figured you could leave Leah at home with your mom while you shopped, but meemaw’s stroke has affected more than her body, and you couldn’t leave Leah there in good conscience in case an accident happened. 

It’s not like you had many friends, before you left. Any, in fact. Steve was the first guy to ever show any interest in you, and as nice as he’d been in the quiet moments after, he hadn’t exactly brought you roses or promised you anything. You’re the dummy who got pregnant by the ‘washed out’ king of Hawkins High. It was probably going to be one of his peers, and it was never going to be Nancy Wheeler. 

Things were obviously more detailed at the time, but you and Steve had come together in a fling. It’s not a relationship that you’d pictured for yourself, but it’s not as though you set your sights on him and thought, yeah, I’m going to fuck him. It was more that he was friendly, and you were both at the same bar at the same time sitting by yourselves, and with a little gin and a ton of mutual loneliness, it’d felt natural to let him kiss you against the hood of his car. When he drove you home, worried you’d get stuck in the rain, you’d offered him into an empty house. Things snowballed from there. 

The sex was good. Steve was kind. He was a bit awkward from time to time and he didn’t know what to say without putting his foot in his mouth, but you liked it. Liked him. 

Then the test. Then the memory of his Harrington name, how his mom wanted him to marry a socialite and his dad was priming him to get into the family business, whatever that may be. That silly conversation about kids. “I’d never put them through it,” he’d said, naked and tracing a star into your shoulder blades through the sheets, his hair damp at the nape of his neck with sweat, “are you joking? They’d be the loneliest kid ever.” 

You remember laughing softly. You’d wanted him to say something different, but you aren’t sure what it is he could’ve said to make it right enough to stay.

In the end, you figured Leah could be part of a brand new start. You applied for a job in the classifieds and uprooted the rest of your life to go to it, and when you finally had your baby, you didn’t let yourself call Steve. What use would that have been, letting him smash the lingering, aching bit of your heart that wanted him to love you? You were smart enough then to recognise that your dream for the future was about as childish as getting knocked up at nineteen. 

It hurts now, though, as he gets out of the car, how badly you want him to want you, and how stupid you’ve always been. 

Steve shuts the door to the BMW and makes his way in a jog across the parking lot. He breathes your name. You’re nervous, not stupid. You don’t try to hide the baby. 

She grumbles on your hip. 

Steve stands in front of you. He’s remarkably not shouting at you, but he’s not smiling, either. He looks different than the last time you’d seen him for sure, fuller and broader, lip dark with stubble and his hair shorter (but not short). There’s a funny scar stretching unkindly against his throat, startlingly new to you but clearly healed. 

He stands there in quiet. 

Leah makes a fawning sound, like she’s tired and excited to see a new person. 

“Hi, Steve,” you say, to get sound out in the air. 

His eyes fall on Leah. She’s a good mix of you both. Got her dad’s eyes and her mom’s nose and a handful of his beauty marks, small dark freckles that sprouted all over her body a few weeks after she was born. 

“Is she mine?” he asks, cutting straight to the fat. 

You shift her closer to your chest. He’s impossible to read for once, not a lick of anything on his face as he waits for you to answer. The cold chaps your lips and the late-fall sunshine threatens to blind you where it’s rising from behind him. 

“You didn’t want to have a baby,” you say carefully. Each word said with less enthusiasm than the previous. 

He doesn’t speak. Leah whines at the pause, her hand spreading against your collarbone in protest. 

“I know you didn’t. You said it’d be miserable, and you’d get stuck with a woman you didn’t love to save face, and I knew that. I didn’t see any good in… in making you go through that.”

To your complete and utter surprise, his face softens. His mouth puckers in sympathy and his arm twitches like he’s going to reach for you. His hair curls into his eyes in the cold breeze. He squints against it, gaze falling once again on Leah, who he can’t get enough of. He’s full-blown gawking at her, watching her sigh and sniffle and press her hand into your neck.

“Is she mine?” Steve asks again.

You clear your throat to answer, but you can’t summon the words. Your nod is jerky and embarrassed and annoyed, all at once. Of course she’s his baby. She looks so much like him, and you never let anybody else touch you. 

Steve opens his mouth to finally speak and you cut him off. “Well, she’s mine,” you say tightly. 

He nods like he understands. He doesn’t even look mad at the insinuation. 

“Her name is Leah.” If he’d been angry with you, cruel, even agitated, which maybe he deserves to be, you’re not sure you could offer this to him now. “She… she looks a lot like you, huh?” you ask. 

Steve manages a laugh, strained as it may be. “Yeah. Yeah, she does.” He swallows harshly. “I thought if I came by the house you’d turn me away. Uh. Because I thought there must’ve been a reason you didn’t want me to know, but now we’re… here.”

You glance around the parking lot. His tattle of a child has made himself scarce. 

“Do you wanna come home with me?” you ask. Mostly for want of something to say. 

“Yeah.” 

You go to leave, but Steve makes a sound and brings you right back. Without comment, he curls an arm around your shoulder and pulls you into a half-hug, slotting his nose against your temple like he used to, even as you tense up in his embrace. 

“I thought you’d be more angry at me than this,” you say under your breath. 

“Yeah, that’s not really how I work.” He parts from you awkwardly and points to the car. “I’ll follow you?” he asks. 

“Okay.” 

“Okay.” He turns very suddenly and makes his way to his car. 

You meander to your own car and pop open Leah’s door. “Sorry, Lee,” you murmur, tucking her into her carseat.

“Why?” she murmurs.

“We’re gonna go to meemaw’s, okay?” If your mom could hear you calling her meemaw before her stroke she’d have knocked you up the side of the head, but it’s all Leah’s ever known her as, and meemaw doesn’t have much choice in the matter now. You’d laugh if you didn’t feel sick. 

“Okay.”

You kiss her cheek, getting stuck there with your nose in her hair, all manner of panic and awkwardness and I’d-rather-nots thrumming through you. I should’ve stayed in Portland, you think. 

Leah kisses your cheek while you’re stooped there. Your misery takes a backseat as you gather your bearings. 

You climb into your own seat, close the door, lock it, and shove the keys in the ignition. Steve’s car idles a few spaces behind, waiting for you to go. You cannot put this off much longer, but you’d pictured the moment so differently, there’s a sense of unreality now. Is this happening? Did you really spill the truth to him the very first time he asked? 

Where’s your backbone?

Where’s your common sense?

With a groan, you pull the car out of the space and begin the drive to your mom’s house. You were never close with her, as strange as it seems. She was a woman with interests and her kid happened incidentally. It doesn't bother you anymore. You came to Hawkins to take care of her. Nobody else was going to do it for you, but so far she’s been an easy patient. She needs help making dinner and she can’t walk more than the length of the hall without finding herself breathless, but she’s recovering slowly, so long as her mental faculties recoup with her body, she’ll be alright. 

You, however, have screwed the entire pooch. You look at Leah in the rearview mirror and worry you’ve ruined her entire life. 

“Chill,” you say to yourself quietly, almost missing the road to your mom’s house. Worst comes to worst and we go home to Portland, you tell yourself. Nothing has to change. 

“Mommy?”

“Mm?” you ask. 

Leah leans forward in her car seat, huffing with annoyance when the belts keep her in place. The jacket she’s wearing has bunched into a lump under her chin. “Off?” she asks. 

“Two minutes.”

“Off.”

“Let me park the car, Lee. I’ll take it off of you as soon as we get home.”

She whines long and loud.

“Sorry, sweet girl. Two minutes and we’re there.”

Leah sulks the entire way there. You park in the space in front of the house and hurry out of the car, quick enough to see Steve in the bimmer pulling onto the sidewalk. You open Leah’s door and offer her a huge smile, hoping to cull a tantrum with bubbly affection. “Hi, off?” 

“Yes!”

You laugh to yourself and bring her out, even as your heartbeat climbs up your throat. You can hear Steve getting out of his car as you unbuckle Leah from the car seat and drag her out. You sit her in the slight dip of the window and use your stomach to keep her up as your fingers search for the zipper of her coat. You pull it tight down and unzipper her, freeing her of the thing that had been irking her so bad and restoring her good mood. 

She exhales dramatically in relief, which has you laughing again. “Is that better?” you ask through it.

“Better,” she echoes. 

Leah sits up at the sound of shoes on gravel. Steve’s crossing the drive, hands shoved in his pockets. 

“Who?” she asks. 

Uhhhh.

“He’s gonna come in and have dinner with us, okay?”

“Y’okay.” 

“Yeah?”

Leah nods enthusiastically. You can see Steve grinning in your peripheral vision, and it’s so much like Leah’s smile you find your heart going haywire. 

“Okay,” you say, your full attention to Steve. “Is that cool?”

“Can we talk, first?”

You don’t blame him for asking. 

“Yeah, we’ll talk first. But… my mom, she’s not doing the best right now, so. Maybe we should talk outside?” 

“I’m not going to yell.”

“No, but. If you’re angry, I get it, but she can’t cope with that right now.” 

“Are you angry?” he asks. 

“No.”

“Then we don’t have anything to worry about,” he says, the sound of his smile palpable as Leah gives one back. “I’m not gonna yell. I promise.”

You show him into the house. It feels like walking yourself to the gallows. 

The room is narrow. The sides of your vision start to dissolve as you drop your car keys in the bowl by the door, then walk Leah to the kitchen. You hold her one handed as you palm off her shoes, dropping them and then her on the floor by the kitchen table. “Okay?” you ask her. 

She wanders off toward the living room and the sound of TV. 

Steve Harrington’s standing in your mom’s rinky dink kitchen waiting for you to talk. You’re standing there useless, taking sips of air that sting, waiting for him to cut the crap and berate you. It would make sense. If he’s upset that you didn’t tell him you were pregnant, or that you were stupid enough to keep her, to get pregnant in the first place, it wouldn’t surprise you. Men are cruel, and Steve had a reputation for popularity. It would make sense for him to be mean to you now. 

“How old is she?” he asks finally.

“She’s turning two soon.”

Steve seems to be holding his tongue. 

“Just– ask.” You try to look sorry. “Ask me whatever you want.”

“Can I–” He throws a hand out, the first sign that he’s not as genial as he appears. “Can I be her dad?”

You flinch. “What?”

“Like, I want to be her dad. A real dad. I want to be in her life, I want her to know me. Did you think I wouldn’t want that?”

“I didn’t think you wanted kids at all.”

“I want kids.” Steve crosses his arms over his chest. “I always wanted a whole team of them.”

“That’s not what you said.”

“When? When you told me you were having my baby?”

This is more what you’d been expecting. There’s a cruel pleasure in being vindicated. “When you told me you didn’t want kids, Steve. You said you didn’t want a miserable kid in a miserable marriage, what was I supposed to glean from that?” 

“Exactly, I didn’t want a miserable kid, which is exactly what I was, and I didn’t want it in an arranged marriage that my mom thought would be good for me.” His anger drains a little. “I never meant– I mean, even if I didn’t, you should’ve told me.”

“She’s my baby.”

“That’s not fair.”

“That’s totally fair, she’s literally mine.”

“It’s not fair to act like I wouldn’t have cared,” he clarifies, frowning at you. It’s so disappointed-looking it pisses you off worse, but you're trying to keep a level head. Nobody here deserves for you to blow up and say words you don’t mean. 

You bite your lip. “I’m sorry, Steve, but I wasn’t convinced that you would. I wanted what was best for me and her.” 

“I can be best for you both.”

You wait for him to hold it up. To prove what he means. 

“If she’s mine, I want to be her dad,” he says. 

“If?”

He waves a hand, like he could roll his eyes. He should thank his lucky stars he didn’t. “Not like that, I’m not saying she’s not, I just want to look after her.” 

“She’s looked after.”

“I’m not saying she’s not,” he says, uneasy now, shifting to hide a hand in his pocket. He wasn’t expecting you to be difficult, you think. “I’m not saying that. I’m not saying anything about you, I’m asking you if I can do right by you.”

“You might not actually want her, Steve.” 

“I haven’t stopped thinking about her since the kids told me. I didn’t get a good look at her, but the idea? Just the idea of her? I wanted it.”

You sigh, frustrated, and set your sights on the fridge. “Can’t believe you had kids posted up at Bradley’s to stalk me,” you murmur. 

“I needed to see her for myself.”

“Steve... You’re twenty three. We aren’t married. You don’t have to be anything to her, you don’t have to do right by me, we don’t have to play house until you’re miserable. In a couple of months we’ll go home to Portland and you don’t have to do anything. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but you don’t have to worry. You can tell everyone you tried and I said no and you’ll still look good.”

“Why are you being like this?” he asks, leaving little air between your sentence and his. “What are you talking about? I’m asking you if I can keep you guys and you’re trying to run me out?”

“Keep us?” you ask indignantly. 

“Yes!” He clears his throat. “I don’t get why you left without telling me and I am angry, but I also don’t understand what it’s like to have to make that decision, and I’m sorry you made it by yourself, and I don’t blame you for running away. Okay? Is that okay?”

He’s so loud, then, so tightly wound and upset, his voice a shade of pleading, that the protests you’d been making die on your lips. 

“Yeah,” you say quietly.

“You didn’t think I wanted a baby, and I guess I didn’t give you a reason to think that, but I do want one. I would’ve— if you’d told me, I would’ve lost my mind. I’m still losing it.”

You pull out a chair at the kitchen table to take a wobbly seat. Your heart is racing, that stupid kiddie feeling of being in trouble for hurting him clouded by a lingering sense of mistrust. You’d thought… all these years, that Steve didn’t want kids, or marriage, or anything, and– and– maybe you didn’t run away because of him, maybe it was all you, maybe— 

“Hey,” he says, a hand landing between your shoulders, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” you ask, sharper than you mean to.

“I don’t know. I wanted you to stop freaking out.”

“Well,” you say, licking your lips, your breath coming short and shallow, “it didn’t work.”

Steve Harrington rubs your back. You try desperately to chill out, Leah in the other room, your mom sleeping or listening, probably already wound up from all the ruckus, and Steve, who you haven’t seen in years, who used to kiss all over your face before he’d hug you in the dark of his bedroom, waiting for you to calm down so he can say what he needs to. 

A chair pulls out next to yours after a while. Steve sits beside you, resting his hand on your knee. 

After a few minutes, you cover his hand with yours. 

“She’s beautiful,” he says. 

“Looks like her mom,” you mumble. 

“Yeah, she does. More like me though.”

You huff a weak laugh. 

“Are you gonna throw me out?” Steve asks. 

“You want to be her dad?”

For a few seconds, you worry he hasn’t heard you. But he rubs a small back and forth on your leg and says, “Please.” 

“Okay. Okay, then. I’m not letting you meet her if you’re not serious, Steve. You have to mean it.” You raise your eyes to his and all his perfect lashes. “Promise?”

He offers his pinky, which is so dumb. This whole scenario is so stupid. Too bad it’s mostly (almost entirely) your own fault. 

You shake his pinky. He keeps them tied for a long time. 

In a rush, you sniffle yourself dry and usher Leah into the room with a hand on her shoulder. She is so, so small. At least your mom missed the commotion, sleeping sat up in the armchair. 

“You promise?” you ask Steve, pausing at the table. 

Steve nods emphatically. By the looks of things, he’s all in. 

You pull your chair out opposite Steve and scoop Leah into your lap. You hold her wrist in your hand gently and lean down to talk in her ear. “Okay, Lee. I gotta tell you something, okay?”

“Y’okay.”

“This is daddy.” 

You can tell he’s not expecting such a straightforward introduction, but after a moment, he cannot hide his smile. Leah looks at him with his almond shaped eyes, all smiles in return. 

“Okay? This is daddy, and he’s gonna spend some time with us.” 

“Huh?”

You point at Steve, smiling even as your hand trembles between you both. “This is your daddy. He missed you very much and wanted to see you. Can you say hi?”

“Hi,” Leah says, her voice raspy and high. 

“Hi, Leah,” he says, ever so slightly choked up. Just barely. 

“He was my best friend,” you say, “and he wants to be your best friend, too. Do you want to play a game with daddy?” 

“Wam’ play game?” Leah asks Steve. 

“Please, I would love to play a game. What game do you like?” he asks.

“Um…” Leah places her hand in his and you could probably weep, but he’s smiling at her with so much love as he waves it up and down you never get there. She shakes her fist up and down in his, giggling when he over exaggerates her strength. 

“Woah, strong girl!” he says. “Don’t break my arm!”

Leah gives him a good shake. 

—

“I do not understand why you’re so calm. How you’re so calm. This is not how I’ve seen you react to things.”

Steve pushes the shopping cart into Robin’s hip. She squawks and thrusts it at him, the crate of kiddie water bottles he’d balanced on the bottom rung hitting him clean in the ankle. 

“How am I supposed to react?” he asks, wincing as he brings his leg up to rub at the new wound. 

“Uh, to blow the fuck up?” She tucks her hair behind her ears, staring at him. “I was expecting more whining, if I’m totally honest.”

Steve gets back to the task at hand. The aisle they’re in is pink no matter where you look, full of Barbie dolls and ballerina tutus and teddy bears with hearts in their palms. “What would you want if you were two?” he asks. 

Robin offers one of her kinder smiles. “I guess I’d want everything.”

“Well, Y/N’s not gonna like that.” 

He wants to take care of you both. He doesn’t want to make you feel like you weren’t doing that already. So. The cart is full of stuff for him mostly, things he’ll need to look after Leah should he ever be allowed to take her by himself, which he assumes he will. He’s got diapers, sippy cups, wet wipes, rash creams, a mountain of clothes he has to remember to keep the receipt for, baby snacks, a changing pad, bath toys. He has a towel like a poncho with a ladybug hood and a great big bottle of bathroom cleaner to shape things up for his baby. 

He also got you pajamas. He’s not sure why. He remembers that old pair you used to wear whenever he’d make it to your place with the pink and purple plaid, and he’d been wondering if you kept them, and a desire to see you in them again had come over him and now they’re in the cart. He’s hoping he can sort of slip them in between diapers. 

Steve doesn’t want to show you up, but he does want to prove he’s being serious, emotionally and physically —financially. Leah is his baby. Kids are expensive, and she must’ve already cost you a small fortune, and you didn’t want his help but you can bet you’ll be getting it, not singularly because he cared for you (he has to gloss it into that one word, care, things being complicated enough as it stands without remembered notions of falling and love) but because Leah is literally his baby. 

He pauses on the spot. 

Leah is his girl. He’s allowed to buy her things. It will not be an insult. 

He grabs a Barbie with a puppy dog on a leash, a box of stickle bricks, a teddy bear with a big cutesy grin, and purple bunny rabbit to be his best friend. 

Robin watches him put it all in the cart in silence. 

“Is that enough?” he asks, despite previous internal decisions. She’s his best friend. Everyone needs one. 

Robin turns on the spot to look at the shelves behind them, grabbing a box set of storybooks bound with ribbon down the spines. “These ones are from me,” she says, dumping them next to the second jumbo box of diapers.

“I’m not, like, super angry,” he says, getting behind the cart to push for the checkout. “I want kids. I want Leah. This isn’t a bad thing.”

“You kind of missed out on a lot,” Robin says. Carefully, not to be cruel, but to present it to him in case he hasn’t thought about it. Obviously he’s thought about it, but. 

“I mean, yeah. But do you remember being a baby?”

“It’s, like, a deep down thing.”

He swallows. “Sure, I don’t like that I didn’t get to be there when Leah was a baby, but… I’m finding it hard to be mad when she was protecting all of us from things we didn’t want, or, that’s what she thought.” Steve gives a jerky shrug. “I’m sure she got enough love from her without me, but I’m gonna make up for whatever she missed out on.”

“Okay. Well, when you explode, I’m literally right here.”

Steve is overcome with the urge to snuggle her in the middle of the store, but he hits her with the shopping cart again and feels the thanks get stuck in his throat. “I’m not gonna explode. I’m happy.” 

Steve is thrilled. He has a baby. He has a child. Maybe it’s not the wife and six kids he thought he wanted, but Leah is his baby. 

“She’s mine,” he says. 

“I know, dingus. You’ve said it a hundred times.”

He parks his cart at the belt behind a grandma buying cat food. “I can’t wait for you to meet her, Rob, she’s–”

“She’s beautiful,” Robin says, rolling her eyes. “We’re way too young for kids, Steven. You were supposed to go to college.”

“I’m still gonna go!”

“With what money?”

Steve will save again. It’s community college. 

Robin holds his eye. He avoids it, starts putting things on the checkout belt. “You’re doing the only thing you can do,” she says, “I don’t wanna be friends with a deadbeat, but I wanted you to go. I’m too young to be an Aunt.”

“I’ll going, Rob.” 

“Fine. I believe you.”

“Can you help?”

She pulls stuff out of the cart reluctantly. 

Together, they pack what can be bagged and take it all to the car. Steve drops Robin off at home without much of a goodbye —either she’ll call him tonight or he’ll call her, ‘cos one way or another, they’re gonna talk. Then he takes the side road to your mom’s house and parks the bimmer behind your old blue Pontiac. 

He grabs the toys and the bag of groceries. He’ll have to make another trip for the diapers, but he figures it’s best to see your reaction before he lugs it all up the driveway. 

You answer the door. Parenting has been going better than expected considering you kept the baby a secret for two whole years, and you’re already smiling when you see him. Things were awkward that first week, but he’s been coming by every single day after work if he works, bright and early if he doesn’t. He can tell you’re growing more confident in his promises. He’s not gonna realise how big this whole thing is and run. He’s well aware of how world-changing his decision was to stay, but it wasn’t a decision at all. 

“Hi, is she awake yet?” he asks. Leah naps every day at noon. 

“Mm-hm. She was asking me for daddy all morning,” you say. Secrets you may have kept, but you’re glad for both of them whenever Steve and Leah get along. “I promised you’d be here after dinner.”

“Is it cool that I’m early?”

You eye the bags in his hands. “Sure. I already told you, I’m not gonna dictate anything. You can see her when you want to… What’s that?”

“I was thinking I’d make dinner?” He shakes the lighter bag. “And this is for Leah.”

“Right. Okay.” 

You let Steve in. He, despite all things in his body that remember this song and dance and demand he kiss your cheek hello, powers through to the kitchen without making a fool of himself. 

“Brought your favourite. Thought Leah would probably like it, since you liked it so much,” he says. “And those pastries you loved.”

“You want me to go grab her?”

“Where is she?” 

“She’s sitting with my mom. Don’t think she heard the door, she would’ve come out running by now. She’s a little sleepy.”

“That’s okay. I can put all this away and I’ll go see if she’s awake.”

You cross your arms over your stomach, leaning against the counter. “You didn’t have to get stuff for me.”

“I wanted to.”

“You don’t have to, though. Leah’s your baby, but I’m…”

He feels achy in his jaw. He abandons the bag full of groceries to look at you fully. “If you’d turned up here without Leah, after two years of full radio silence, no letters and no clue where you went, if you came back, I’d want to see you. You know that, right?”

“I…”

“I asked your mom where you went, did you know that?”

“No.”

“Well, she wouldn’t tell me.”

“I don’t think she knew.”

Steve hates how much that annoys him, hates the way he relates to it. He dries his hands on his pants, not sure if he wants to hug you or tip your head with his thumb at chin, forcing you to look at him, to say the things he’s said in his head before bed a couple nights a week for years. 

Steve Harrington does not love by halves. 

“You’d tell me if you were gonna leave again, right?” he asks. 

“We are leaving.” 

“I know, I know, but. You’re not gonna disappear in the middle of the night.”

“No, Steve. I’ll tell you before we go home. I promise.”

His shoulders relax. “Okay, then, I’ll keep bringing stuff you like, too. Trade deal.”

“Mutually beneficial. I won't kidnap your baby again and you bring me raspberry turnovers.”

“Exactly.”

You surprise him with a laugh. “Okay.”

“Okay, good,” he says, grinning, wondering if he’s finally paving a path into your lap again. 

From the doorway of the kitchen comes a pleased gasp. “Daddy?” Leah asks, her eyes widening in delight, feet stomping on the spot, “Hi, daddy!” 

He was supposed to give this up for community college? Steve squats down in a half-second and holds out his hands, ready for an armful of sleepy toddler. Her hair is all puffy and her pajamas big at the neck like she’d wriggled for hours, but she’s soft, smells clean as he wraps his arms around her and she burrows into his neck. 

“Hi, Leah,” he says softly. 

Leah hums her content. 

“Good nap?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah? Did you have a good dream?”

She laughs as he strokes her back. He must’ve tickled her. “Da-ddy,” she says, a long, pulling word. 

She’s so small Steve can’t hug her properly like this, so he hooks her in one arm and stands up to his full height, catching your unreadable expression from over her shoulder. Whatever you’d been thinking fades away, your smile strengthening as Leah pulls out of his neck to wave at you. 

“Mommy,” she says, poking at Steve’s neck. “Look. Daddy’s for dinner.”

Steve laughs loudly. “I’m for dinner? You’re gonna eat me? I thought you liked me!” His head falls in a dramatic agony. “Leah wants to cook me up for dinner, I can’t believe it.” 

“No!” Leah says, giggling as she grabs his face. She pulls at his cheeks, forcing his head up. “Not eating,” she says, like he’s silly. 

Steve shifts her so she’s sitting braced on his lower belly, looking down at her. God, she’s so pretty. She’s perfect. She’s tiny, slim for her age according to you, but she isn’t weak. She holds herself up, her hands confident as they spread over his chest. Steve has to confess that this feeling is the strongest he’s ever experienced. Nothing compares to looking at this little kid who already treats him like he’s the best person she’s ever met, knowing that she’s his. He has to look after her. He gets to be loved by her without hesitation. Leah has no reason to love him, and yet here she is giggling in his arms from the excitement of seeing him. It’s like every day she likes him more, and every day, Steve gets to love her more. It’s so weird, but it's nice.

“I brought you something,” he says, shifting her again so he can cover her back with one arm, using the other to brush a stray bit of lint off of her face. “But– mommy, can she have it now?” he asks. 

You flush. Steve recognises this look on you, pleased and startled. He’s seen it on you a hundred different times. You were always that girl who didn’t expect kindness, or to be considered. He remembers how endearing it was to surprise you with a kiss to say thank-you, or picking up the bill no matter how casual dinner felt, or something as small as helping you into your pajamas after you’d both showered. It was heartbreaking, but he’s never been unfamiliar with the bare minimum. 

“Yeah, of course she can.”

“Alright,” Steve says, grinning. “Your Aunt Robin sent me with a gift for you, but daddy’s is better, so you can have mine first.” He twists for the bag it’s in and yanks it out, Barbie to him so she can’t see. “It’s only small, but I saw it and I thought you’d like it.”

“Can have?” she asks. 

“Depends. Can I have a hug first?” he asks, checking  your face to make sure he’s not being weird. 

Leah nods erratically and throws herself forward. Steve gets a big kiss right on his smooth-shaven cheek, and he can’t stop himself from beaming, his punched out sigh poorly suppressed as he turns her to give her a much gentler kiss at the very top of her cheek. “Thanks, Lee.”

Her eyes squint with a smile. “Can I have, please?”

Steve brings the box up and tosses it to flip it, brandishing it right way round to her glee. 

“Barbie!” she cries.

“With a puppy!” 

“Oh gosh.”

Steve bursts out laughing. “Gosh! Should we get the box open? Then you can gosh at the accessories. She has two pairs of shoes, Leah. Two!”

Leah squirms to be put down, hands clenched tightly on each side of the box. You’re already grabbing scissors to get it open. 

“Thank you.” You lean over Leah to start the dissection. 

“Don’t,” he says, quiet but less shame-faced. “You don’t have to say thanks.” 

You shake your head to yourself. “Yeah, well.” 

“She deserves it, and it’s not up to you to say thanks. I’m serious.” 

“It’s nice of you.” 

He doesn’t know how to prove how certain he is about staying. He decides to keep his mouth shut for now, which is hard. Almost slips up that whole evening. You don’t look happy when he doubles back before he leaves that night with the bag of snacks and the huge box of diapers, but he catches you as you and Leah stand on the stoop waving at the bimmer. You’re smiling. A real one, teeth on display for the first time since you came home. 

—

“Okay,” you say quietly, “up, baby. And another one. Good job.” 

Leah demonstrates a unique level of concentration as she climbs up the stairs with you. You’d have carried her if she didn’t insist she could do it herself with a displeased squeal. Her eyes are nearly closed, her tongue slipping between her lips and a hand thrown out for balance, the other held in your own as she manages two, then three, the few shallow steps that lead into the WSQK building. 

“Hi,” you greet a quiet man sitting at the door. “Is Steve in?” 

“Think so. Why?”

“I wanted to talk to him, if that’s okay.”

The man gives you a suspicious look that eventually metes. “Sure. Gotta knock the booth before you go in, though, they might be on the air.”

“Sure. Thank you.” 

Leah stumbles with you inside. There’s a wide wooden panelled room and smaller glass one within. You knock on it and wait for movement, too scared to look through the panels. You’ve learned that Robin has her very own radio show on the 94.5 called The Morning Squawk, and Steve, through best-friend nepotism, gets to be her sound guy. He has this WSQK van they drive around to do on the road interviews, and they’re both a hundred times happier here than they were rewinding tapes at Family Video. 

It’s a pretty firm knot of roots to lay. 

The door opens a good fifteen seconds after you’d knocked. You’re immediately greeted by a blondified Robin Buckley, her freckled cheeks slack with surprise. “Uh…”

“Hi, Robin.”

“Hi,” she says. 

The last time you saw Robin, you’d been laying on Steve’s couch in his socks and what might’ve been Robin’s own sweatshirt, the three of you arguing on what movie to watch and what candy you were gonna tip into your popcorn. You’d laid your head in Steve’s lap. 

“Leah,” you say, clearing your throat as subtly as possible, “say hi, bubby.” 

“Hi, bubby,” Leah says. 

Robin snorts. 

“This is your daddy’s best friend ever, Aunt Robin,” you say, shooting Robin a sorry look as you mouth, “Is that cool?” 

Robin culls your misery and manages a real smile. “That’s me, babe.” She bends at the waist. “Oh, you really do look like Steve. Shit, this is so cool.” Her awkwardness has melded to full-bodied delight. “You’re like his twin! Well, you do look like your mommy, duh, but this is trippy! Hey, did you get your books?”

Leah looks up at her with huge eyes. 

“Did you like your storybooks?” you ask Leah, kneeling down behind her to hold her shoulder. “Aunt Robin gave you those ones, remember, daddy read one to you about the ugly duckling?” 

“The duckies,” Leah says factually. 

“Awesome,” Robin says. “I’m so happy you liked them, sweetie. And I’m so happy to meet you.” 

You don’t question for a second that she means it. 

You pat Leah on the shoulder. “Aunt Robin is your daddy’s best friend in the whole world.” 

“Daddy’s here?” she asks Robin. 

“Uh, not right now, he had to go get lunch.” 

“Oh.”

“But you can totally come in!” she says, opening the door to the booth wide. “I can show you how the radio works! And then Steve– then dad can come back. I bet he’ll be here any second.”

“You’re not busy?” you ask. 

“I mean?” Robin laughs, nervously incredulous, “if I ever have kids they’d be her cousins. That’s pretty important. And, like, she’s Steve’s, so? I’d die for her?” Robin scratches a hand through her hair. “Come on, baby Stevie, I’ll show you the keyboard. It’s your dad’s favourite gimmick.” 

You hover in the middle of the small room as Robin slides a chair over to the desk with a keyboard and a mic balanced on top of it. She glances at you before she holds her hands out to Leah, and Leah goes into them willingly. Robin pulls her up and settles her in the chair. She can barely see the keys, but she’s already reaching for them as Robin starts to explain which ones do what, toggling a switch that you assume makes sure whatever sounds Leah plays are off air.

You sit yourself down on a loveseat by the door.

“We can play all of this stuff on the radio in the car,” Robin says, “do you listen to the radio?”

“The music, bubby,” you say. 

Leah gives a neck-breaking nod. 

“Well, me and dad choose what songs to play. Do you have a favourite song?” 

“She loves ‘Save it For Later’ by The Beat. She gets super into it,” you say. 

“Oh, we have that one! Let’s queue it up, Leah.”

Leah mashes the keyboard in a cacophony of introductions and funny sounds, then a long run of the Rockin’ Robin intro. She finds a sound bite of applause loaded up on the tape deck, hitting it over and over as she giggles. 

“Be careful, Lee, don’t break it.”

Her hitting doesn’t slow. 

“Lee,” you say more firmly, “baby, stop. You have to be nice. Don’t slap the buttons.” 

Leah throws you a glare. “Mommy,” she whines. 

“What? You have to be nice to other people’s things. Aunt Robin is letting you play with her keyboard, but it’s  important. It’s okay to try all the buttons! But with nice hands. Yeah?”

The ajar door opens fully. “Is my Leah not being nice?” Steve asks, already beaming with all his teeth as he sees her behind the keyboard. “I don’t believe that for a second!” 

Leah wiggles her excitement in the depths of the chair. Doesn’t bother calling out for him, there’s no need. Steve laughs, saying hi with a quick hand dropped on your shoulder, the gentlest squeeze anyone’s ever given with his thumb rubbing a half circle before he bends down by Leah’s chair. “Hi,” he says, your heart beating so loudly in your ears that you hardly hear him. “You’re at the radiohouse! Did Rockin’ Robin show you how to play a song? Do you wanna talk on the microphone?” 

“Hi,” Leah says. 

“Hi.”

“Hug me now?”

Steve’s like butter in the sun. He melts into nothing. “Yeah, babe, right now.”

She slinks forward and he picks her up, standing with a baby on his hip like he’s been doing it all his life. 

“I’m gonna play her a song,” Robin says. “My queues almost empty.”

“Okay, thanks,” he says, to which Robin wrinkles her nose. 

“Sure,” she says, sending you a look as she heads to her desk. Like, get a load of this idiot.

Steve presses his nose to Leah’s hair and smells her. Then he smiles, patting the small of her back. 

Leah looks straight at you and says, “Daddy’s here,” in case you weren’t aware. 

Steve blinks away a pained flutter, his brow pulling like he’d been in pain, quickly wiped away and hidden by the time Leah glances at him again. 

You think maybe, for a second, he’d wanted to cry. 

“Steve?” you ask quietly. “You okay?”

“Yeah. No, yeah.”

“You sure?” 

He tugs Leah higher on his hip. “I’m okay,” he tells you, holding your gaze, his left sclera bloodshot but his nearly-tears blinked away. “I’m great, ‘cos Leah’s here,” he adds, pressing his mouth to Leah’s cheek, “at work! She’s a working girl now, we gotta get you on the payroll.” 

It’s a little while later, sitting on the couch and waiting for Steve to ask you what it is you’re doing here, when the door opens. Leah perks up in his lap, the headphones she’d been wearing falling down around her neck in a heap that makes her cringe, giving a warbly cry as Steve offers assurances to her. 

You’re focused on the teenager standing in the door. It’s the kid. 

His eyes widen at the sight of you. 

“Lucas Sinclair,” you greet, giving him a stony look. “You ratted me out.”

“Uh– did I?” 

“I know it was you.” 

Lucas grimaces. “Are we sure it was me?”

“I saw you.”

“Steve could’ve got the information from anyone.”

You glare for a few more seconds, then relax. “I’m messing with you, Lucas. I’m not mad. Even if you are a narc.”

“I am not! I told Dustin and it was Dustin that radioed Steve. He’s the narc. I said we had to wait for proof.”

“Well, thanks for trying.”

Lucas hesitates with you, though he comes further into the room and lets the door shut behind him. “I am sorry. Kind of.”

“We’re working things out.”

Leah tugs the headphones off of her head and out of the outlet in a great show of toddler rage, Steve laughing where he holds her. He grabs the headphones before Leah can throw them at the floor. “Hey!” he admonishes through laughter, “Those aren’t mine, babe. Should we put them on the desk?”

Steve takes them from her and sets them high. He moves the chair, bumping Leah on his knee, forcing her eyes to the new figure in the room. “Look, Lee, it’s your Uncle Lucas.”

Lucas gives an awkward, endearing smile. “Hi.”

“Hi!” Leah says. 

“What’s up?” Steve asks. 

“Can I get a ride, tonight? I asked my dad but he’s going to that miniature car thing.” 

“Where to?” 

“Max’s.”

“Why are you being cagey?” Steve asks, lifting an eyebrow. 

“I’m not!” 

“You so are, dude. What’s happening at Max’s?” 

“Nothing! She doesn’t, like, know I’m going, that’s all.”

Steve leans in his chair in what would be a total act of casual derision if he weren’t also holding Leah to his front, his fingers waving patterns into her tummy affectionately. “So I’m gonna be on her shit list for whatever it is you have planned? No deal, dude.”

“I’m not in trouble. She’s not mad at me,” Lucas says.

“For once.”

“She’s not. I have a surprise planned? And it’s gonna get ruined on my bike, so.”

Steve’s suspicion wavers. “What sort of surprise?” he asks. 

His smile is nice. Doesn’t it suit him? He’s calm where he sits despite the rumble of noise coming from Robin’s booth and Leah talking to herself in his lap. The red glow of the ON AIR light makes his brown hair nearly purple at the tops but leaves his face untouched, tan fading pale in the fall, his beauty marks the darkest bit of colour to him when you aren’t looking into the well of his eyes. His irises are like wet tree bark. His lashes look long from across the room. 

And his biceps don’t look half bad when they’re wrapped around your baby. Her tiny stature emphasises the bulk he’s put on while you were in Portland. You’ve been noticing more of him lately—his weight gain, the change in his muscle, the cut of his hair, those reading glasses he keeps in the console of his car. But there are things about him that didn’t change. He’s pretty happy, as things go. He likes doing things for other people. 

Their conversation drifts into focus. “…not too much, right?”

“Nah, I think that’s appropriate. Four years of dating is a long time.” 

“Even if you’re broken up for half a year in the middle?”

Steve chuckles. Leah looks up at the sound. “I wouldn’t mention that part,” he says. “Look, I’ll come get you after I’m done here–”

“You’re not coming tonight?” you ask, entirely sincere in asking. Not a lick of judgement in it, but surprise, and a second emotion you aren’t eager to name. 

“I was– I was gonna come,” Steve says. “If that’s cool.”

“Oh, sure. Sorry. I thought you were– Yeah, it’s fine,” you say. 

Steve looks at you for a long second. “I can’t miss out on dinner,” he says, dipping down to speak in Leah’s ear, “can I? What am I making tonight, Lee, do you remember?”

“S’getti,” she says, with a vindication bordering evil. 

Steve presses his lips together. Shrugs at Lucas smugly. “S’getti,” he says. “I’ll be there at six, okay?” 

Lucas shoots an “Awesome, thank you, sorry,” over his shoulder as he leaves. 

“Thank you sorry,” Leah repeats. 

Steve has to lock into work and he doesn’t ask you to leave, moving Leah around in his arms and plugs the headphones in. She enjoys the novelty enough to sit there without complaining, bathed in attention. It’s weird to have Leah with you without having to look after her. Like, she gets uncomfortable and Steve moves her. She whines in his arm and he opens a drawer to uncover a bag of chips. He does ask if it’s alright for her to eat them, but you say yes and he doesn’t need guidance after that. He wipes her dirty face in his sleeve and twists a knob on the keyboard. 

He is startlingly capable. 

You are startlingly hot. 

You pull at your neckline, wishing you’d brought a book to read or a zip tie to garrote yourself with for thinking such stupid shitty thoughts. 

—

Steve packs his shit up at five with Leah on his hip, happy to stay with him. You’ve been quiet bordering silent and he hasn’t summoned up the bravery to ask why. He didn’t wanna look a gift horse in the mouth, ‘cos you’re here, and you brought Lee without any begging on his part. He shows her off to everyone they pass on the way out, less subtly to the smiley cleaner Cindy who loves to call him handsome in the morning. Who’s this? she asks. 

This is my baby, Leah.

The problem arises when he’s trying to pass Leah to you to part ways in the parking lot. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard something that loud,” Robin laments, blinking fast. Because, despite years and time to learn, he’s her ride home. 

Leah screams another ear-splitter. “No!” she’s shouting. “No, no!” 

She sobs. 

You try to disentangle her from Steve’s chest. He can feel your individual fingers pressing into his pecs. “Lee, come on!” you say, laughing nervously. “Daddy has stuff to do, we’ll see him for dinner!”

She sobs louder. 

Robin shakes her head as though dislodging water from her ears.

“Baby, please,” you say, apparently possessing the patience of a god, “it’s okay, I promise, it’s not long. We’ll be okay for a bit.” 

Leah sews her hands in his hair tightly, yanking until it stings. Steve flinches and you immediately stop trying to make Leah disengage. 

“Sorry, honey,” you say, and Steve realises with a full body start you’ve spoken to him, your hand resting open on his upper shoulder. It’s an obvious slip of the tongue. You lean forward with a slight stammer, “I– Leah, don’t pull, you’re hurting.”

“Not going,” Leah says. 

“Just for now!” 

“No!”

You give Steve a wide-eyed frown. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s going on. She doesn’t do this… usually.”

“That’s okay, it’s fine, maybe you could come with me?” 

You nibble your lip. “I gotta go check on my mom, I haven’t been home all day, I don’t know if she’s eaten yet.” 

Steve tries to pass Leah into your arms with renewed purpose. The snap of hair behind his ear gives him pause. “Uh, can she come with me?” Steve asks, loud now, his head angled against her hand. “Ow, Lee!”

Leah stops pulling his hair with a sob. 

“I’ll take her with me and I’ll drop Robin off, pick Lucas up early, and we’ll come straight to the house.”

You falter.

The thought of you not trusting him hurts his stomach, but you say, “Steve, can you deal with that? She might not get any happier for a while.”

“Sure I can, you’ve had to do it a hundred times. I’m mostly patient. If she doesn’t calm down, I won’t yell–”

“I didn’t think you would.” You pout, wrinkling your nose. “You’d have to move the car seat–”

“Yeah, I got one.”

“You got a car seat?”

“Installed it last week. Jesus Christ, Leah, not the hair!” He reaches up to force her hand as gently as he can away from his scalp. “Baby, owwww. Not the hair.” 

Leah shudders away to check he’s not angry. He can see it on her tiny face, the worry. He brings his hand to her cheek, finds his hand is too big, and has to rub her cheek with his thumb alone. “You wanna come with daddy to drop off your Aunt Robin?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?” 

“Come with you,” she says, a crocodile tear rolling down her cheek. 

“But mommy has to go home, is that okay?” 

Leah shudders again. “Y’okay.”

“Okay. Give mommy a big kiss,” he says, repeating one of your favourite lines when it’s time for Steve to leave. 

You get a kiss. You’re startled, he thinks, almost expressionless in how slack you’ve gone, but Steve smiles at you and you smile in turn. “You know how to do the car seat?” you ask. 

“Sure. It’s got the two mechanisms, right? Her arm goes through each of the triangle strap thingys?” 

“Yeah. Okay. Are you sure you can manage?”

“Are you okay with me taking her?”

You shrug. He can see why Leah does it as much as she does. “I guess I am. I mean, when we go home… like, you’ll have to have her for summers, I guess?” you ask, and you’re as beautiful as you usually are, the awkward twist of you and your tired eyes don’t touch it. You were beautiful when he walked into the sound room and found you in the loveseat, beautiful when you told him you’d stay for now without saying goodbye, beautiful when he spotted you across the parking lot with his surprise on your hip. You’ve always been beautiful. He knows you don’t feel strongly about your looks, but he does, and now you made his girl? And she looks so much like the two of you? 

Steve stares at you, not even in hopes of any realisation, but he stares at you and thinks I cannot let this girl go back to Portland without me. 

He doesn’t expect you to stay. All he needs is to beg a ride. 

Because yes, Steve will become your awkward cling-on. He’ll find a shitty apartment close to you and he’ll build his life around Leah if that’s all he can have. 

But it’s not everything he wants. 

“You go take care of your mom, and we’ll meet you for dinner at 6? 6:15 at the latest?” 

“Okie dokie.”

Steve rolls his eyes to stop from kissing your cheek. “Say see you later, mommy,” he tells Leah. 

“See you later, mommy,” Leah says. 

You use his shoulder as an anchor to kiss her cheek. He swears you rub his arm as you pull away, but Robin would call that delusional thinking. “See you soon, bug.”

He watches you walk away. Every step is perfect. “Your mom’s such a bombshell,” he murmurs, “holy sugar, she’s everything.” You turn over the top of the car and give him a wave, blowing Leah a kiss. He wants to catch it. He finger waves back. 

Then he spins and finds Robin judging him hard.

It takes them twenty whole human minutes to figure out how to get Leah safely secured in her car seat. Then he spends four minutes framing her face in his hands and kissing her cheeks, enamoured beyond anything to see her in the bimmer. Robin laughs at how lame he is and he strokes a hair off of Leah’s forehead rather than feed into her ridicule. His baby laughs up a storm as he chucks her under the chin. 

“Steve, I’m gonna starve!” Robin warns.

“Right, right!” 

He kisses Leah’s small forehead and clambers out. 

Robin talks a big talk, but she bends around in the passenger seat to chatter to Leah the whole way to her neighbourhood. “And then dad got us stuck on the side of the road! It was crazy! I told him we were in trouble and he kept laughing! But nothing is that funny, Leah, nothing. I think it’s ’cos your dad has a bunch of screws loose from that time he slipped on melted ice cream at work.” 

“Don’t listen to her, Lee!” Steve protests, laughing at her rolling giggles. 

“He busted his head! Luckily I saved him, because I am very very smart and I went to camp–”

“You went to Girl Scout’s sleep away camp, that’s not real camp! You were there for a week.”

“But they taught me what to do when your dingus gets a concussion,” Robin says, in her silky radio voice that Leah’s magnetised to. “And that’s why dad only looks a bit wonky, as opposed to a lot.” 

“I’m not wonky, am I, Lee?” Steve asks, checking the rearview for her. 

“Wonky?” she asks.

“Does daddy look wonky?”

“Mm,” she says. 

“What! That is so mean! Baby, I thought you liked dad?” 

She giggles and goes all shy. Robin, bless her clumsy, alternative, mixed-up huge heart, goes soft as taffy against the seat. “We don’t like him at all, do we?” she asks, reaching out to rub Leah’s arm. Steve nearly hits a curb trying to watch. “Stinky dad. You can be my girl instead, if mom wants to share. I don’t mind your Harrington blood.” 

He drops Robin off, but her mom comes out and wants to meet Leah and that’s a whole thing. She’s squarely heartbroken when she first sees her, going, “Aw,” and “Oh,” as her eyes fill with tears. 

“Mom!” Robin says. 

“Sorry, but she’s beautiful. Well done, Stevie.” 

He murmurs a Thank you, Mrs. Buckley and gets the usual It’s Melissa, Steve.

It takes another ten minutes to get Leah in the car after her quick trip. He heads straight for Lucas’ and finds him freaking out about the bouquet he got Max —Erica told him to put salt in the water to keep them fresh. Steve drives him to the florists ten minutes before they close and they end up with two smaller bunches combined into a vibrant hodgepodge.

Steve buys a handful of daisies for Leah, tucking one behind her ear. 

Max likes her flowers, but she’s far more interested in the baby. Lucas stands behind her rubbing his mouth. 

“She does look like you,” Max says thoughtfully. 

“Right? She has my eyes.”

“Yeah.” Max leans into the car. “Hi, Steve’s baby,” she says quietly. 

“This is your Aunt Max,” Steve says. 

Leah, who has taken all these new aunts and uncles in her stride (or is too young to get what the hell is going on), offers Max a huge smile with her tiny baby teeth. “Hi Am’ Max,” she says. 

Max grins despite herself. “Hi. Are you having a good day?” 

“Yessss.”

“Yeah?” She glares at Steve momentarily before standing in front of him, like she’s annoyed he’s seen her being normal, like he doesn’t catch her in a good mood all the time. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to lie. Did you have dinner?” 

“Max, I am perfectly capable of looking after her.”

“I’m just checking!” She shakes Leah’s hand nicely. “This party had enough boys,” she says. 

Steve ruffles Max’s hair, unbound and bouncing behind her. He’s lucky he makes it to the car with his hand. 

Steve sighs when they’re on the road to your place. “Okie dokie,” he says, clenching the steering wheel to listen to the leather creak, “let’s go see your mom. It’s only–” He checks his watch. Blinks big and wide. It’s 6:37PM already, and it’s a five minute drive to your side of Hawkins. “Oh, my god. You’re mom is gonna kill me dead.” 

“Kill?”

“Kiss!” he says, cringing. “Yep, she’s gonna kiss me! No other words.” 

“Y’okay.”

“Who taught you to say that so cutely?” he asks, fully stressed now, the tightness in his voice surprising a giggle out of Leah. “Stop laughing!”

She giggles worse. 

He can’t be more anxious as he pulls up to the house. He climbs out of the car, grabs Leah from her car seat, and in his rush to get her home before you murder him, slams his head so hard into the roof of the car he sees stars. 

“Oh, fuck,” he says, holding Leah to his chest as his vision fades out. 

Your laugh sounds out from behind him. “Every parent has to do it, Steve, I’m sorry to say,” you call, jogging down the path to the car. “I was wondering where you guys went. It’s… Steve?” 

He blinks hard as he stands up, his arms around Leah shaky as his head pounds and pounds and pounds. “Sorry,” he says. 

“Steve, what’s wrong?” You rest your arm behind his shoulders to hold him. “Hey, are you okay? Do you need to sit down?”

He urges you to take Leah. 

The pain is radiating from the centre of his skull outward, into each eye and down the nape of his neck. It’s such a sudden sharpness he loses his breath, spotty vision fading in and out as he curls into himself. 

“Lee, can you go inside, baby?” he hears you ask. There are a few steps, your dark shadows on the ground drifting further away before one returns, all alone. “Steve, what happened? How hard did you hit your head?” you ask softly. 

“It’s– I got that–” Every word pulls at the nausea brewing in his stomach. “I’m gonna–”

Steve gags. He aims for the grass. Everything goes white. 

—

Steve does a valiant job of keeping himself upright long enough for you to sit him down inside, but after that, he’s useless. 

“Okay, it’s okay,” you’re saying, a ringing in your ears you can’t cope with, “it’s alright, Steve, you’re okay. Come forward, honey, let me see–”

You aren’t sure he’s conscious, but he slumps forward regardless to expose the back of his head. You feel through his hair and pull your hand out quick to check for blood on your fingertips, but they come away clean. 

“Daddy?” Leah asks, wandering into the living room with her little smile and a daisy drooping behind her ear. 

“How was meemaw, bub?” you ask. 

“Sleeping.”

“Why don’t you go snuggle with her for a minute? I’ll bring you a buppy?”

Leah hugs your leg from behind. “Buppy?”

“Yeah, do you want one?”

Leah shoots for the bedroom. You take her absence as an opportunity to pull Steve’s head up, meeting his droopy gaze. “Steve, baby,” you say, so softly it’d be a wonder if he could hear you, “are you okay?” 

He groans. “Just a migraine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Feels like one.”

“You get them a lot?”

“More since you left.”

You swallow roughly. “I’m gonna call an ambulance.”

“No.” At that, he sits up, holds his own head up to plead, “You don’t have to. I’m fine, this just happens sometimes. After I hit my head at the mall, I get these killer migraines.”

“You hit your head, though. I think you have a concussion.”

“Not my first one.”

You hold his cheek in your hand. Your thumb brushes over his beauty marks. “No?” you ask. 

“Had three.”

“You never told me.”

“I know. Didn’t want you to think I was– some loser? I don’t know. I don’t know, I don’t know why it was hard to be honest with you, guess I thought– it’s not like it’s ever done any good before. I always say the wrong thing.”

You get on your knees in front of him. To cope with the strain of looking up at him, but more to see him face to face. “Steve, you nearly yacked in my yard. I think we’re past appearances.”

Steve covers his mouth with a big hand. 

You tuck as much of his hair behind his ears as you can. “Can you look at me? I want to check your pupils.” 

He opens his eyes properly, pouring his gaze into yours without hesitation. You check the size of each pupil and find them normal, though the longer he looks, the bigger they become. “I think there’s something wrong, Steve. Your eyes are blown.” 

“It’s fine. It’s not ‘cos I hit my head. It’s a headache.” 

“You almost knocked yourself out. You’re throwing up. What if I don’t call the ambulance and Leah’s dad dies on my couch?”

“I don’t need an ambulance. I barely puked, it was all spit.”

“Steve.” 

“I’m serious. I didn’t even go for the first two concussions, and the third one, they said this could happen. Turns out that taking a couple of bad knocks to the head makes you fragile, I’m fine.” He cups your cheek. “Jesus, don’t feel sorry for me–” 

“I do feel sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

Seconds of stringy silence follow. He squints at you through the pain. “It’s okay,” he says, his own thumb rubbing at your veins. “I’m sorry, too.” 

You pull his hand off your face. Not without care. 

“…Can I please call an ambulance?” you ask, uneasy.

“I don’t need one.” 

“How do you know?” you whisper. 

He turns his hand in your grip to hold yours. His eyes are brown and teary with pain, but they’re so familiar. “I just do. Can you trust me, please?”

You try to stand. Steve squeezes your hand in his and makes you sit on the couch beside him as his eyes shutter closed and his head tips back, the column of his throat there and pale and working as he swallows his pain. You stare at the length of it with your hand too hot in his grip, wondering when it’s acceptable to pull your hand away, and if you’d even want to when the time came. 

You told me you didn’t want this, you think, your two joined hands rising and falling where he’s pulled them to his chest. You swear you can see his heart in his chest. The gentle bump-bump of it against skin. A miserable wife. 

“Can I get you anything?” 

He croaks a hum. “Mm, no.”

“Are you sure? I have aspirin.”

His fingers flex. “It’ll go away.”

“When?”

“It depends. It can take a few hours, sometimes, but I don’t get the worst of the pain for long.” His voice is hoarse with its quiet. 

“The other times?”

“They can last for days.”

You’d seen the physical change in Steve. He went weak and sweaty in seconds. His nausea was obviously extreme. You can feel the tremor in his hand as he talks like every word spurs pain.

“It won’t, though,” he says. “Don’t worry. I need five minutes and I can make dinner.”

“Uh, no you can’t. You can sit right here until you feel better, thanks.”

He sinks impossibly further into your mom’s old couch. “Okay. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You lower your tone. “I don’t mind. I’m sorry if you thought I would.”

“I didn’t mean to–”

“To what? Give yourself a concussion on the roof of the car? I gathered that.”

“Didn’t mean for it to become your problem,” he says. 

“You’re not a problem, Steve. I promise.” 

You fight for better judgement and lose, letting yourself caress a piece of hair away from his pale neck. 

“I think I really screwed up,” he says. “Think I made out all the wrong things. You didn’t think you could tell me about the baby–”

“We don’t have to do this again–”

“Yeah, we do. We do. Because I made you think I wouldn’t want you. I lied to protect my ego and I could’ve had everything I wanted,” —his brow pulls tight and glared, his jaw rigid— “and I hurt you.” 

“I hurt myself. You didn’t make me run away, Steve. I did it all alone. I’m good at that.” 

“I don’t want you to be alone.”

“I don’t want you to live a life that you hate.” 

“I don’t. I won’t. How could I ever hate anything about her?”

You have to give him that. But. “I didn’t tell you for a bunch of reasons, Steve,” you confess, hardly wanting to let it out. “I was scared of everything, you and your parents, making you into the reluctant husband, or– or at the least the reluctant father. I didn’t want to deal with it. And I didn’t wanna be that stupid girl who got knocked up by the prom king. I ran away and nobody had to know.” 

“It wouldn’t have been like that.”

“I realise that now.” 

His head lolls to see you. He pulls his lashes apart enough to peek through them, that dark hedging a line you’d like to count. You tip your head toward his and face him across the couch cushions, hands joined and hot as a hearth. 

“It was never messing around, to me,” he says quietly. Sweat wets the hair at his temples. 

“You don’t have to–”

“I got my heart stomped on pretty hard over and over and I stopped trying. I put all my cards on the table every time. But with you, I couldn’t do it again. I thought I couldn’t, so I acted less into you than I was.”

You remember all his kisses and tight armed hugs, his affectionate nudges, his nose lined to your temple as he bore down. It hadn’t felt like less. But you’d never thought it was more, either. 

“I pretended we were this summer fling, told you I didn’t want kids, that I wanted to live in the city and get a full time job at a firm with a company car, like that stuff mattered.” He frowns at you deeply. “I’m sorry. I wish I could change it.” 

His throat bobs. 

“S’it still hurting?” you murmur. 

“So much,” he murmurs too, holding your hand against his heart. “I can’t get it to stop.” 

“I can’t do this with you.” 

He shakes his head minutely. “M’not asking you for anything you can’t give me. I’m just sorry.” 

You want him to lean in and align his mouth to yours. You imagine it vividly, the press and taste of him, the scratch of the stubble on his upper lip and his hand slipping behind your neck, squeezing your nape gently, his thumb at the hinge of your jaw trying to open your mouth. You want him so badly it’s a palpable ache in your teeth, like he’s already kissed you harsh and quick, that clack of a collision and the subsequent metallic on your tongue. 

But you aren’t lying. You can’t do this.  

A thudding noise echoes from your mom’s room, compelling you up and away from his warm touch. Your hand sings with pins and needles as it falls out of his. 

“Lee?” you call. “Sorry. I have to go make sure she’s okay.” 

He frowns again as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “That’s fine. I’ll be here.”

—

The bedroom throw blankets haven’t changed since you were here last. Your mom didn’t waste much time turning it into a guest room, but the sheets and blankets are the same, soft with wear in your hands as you lay them out. Leah waits for you to finish before climbing into bed, her bottle teat bitten between her teeth. It slips out of her hand with a rush of air as she slips into the pillows. You pick it up and offer it to her again, your shoulders aflame with the weight of an uncommon gaze. 

“What side do you sleep on?”

Steve, at half-mast but less obviously pained, takes his time answering. 

“Left.” 

“Left side’s all yours.”

He shuffles forward in a polo and a pair of his old sweatpants. You, in a horrible stroke of great luck, had them in the bottom of the chest of drawers. 

“Make room for me?” he asks Leah. 

She grins around her bottle. 

You’re pretty sure that if Steve can’t open his eyes for more than ten seconds at a time, he can’t drive, and you don’t want him to fall asleep at home and never wake up. Hence your impromptu sleepover. The bed is a queen and you have a shared child as a buffer, but you’re already annoyed with yourself. Your arms keep remembering what it felt like to stretch out over him whenever he ended up on his front. It is not helpful. 

You put the big light out and the nightlight on, a ladybug on a mushroom that glows a warm orange on Steve’s side of the room. In your own sweatpants and a vest, you climb into the right side of the bed and nearly fall straight back out at the lack of space. 

Steve curls an arm around Leah tentatively, encouraging her into his side to make room for you. 

“You okay?” he asks Leah quietly. 

“You okay, daddy?” she asks. 

“I’m fine, beautiful. I’m good.”

“Sleep?” she asks.

“With you, if that’s cool?”

“Cool,” she says decidedly. 

When you lie down, Leah immediately rolls out of Steve’s grip and makes herself comfortable in the curves of you, her nose digging hard in your arm, the bottle warm on your chest. 

“I’ll move her when she falls asleep,” you whisper, nodding to the foldout cot next to the bed with its padded interior. 

Sleeping in the same bed as Steve Harrington is a long gone artefact of the past. It’s odd to be face to face with him, to smell him so close, the toothpaste on his breath and the salty, earthy sting of sweat mixed with allspice. You don’t strictly mind it, but you didn’t think you’d ever be this close again. It hurries the heart. You miss him like a slap. 

Refusing to think on it is the best way forward. 

“You sure you’re okay?” you ask him under your breath. 

Leah suckles at her bottle, breaking the quiet, though it’s a monotone sort of sound. Steve doesn’t answer. You glance at him and find him dozing already, not a blanket over him nor a sheet untucked. 

“Steve.” 

He blinks to attention. “Huh?”

“Pull the blanket up over yourself.” 

He must like your tone. You’d gone soft by accident, too used to lulling Leah to sleep via sweetness and dulcet murmuring. He kicks it down and then pulls it up to his ribs, a tight white parcel with the pink throw laid over his feet. 

“It’ll be cold tonight. Does that make the migraines worse?” you ask. 

“No. I’ll be okay.”

You let him fall asleep. Leah snuggles under your chin. This isn’t the daydream. You aren’t being cuddled and coddled by warm kisses along the side of your face, his big arm around you, your baby between you. Steve keeps a good distance and he’s exhausted. 

Leah takes a lot longer to fall, but when she does it’s for keeps. You give her ten minutes tucked up on your chest but decide to move her when you feel your own eyes drifting shut. A rush of unnecessary shushing and a soft kiss later, you creep toward the bed and lay down on your side. Steve sleeps as your mirror, one cheek and eye hidden by the pillow, the sheets pulled haphazard over his hip. You yank them from under you and pull them up to cover him to the shoulder, tempted to tuck his hair behind his ear again. It’s long enough. 

“Can feel you staring,” he whispers. 

Your heart leaps in shock, though thankfully you don’t jump. “Hm?”

“Staring at me.”

“Trying to gauge whether you died in your sleep.” 

“Still ‘live.”

You do reach for him, then, stricken by how badly you want to take care of him. “I can see that.” 

He peeks down at your hand on his cheek and grins dopily. “Missed you,” he says. 

“Missed you, too.” 

You wouldn’t tell him if it weren’t dark, if he weren’t in pain. 

“You did?” he asks. 

“I always miss you,” you say. You pull your hand away like it’s him that’s said the wrong thing, annoyed at your own boldness, moving onto your back to stare at the ceiling. 

He feels at your wrist, up your arm. Steve slides his palm over your stomach and holds it there. When you’re starting to think he might’ve fallen asleep again, your breath aching in your throat to be expelled, he presses down carefully and sighs. “I wish I got to see it. Don’t know why you were alone.”

“I wasn't.” 

“Would’ve looked after you, though.” 

“Steve…”

“I would’ve.”

“I know.” You know now. You could’ve stayed here and had him look after you, but it’s not what you wanted. “I wanted… more, than that.”

He stares at you across the pillows. Your breath catches as he brings his hand up to your cheek and encourages your head toward him, as he lifts himself up off the pillows to bear down over you.

“Do you still want that?” he asks. 

You laugh, weak and weary. “Not when you’re concussed.”

He laughs in your face. It’s quiet to leave Leah sleeping, and to stop from hurting himself again, but it’s a genuine laugh of joy leaning over you. His hair falls in his face and he’s beautiful. All freckled and gold in the dim amber light sunning in from behind him. 

“I am not concussed,” he says, leaning down. 

You don’t kiss. Won’t lift your lips to his where he waits, though waiting might not be the right word. It’s like he’s alright with anything you’re about to do, or not do, sharing your breath. 

“I don’t believe you,” you tease lightly. 

He’s moved so much to be over you. It is unquestionably the position of a man who’s going to kiss you. 

You press your forehead to his chin. 

“We should sleep,” you say, because you shouldn’t kiss. 

Portland feels very, very far away as he trails his fingers down the front of you and takes a handful of your hip. 

“I’m not concussed,” he says, though it’s not asking for anything; Steve’s already pulling away. He sits up and slightly away from you, rubbing a wave into your abdomen lovingly, like you never went to Portland at all. Like it’s the sleepover after a night spent kissing slow and watching shit TV. “Get some sleep, angel,” he adds, so quietly you’d doubt he spoke if you hadn’t watched his mouth shape the words. 

—

In the morning, you wake to find Leah chest to chest with Steve, his hair like water on your pillows. 

“An’ my hand an’ my nose as my mouth,” she says factually. 

“And your ears,” he says back to her quietly, stroking a path from her shoulders to her lower back and up again. “Your eyebrows, and your hair, and your neck.”

“Yeah.”

“Your tummy, and your legs, and your little toes.”

“Am’ my toes,” she says. 

“Even your toes are pretty,” Steve agrees. “‘Cos duh. Leah’s the prettiest girl I ever met, right?” His voice drops low enough to rattle hoarsely. “Just as pretty as mommy. I didn’t know that was possible.”

You hide your face in the pillows, pretending to sleep. 

This is not going to go how you’d first thought. 

—

Eddie’s compliments were different from the ones you got from your parents and they were a lot more cheesy that's for sure, but they were never in short supply. Eds practically showered you with his sweet words every time he saw you and you left every interaction with him more sure that this was the guy for you.

That didn’t mean that you didn’t crave to be held, and now that Eddie and you were official that craving had ramped up in your mind. You couldn’t be in the same room without thinking about what it would be like to be wrapped up in his arms. You wondered what it would feel like for the two of you to hold hands in the hallway, or to sit right up next to each other on the couch in the Munson trailer while the two of you watched the same three movies on repeat. 

Movie night at the Munson place started long before the two of you were dating, Eddie had invited all of the Hellfire club to hang at his place during lunch one day and you being the “unofficial mascot”- a term Eddie had coined for you after you stumbled into the room they were playing in and decided to stay and watch- were of course invited.

Weeks went by and slowly more and more of the guy bailed on Movie night until it was just you and Eddie left, you two had long since exhausted the stash of VHS’ that either of you owned but at this point you weren’t really there to watch the movie at all. Just sitting next to each other and talking was the real best part of Munson Movie Night.

Movie nights were on Friday nights, as it didn’t conflict with the DnD schedule and your parents had a more lax curfew on the weekend. Plus now that the two of you were “together-together” you could stay the night and all the adults were chill about it (your dad was not on board at first but your mother told him to relax).

“Alright Angel, what’ll it be this time? Grease, Rocky Picture Horror Show, or Star Wars?” Eddie asked, placing a bowl of popcorn down on the low table in front of the couch and walking over to the bookshelf that held more board games, VHSes, and Vinyl than actual books.

“Well you’ll get too invested in Star Wars and we watched Rocky Horror last week so Grease it is.” You leaned forward and grabbed a handful of popcorn. 

“I resent that accusation, mostly because I know you’re right.” Eddie grabbed the box for Muppets in Space and popped it into the player before joining you on the couch. A good ten inches in between you.

You handed him the bottle of coke you had grabbed for him and relished in the way his fingers brushed you when he took it. All too soon though, his attention was snagged by the movie’s exposition and yours was left to ponder and wish for more.

It wasn’t that Eddie was a bad boyfriend, that was far from the truth he was one of the sweetest boys you had ever known and he was attentive in a lot of ways the past boys you’ve been with haven’t. He just wouldn’t touch you. And (not so) deep down you craved his warmth, you craved the closeness that came with being able to put your hands on him and vice versa. It wasn’t just about the touch, it was about the connection that came with letting someone close to you like that.

Apparently, while you had been musing, Eddie had shifted his gaze to you, and he had certainly caught your thousand-yard stare and the way you were practically gnawing on your lip as you thought.

“Hey.” He threw a piece of popcorn at you, it landed in you hair but didn’t pull you out of your head.

Two more pieces of popcorn, one on your lap and one down your shirt (lucky shot) before Eddie got seriously worried.

“Hey,” he moved closer to you, “Earth, to Angel, what’s going on?” he waved his hand in front of your face and snapped once, twice, three times before your head shot to the side and you looked into his eyes.

“Wha? Oh, Nothing.” You shook your head as if to expel the thoughts from your ear. “Just this stupid math quiz in Donahughe's class.”

“Oh man,” Eddie clicked his tongue, “You’re lying.” He said simply.

“Am not.” You crossed your arms over your chest.”

“Are too, you're doing that thing that you do when you lie.”

“What thing?” You furrowed your brows and looked back at him, pulling your legs up onto the couch and in front of you, shifting your whole body to face him.

“You do this thing with your lips, you pull your front lip in between your teeth, imakes you look a little like Kermit.”

“I do not!” You think for a second. “Holy shit, I totally do! How’d you even catch that.”

“I pay attention, Angel. I pay attention to a lot of stuff about you, which is how I know that something is wrong.”

You inhaled a big breath and let it fall out of you as a sigh, “It’s really nothing Eds, I promise.”

“If it was really nothing then you wouldn’t be sitting over thinking about it instead of watching Danny lose the best thing that ever happened to him.” Eddie nodded his head towards the TV, on which the movie was still running. “Sooooo, what’s wrong?”

“I-” You took a deep breath. “I- fuck why is this so hard to say.” You stood from your place on the couch and stepped back so that you could have room to pace. “I want a hug.” You finally let out.

“A hug? What?”

“Well not just a hug, but that would be a nice place to start. I- God I want to hold hands with you in the hallway and rest my head on your shoulder. I want to sit next to you at lunch close enough that our things touch, I want to snuggle up next to you when we watch movies, I want to kiss you goodbye, and hello and whenever the hell I want to. I want to be in your arms and I didn’t know how to ask because I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable and- I don’t know.” You let it all out as you walked back and forth in front of the low table. Not looking at Eddie once during your tirade only for your eyes to land on his when you peter off at the end.

“Angel.” Eddie stood up, walking closer to you. “If you wanted a hug all you had to do was ask,” In one move Eddie pulled you into his chest, your arms curled up and trapped between your bodies. His arms came to rest behind you, one draped around your shoulders and the other resting comfortably at the small of your back. He continued talking, the vibration from his words rumbling his chest and into your own. “I’m sorry, I guess I don’t even realize that I don’t hug you as much as I should. If I’m honest I think it’s because I like looking at you too much to pull you in this close. But now that we’re here I think this might be better.”

“It is nice.” Your voice is quiet but he hears every word.

Eddie hummed in agreement and rested his head on top of your own. You’re not sure how long you two stood there but you savored every moment. The warmth of his arms seeped into your skin and the smell of the laundry detergent you bought him last week clouded your nose. He placed a couple of kisses on the top of your head and you could feel yourself melt each time. 

“Angel?” He asked.

You hummed.

“The movie is over.”

You looked up and sure enough, the credits were rolling and the tape was about to end. “Oh, I actually kind of wanted to watch it though,” Your lips pushed into a little pout. It only graced your face for a second before Eddie let go of you and moved back towards the TV.

“That’s okay, I’ll rewind it and we can watch it for real this time.”

“Really?” You asked, “It’s already late and I dont want to make you-”

“Shush.” Was his reply. He rewound the tape and got back up to face you. He held his hand out and you took it immediately. He pulled you back towards the couch and into his side, grabbing a blanket that was resting on your arm and spreading it out over the two of you.

You got as close to him as you could, not even bothering to hide the smile that shone across your face. 

She was going to tell him a tale. She was going to ruin everything. As if it wasn't bad enough that just last year she had been contemplating ending their relationship because she didn't like how concerned and involved Evan was. Because she wasn't used to such a close, whirlwind relationship like the one they had together.

If it hadn't been for the baby, she would have tried to break this relationship because she was afraid of the kind of love they had. Evan couldn't let (Y/n)'s worries get in the way again. He couldn't have her talking to Bobby, that just couldn't happen.

Bobby was happy, he was thrilled that his daughter was dating someone he approved of, someone he worked with who he had a great rapor with himself. Telling tales now would only worry Bobby and it would strain the relationship he had with Evan. Evan couldn't have this causing problems at work or strain the one good relationship he had with someone he thought of as a parent.

Bobby was a father to him, he was all he had and Evan wouldn't lose that because (Y/n) was starting to misinterpret Evan's signs and displays of love for something else.

He would have to do something.

The plan was already forming in his mind as he hunched over the counter and stirred the spoon in constant circles in the cup. Watching the little crumbs and dust flakes of the tablets he had crushed become engulfed in the coffee. He stirred and stirred in a rhythmic motion until the last of the crushed tablets were dissolved and no longer visible to the naked eye.

He didn't want (Y/n) to notice. It would be much easier this way.

He found it so hard to stop his hand from trembling when he picked up the cup and walked from the kitchen towards the living room. The anger and resentment was still flowing through his veins until he felt like a rocket about to take off.

Even though Evan had only caught half of (Y/n)'s conversation with Bobby this morning, he knew what she had been talking about and what she was going to do. He knew she was going to go round there later and talk about him. She would make Bobby worry for no good reason, she would panic him and unsettle herself. When all she had to do was talk to Evan and straighten this all out. If she just talked with him, they could clear everything up.

He would make sure they got to talk, and he wasn't going to let her run to her dad first.

Their family was perfect, their lives were heading in the right direction and Evan couldn't let this perfection become imbalanced. He couldn't lose all that they had; he just couldn't.

His jaw finally unclenched and his system calmed down a little when he approached the sofa and held the cup down towards (Y/n).

"Oh, thank you." (Y/n)'s smile was almost sickly sweet, as if there were no worries plaguing her mind like Evan knew there were. At least she didn't know that he knew. Not yet, anyway.

His hand moved to the back of her neck and he leant over the armrest so he could press a flushed kiss to her temple. He let his eyes fall closed and breathed in her scent as he strummed his fingers against her neck. And his lips curved into a small smile when he felt her take a few sips of her drink.

Once those tablets went to work, then Evan could get his thoughts in order and map out what he was going to do. But one thing was for sure; (Y/n) wasn't going to talk to Bobby later.

A horrible headache thrummed to life behind (Y/n)'s temple. She tried to lift her arm to cradle her forehead and rub along her eyes, but her limbs felt like they weighed more than a bar of gold.

Her lips felt chapped and her mouth was dry when she tried to take a deep breath and force herself to open her eyes, but it was too hard a task to do. She found herself shuddering and pushing her feet down into the floor as she tried to work out where she was and what she was doing instead.

Tremors rattled through her system when something clicked in her mind. She was moving.

No, (Y/n) herself wasn't moving, but wherever she was, it felt like she was travelling somewhere. Her shoulders shimmied, her knees tensed and her back clicked into place as she tried to use her senses to work out where she was and what she was doing.

A car, she was in a car. The seat was too familiar and the sensation and vibrations gave it away.

Why was she in a car? (Y/n) didn't remember getting ready or going anywhere. The only place she was supposed to go was to visit her dad later this afternoon, and that was something she would do alone. (Y/n) clearly wasn't driving right now.

She had more motivation to force herself to open her eyes this time and she finally managed to get a blurred vision of where she was. Her surroundings were familiar. Once she looked over the dashboard, the door handle and the leather seat she was slouched in, (Y/n) knew she was in Evan's jeep.

Her neck felt like it had snapped when she craned her head to the left to try and look for Evan. And there he was. Sat in the driver's seat with his left elbow propped up on the door, his hand running across his jaw and neck and his other hand tapping and flexing against the steering wheel.

"Evan? W-where…?"

"Hey baby. Go back to sleep, you look dazed."

Pins and needles soared through her blood when Evan stretched his hand across to brush her cheek. His touch was so gentle and soothing but his words confused her.

"Where a… are we?"

(Y/n) could feel her breaths running away from her as she pressed her palms down into the seat and tried to sit herself up a bit better. Slouching like this wasn't going to do her back any favours.

She tried to look out the window, but she had no idea where they were heading. And when she realised the sky was a deep crimson with streaks of hazy blue, her blood ran cold. It was late. It was sometime in the evening. How long had she been asleep? Why had she fallen asleep and not woken when Evan got her in the car- because she certainly didn't remember getting in the car herself.

She was supposed to be meeting her dad by now. Where was Evan taking her? What was going through his mind right now?

The look in Evan's eyes when he glanced across at her made (Y/n)'s stomach burst with adrenaline and she was sure it managed to wake the baby. But it was his smile that made her push back in her seat and frown.

"We're going on a little trip."

"What? No, babe we- we can't just… where are we going?" Panic flooded (Y/n)'s voice, even when Evan's hand reached back out and curled around her thigh to try and give her some solace.

Why was he taking her on a trip? What did that mean? Where were they heading? How long were they going for? Why had he decided this without telling her or even asking her first? This wasn't right, it wasn't fair. He had never done anything like this before.

"Shh, get some sleep. I'll wake you when we get there."

***

"You said you wanted to get away-"

"Evan I said I was stressed, and you're paranoid ways were getting too much for me. This is not what I meant and you know it." (Y/n) snapped her jaw like a crocodile and her eyes blazed like a fire was spreading in her pupils and rampaging through the rest of her body.

This isn't what she meant and Evan knew that, he was twisting her words and the situation to try and get it to his advantage.

When she said she had been stressed and his controlling, overbearing manners were starting to frighten her, the last thing she meant to insinuate was this.

She didn't want Evan to slip something into her drink and forcibly take her away from home. She didn't want to wake up and find out they had been driving for almost two hours into a town she had never been in before with almost no phone signal and no one around who she knew.

With a shake of her head, (Y/n) tried pushing her palm against Evan's chest in an attempt to get him out of her way, but he seemed to be a boulder in her path that she couldn't move.

The sudden grip he had on her wrist when he reached down for her was crushing to the point he almost cut off her circulation. She stared up at him blankly, searching those deep void eyes for something familiar, but that sense of paranoia was clouding his mind once again.

He had done this because something set him off. Something worried him and whenever Evan felt threatened, he lashed out and closed out the world.

He was so anxious all the time. Anxious that nothing went wrong in his relationship with (Y/n) because so many of his past relationships had turned sour and gone wrong and most of those hadn't been Evan's fault. It darkened his mind towards relationships, it made him worry and temperamental and feel broken. It made him want to harbour (Y/n) to himself to keep her safe and to stop anything from wrecking their relationship.

He didn't seem to realise that by doing that, he was becoming the problem, the obstruction within their relationship.

When he let go of her wrist, finally, a tremble tore up (Y/n)'s arm and she was about to recoil her hand to her chest when Evan reached out for her again. He had that sympathetic look on his face, the look that said he wanted forgiveness and he wanted this argument to fade away.

His hands reached out for her hips and he pulled her closer, despite how (Y/n) tried to shimmy in his arms and take a step back.

"This is what we need."

(Y/n) couldn't help but scoff, and she hated the way that Evan's lips flickered when she did. Almost as if he wanted to snarl at her response.

"We need to be in the middle of nowhere? Cut off from everyone we know, our families? You won't even tell me how long you plan to stay here."

With a sigh, (Y/n) moved her hand to her temple that was still throbbing with the need to sleep off whatever Evan had put in her drink. She wasn't as infuriated as she should have been, considering he had never drugged her like that before. She knew it wouldn't have been anything dangerous or harmful. She was pregnant and this baby was Evan's world, he wouldn't do anything that would potentially harm either of them.

But it wasn't right that he had brought her out here against her will when she had no idea what he was plotting. He wouldn't tell her where they were, why they were here or how long he had booked this air B&B for. He didn't say how long he planned on them both staying here, and that was frightening. (Y/n) had no idea what was running through his mind or what had tripped the switch in him to make him do this.

"A few days."

"Why?" (Y/n) rose her arms out to try and show Evan how helpless and confused she felt and to get him to give her some answers.

But she didn't like the look that crossed his face, or the way he leaned down with narrowed eyes and snarling lips.

"Because I can't trust you not to go running to your dad and telling lies."

His words made her blood run cold and (Y/n) felt her shoulders tensing up as she managed to writhe and pull out of his arms.

He heard. He had heard her talking to her dad on the phone this morning. He had been home- or had just come home, when she made that call. He listened in on her conversation. He knew she had wanted to confide in her dad, after months of panicking about whether or not to worry him with her concerns about Evan. The day she decided she needed to talk to her dad and let him know what was going on, Evan had heard and intervened.

When she got out of his arms, she twisted and stumbled out the kitchen. She wasn't sure whereabouts she was heading, but she didn't want to be talking to him right now. She would say something she might regret and she didn't want to antagonise and rile him up right now.

"Baby come back." Evan huffed as his shoulders slouched. He turned around and headed out of the room, following after her up the stairs, seeing that she was trying to hurry to get away from him but being pregnant was slowing her down.

(Y/n) didn’t know which room she had flung herself into, she didn’t even know which room she and Evan were meant to be staying in tonight since there were about three rooms and a bathroom up here, but she didn’t very well care. She picked the closest door to her and slammed it shut the moment she got into the room.

"Baby let me in." Evan’s voice was oddly callous and stern as he jiggled the door handle and tried to push on the door but the moment he realised it was (Y/n) leaning against it, he stopped. If he put his full weight into pushing the door open he would have knocked her down and he certainly didn't want to do that and hurt her. He could feel her frame jumping against the wood when he slammed his fist against it but he wasn’t trying to scare her, he just wanted her to let him in. "Open the door."

"Why? You're good at eavesdropping."

Her frame shuddered against the door when Evan growled, but he didn't lash out and try to push the door again.

"You expect me to be sorry for hearing you? If I didn't catch that little conversation you would have ruined everything."

"Why do you always do that?" (Y/n) muttered quietly with a tone of defeat and sadness that made Evan’s heart jump in his chest and had a burst of adrenaline coursing through his stomach.

What had he done? He was trying to explain, he was trying to show her that he couldn't let her tear holes in this relationship and this family that they had. What they had was special and if she told her dad she was worried, everything would change. Evan didn't like that kind of worrisome change, he couldn't handle that. This was his way or preventing that and keeping everything the way it should be. His way.

"Do what?" The genuine concern in his voice made (Y/n) feel bad and she tried to move as carefully and slowly as she could, pulling away from the door without making much noise so he wouldn't know.

"Make it seem like it's my fault."

(Y/n) tipped her head down to look at her stomach as she slowly started to rub her hands up and down her bump. With a deep breath, she moved to sit down on the bed opposite the window and kept circling her hands over her stomach.

He always made her feel like she had done something wrong. His anxieties were because (Y/n) didn't understand or she didn't go along with his methods and his reasonings. He was justified in his thoughts and she was overthinking or getting annoyed over nothing. He always made it seem like he was being reasonable but (Y/n) wasn't.

Was she not justified in worrying about Evan's attitude and his paranoia? Was she wrong for wanting to talk to her dad and get his advice?

Was it normal that Evan constantly tracked her phone to know where she was? Did other partners get angry if they didn't know what their partner was doing at every moment of the day? Was Evan right in wanting (Y/n) by his side at all times, wanting to know who she was talking to and what she was doing.

Did it seem normal to other people that most of (Y/n)'s friends were Evan's friends first? Was it normal that everyone she knew were people he knew and approved of, that she couldn't make a friend without him. That she could barely go out alone without him.

All (Y/n) wanted to do was talk to her dad.

She and Evan were about to have a baby in one month's time. She needed to be sure that everything was going to be okay for their baby and that Evan's paranoid, manic tendencies weren't going to manifest once their baby was born.

Bobby always managed to calm (Y/n) down and put her worries to rest, that was all she wanted. She just wanted to talk to him. Why was that not allowed?

"Baby, come on." Evan protested but his voice was much quieter and more tender than before.

"I don't want to be here. I wanted to talk to dad, why- why couldn't you just let me be?"

(Y/n) kept her hand resting on her stomach as she looked out of the window opposite which was hazy with steam and trickles of water from the rain beginning to pour down outside.

She had to hold back a sigh when the door creaked open and she watched Evan shuffle in. He looked a mix between riled up and deflated, like he couldn't quite decide how he felt and how he wanted to act. His shoulders were tense but he was stooped forward and had his head hung down.

Her eyes followed him as he trailed over to her and sat down on the end of the bed next to her. His knees parted far to the sides and his hands clasped together and hung between his legs, allowing his elbows to press down on his thighs and his back to hunch forward. He kept his eyes on his locked hands for a few seconds before he finally lifted his head to look at (Y/n) sitting to his left.

"I work with your dad. You honestly think running to him and saying I've upset you would be a good idea? I can't have things changing like that at work or have him look differently at me. You can't do that."

(Y/n) tried to hide the wince that flashed across her face. She hadn't thought of it like that.

But she wasn't doing this to hurt Evan. She wasn't about to go and tell her dad that Evan hit her or bullied her or wouldn't let her leave the house. She wouldn't be saying bad things about him, she just wanted someone to voice her concerns to. Someone who would actually listen, whereas no one else would.

Eddie was Evan's best friend, he would always take Evan's side and he didn't see that manic side to Evan that (Y/n) was privileged enough to see. Maddie was like his mum, she thought the absolute best of him and therefore (Y/n) couldn't talk to her or ask her advice either.

Her dad was impartial when it came to Evan because he wasn't truly his parent and he would try to help, not make things worse. But Evan couldn't see that.

In Evan's eyes, talking to Bobby would be like (Y/n) was betraying him and turning everyone against him. He didn't want that. He didn't want Bobby thinking any differently of him or looking at him differently or telling him that he was out of order. And he didn't want things to change at work because they worked together and Bobby was his superior.

"Then what do I do, Evan? You can't control who I speak to or where I go no matter how much you want to."

"Bobby is my Captain. If you go and tell him I've upset you or frightened you somehow then work will be different. He won't be that father figure to me, he'll be wary of me, cautious, irritated. Why would you do that? All I'm doing is trying to keep you both safe and look after you, and you try and make me out to be the bad guy."

Why was Evan in the wrong? Why was it wrong of him to want to know where (Y/n) was?

He saw horrid things when he was at work. He saw people die, get killed in accidents or by the cruel people in this world. He saw how unfair life was and he saw strange things that made him worry. All he wanted to do was keep (Y/n) and their baby safe. And she was getting angry at him for that.

He wanted to know where she was so he knew she was safe or knew where to go if something happened to her. He wanted to know who she was talking to because not everyone could be trusted and if he didn't know the person, then how could he- or (Y/n)- trust them?

He liked to have (Y/n) by his side so he could look after her and make sure she and the baby were alright. He wanted to look after them, but (Y/n) was making that hard when she was telling people he was controlling or overbearing and that she might leave him or that she needed to speak to Bobby urgently. She couldn't do that to him. That wasn't fair.

His heart ached when he watched a tear trickle down (Y/n)'s face and he watched how she dropped her head down into her hands and sighed. Her nails dug into her scalp, imbedding in her hair as she tried her best not to scream out.

"So you- you just smother me, and I c- I can't speak to anyone on my own anymore?"

"That's not what I'm saying baby and you know it. We're here so we can talk, if you talk to me first and explain, then you don't have to worry your dad."

(Y/n) found herself nodding because it was the easiest thing to do. She could keep arguing with Evan until the world ended, but it wasn't going to make a difference. They both felt that they were right and justified and nothing was going to change that. Going along with Evan and ceasing the argument was the best option for now.

(Y/n) was in no mood to argue with him over this.

***

(Y/n) wanted to go home.

She didn't want to be here. Wherever they were, it had horrible phone signal and (Y/n) hadn't been able to send many messages out. Not that she really needed to right now when Evan had already called her dad before they left. Before he drugged her and brought her here.

She had a text from her dad just as they arrived last night saying he was happy she and Evan were spending some time alone together and when she came back, they could have that chat she wanted. Although she had a feeling there would be nothing to talk about by the time Evan finally took her home.

She slung her jacket over her shoulders and headed towards the stairs. She could feel her back aching from how she had slept last night, but it was nothing compared to the storm raging in her head.

When she headed down the stairs, her eyes set on Evan who was sat hunched over in the armchair near the window with his phone pressed against his ear. The look on his face signalled that he was having trouble hearing whoever he was talking to, the phone service clearly wasn't great for him either.

The sight made the cogs in (Y/n)'s mind begin to turn and a frown settled on her features as she wondered where her phone was.

She had it somewhere downstairs last night when she and Evan had been talking and arguing. But she couldn't remember where she put it. It didn't seem like such a big deal when there was next to no signal out here anyway, but if Evan was on the phone to someone then she might be able to get in touch with her dad. At least to let him know she was still wanting to talk to him whenever Evan decided they could go home.

(Y/n) headed past the living room undetected and made her way into the kitchen. She could see that Evan must have made himself a drink because the kettle was boiled and the strong smell of coffee flooded the air.

She wouldn't be taking any drinks from him in the foreseeable future if he was going to start spiking them anytime she did something he didn't like or he classed as worrisome.

The sound of the rain beating down against the old window panes was rather comforting to (Y/n) as she started making herself a drink. Her eyes cast out the window that she could barely look out of due to the torrential rain. But the way the back door kept rattling and bashing against the door frame didn’t sound very calming.

When Evan's voice started to filter through the air, (Y/n)’s interest peaked as she wondered who he was talking to.

She quietly stepped into the doorway between the kitchen and the lounge and leaned her weight onto the frame as she looked over at Evan.

Something tugged at her heartstrings as she watched him. She didn't want to spend the next few days arguing with Evan, but when he got like this they always seemed to lock horns. They couldn't see things from each other's perspectives. Evan wouldn't admit that he might be wrong or overpowering and that made it harder to try and talk to him.

He wasn't self-righteous, but he was adamant that he was right. He was anxious in his need to be right and to be justified.

Just as (Y/n) thought about trying to have another talk with him and try to let the dust settle, her blood ran cold as she watched him and listened to the fragments of conversation that she could hear.

'A week or more.'

She wasn't staying out here for a week. Not when she was secluded in the middle of nowhere with no one she knew and just Evan. This was the same as her home life when he wasn't at work, being with him at almost all times without a break or a moment to herself. And she couldn't get signal to talk to her dad or her friends or even Maddie who she liked to talk to and confide in from time to time.

And when she looked down, she noticed something she hadn't paid any attention to before.

Evan had her phone. It was resting on his thigh and he looked to either be trying to text someone, or scrolling through either her messages or an app on her phone. What was he doing? Why was he doing this?

He promised that he'd stop checking her phone, after all he wasn't looking for proof of cheating. He knew (Y/n) wouldn't cheat on him and she didn't have the time for that when almost all of her time was allocated to Evan. But he didn't trust her not to message her friends and say she was worried or he was being controlling. And clearly he was worried about what she had or might say to her dad.

When Evan ended the call, he slid his phone into his jean pocket and he had a grin on his face when he looked up and locked eyes with (Y/n). Although the startled, unreadable expression on her face intrigued and unsettled him.

"Babe, what's-"

"We're not staying here for a week, and- and what are you doing on my phone?" Her words were bold, considering the panic that was bubbling up in her chest and stealing the air she tried to scrape in.

She stepped over the threshold and moved to stand beside the sofa, near the armchair that looked too small with Evan sat in it like that. With his knees parted to the sides and his body hunched forward, practically engulfing the chair.

Her hand clamped down on the back of the sofa and her other hand moved to smooth circles along the side of her stomach where the baby was wriggling and kicking to let her know they were awake. Almost as if they knew the confrontation that was about to take place.

"Trying to send a message, signal's crap. I could barely talk to Bobby on the phone."

"It's my phone, let me send the messages." The way Evan rose a brow made (Y/n)'s blood boil and her chest puffed out as her nose scrunched up with indignation. "Give me my phone, I wanna talk to dad."

(Y/n) reached her hand down for the phone on Evan’s lap but he curled it tight in his fist and pulled his arm back.

"And start telling tales? I told him you're fine. We're staying here for a break and so I can keep an eye on you." His words suggested a protectiveness over her but his tone was dismissive of the subject like he thought she was being dramatic when in reality she was being level headed and panicked at the same time.

He spoke as if he didn't already keep an eye on her and her messages and calls when they were at home. Overhearing her conversation with her dad was proof of that.

"I want to talk to him, Evan I- I'm not going to say anything bad… I won't tell him about you putting something in my drink to drag me out here, if you give me the phone."

"No."

His tone was definite and his expression verged on dangerous. He shoved her phone in his other pocket, showing that it was now his possession and under his control for the duration of their stay here.

He didn't trust her. He had forgiven her for going and messaging her friend almost a year ago saying she was contemplating leaving him. The baby made sure that she wasn't going to leave him, Evan didn't have to worry about that anymore. And he was willing to forgive her for wanting to go and tell her dad that she was worried about Evan and their relationship. But Evan couldn't have her trying to talk to Bobby and worrying him or make him look at Evan differently.

Bobby was the closest thing Evan had to a father figure, he wouldn't have Bobby be wary of him or be disappointed in him because (Y/n) was overreacting.

(Y/n)'s lips pulled into a frown that threatened to droop as tears welled up in her eyes. Her arms crossed over her bump and she stepped closer, although she felt like stepping back once Evan pushed up to his feet and stood in front of her. He towered over her like a strange kind of beacon; an omen, blocking out the light until a dark shadow was cast around him.

"What, so I can't have my phone back, ever?" There was a defiant tone to (Y/n)'s voice and she locked her jaw when she stared up at Evan.

But it was hard to control herself and not react when his hand reached out to cup her chin and his thumb brushed across her lower lip, causing shockwaves to rattle through her skin and pins and needles to flow through her blood.

"When I can trust you, then you get it back." He almost sounded condescending, but the smile on his face looked as if he thought he was doing her a favour. And (Y/n) couldn't believe him.

He couldn't do that. It wasn't his choice to make and if he thought he couldn't trust her to talk to her friends and family, then he was getting more paranoid and in turn (Y/n) wouldn't be able to trust him.

"Well that's not your choice. Give it back."

(Y/n) tried to lean around him, she tried to push forward into him and worm her arm around his waist in a vain attempt to snag her hand in his back pocket and fish her phone out so she could have it back. It was hers, he had no right to keep it from her and message people and scroll through her phone. He couldn't do that.

She was sure Evan was smiling at her attempt and she felt him twist and shimmy his hips to turn away from her and both his hands reached down to grab hold of her wrists. He pulled her arms away from his waist so they were held in front of him and his grin broadened as he stared down at her.

Although his smile twitched and started to falter when (Y/n) stopped trying to fight against him and instead took a step back. And when a defiant "Fine." uttered past her lips, Evan narrowed his eyes and held his breath.

When (Y/n) bypassed him and headed towards the hall, Evan rolled his eyes and sighed as he turned to follow her.

"What are you doing?"

"Keep my phone, you can't track me then, can you? We can disappear." Her hand moved to her stomach as if to make her point that wherever she went, their baby would go too. And if she didn't take her phone and didn't take the jeep either, Evan had no means of tracking her and keeping an eye on her.

She could go for a walk, take a bus, wander around or even get herself lost and Evan would be none the wiser. He could sit here and go out of his mind until (Y/n) decided to come back and he had learned his lesson.

"You're not going anywhere- (Y/n) you're staying here with me." There was a sense of urgency to Evan's voice as he tried to hurry and follow after her. And he managed to reach out and curl his hand around her wrist just before she got to the front door.

"Get off-"

"You're staying here." He didn't want her going anywhere without him. She didn't know where she was, this was a new town, a foreign place to her. (Y/n) could get lost and not be able to find her way back. Someone could try and hurt her, God knows Evan had seen how strange and cruel people could be with some of the calls he had seen on the job.

He didn't want anything happening to (Y/n) or their baby. He didn't want them leaving his sights or going anywhere without him.

Evan’s hand reached down for (Y/n)'s wrist which he grabbed with a fierce touch that caused her to shake. Almost as if he was trying to shake the message into her system that he wasn't letting her go.

(Y/n) writhed in his grip and tried to push her elbow into him to get him to relent, but Evan's free hand moved to grab her chin, swiftly turning her head so she was staring up into those ignited eyes that were on fire.

"Let go." (Y/n) tried to steel her voice and narrow her eyes but he tightened his grip in response and shook his head.

She caught him off balance by changing tactics and pushing her weight into his chest to try and throw him off balance and push him back towards the living room. Which seemed to work as Evan wanted her as far away from the door as possible so she wouldn't leave.

And once his grip loosened on her, (Y/n) writhed and quickly yanked out of his grip. Her feet stumbled as she tried to turn herself around and get back. She was in two minds about whether she really wanted to walk out the door and wander unfamiliar streets and potentially get herself lost. Or whether she wanted to head upstairs and lock herself in one of the rooms up there and hide away from Evan for a while until he decided to be reasonable again.

She felt Evan's hand reach out for her elbow and she tried to swat back at him as his name tore past her lips in an angry hiss. But Evan's clumsy grip on her and her wobbling balance set her off kilter and she gasped as she stumbled.

A black duffel hung from her shoulder, bumping against her hip as she crossed the polished concrete floor. She gave a few sleepy nods to the night-shift crew heading out before ducking into the locker room.

The metal lockers were lined like soldiers, each one plastered with stickers, photos, and scuffed nameplates. She dropped her bag onto the bench, spun the lock, and swapped her “civvies” for her uniform: the dark blue shirt, with dark blue pants and her boots laced tight. The familiar weight settled on her shoulders, grounding her.

In the bottom of the duffel sat a small white bakery box. She hesitated for a moment, fingers brushing the lid, asking herself if she should leave it right here or just give it to him. It’s just cookies, she told herself. He asked when you were making them again, that’s all. But what if he was joking? She shook her head, like she was shaking the thought out of her head and she tucked the box under her arm and headed toward the kitchen.

The kitchen was already alive with the morning rhythm of the station. Hen was rummaging through the fridge, and the coffeemaker gurgled loudly in protest at being overworked. Buck sat at the table, legs stretched out, scrolling through his phone with that lazy grin that made everything look easier than it was.

“Morning,” he said without looking up, keeping his eyes locked on whatever was happening on his phone. “Morning,” (Y/n) replied, trying to sound casual. She set the bakery box on the table in front of him and, without waiting for his reaction she slid it across the surface and turned straight toward the counter without adding another word to it. 

She could feel his eyes on her back as she reached for a mug. Her cheeks were already warming, but at least he couldn’t see them. She could hear his phone drop onto the hard surface of the table, “Wait- these are the cookies?” Buck’s voice brightened with recognition. “The sea-salt ones?” he added.

“Maybe,” she said over her shoulder, pouring coffee and praying the machine’s hiss would cover the smile tugging at her lips. He flipped the lid open and inhaled the smell of the fresh baked cookies like he’d just found a treasure. “You’re kidding. These are amazing.” he said. 

Before she could answer, a new voice broke in. “Oh, cookies!” Chimney swooped in from nowhere, reaching over Buck’s shoulder. His hand was halfway to the box when Buck slapped it away with lightning speed. “Hey! Mine,” Buck said, protective as a kid guarding Halloween candy.

Chimney blinked watching him with an offended expression. “Yours? Since when do you get cookie ownership rights around here?” Chimney asked. Buck looked up at Chim, pushing the box closer to him. “Since (Y/n) brought them in for me,” Buck said, his eyes wandering back to her. 

She kept her eyes on her mug, pretending to focus on stirring in cream. “They were just extra,” she tried to explain.

“Uh-huh,” Chim said, unconvinced. Buck looked at (Y/n) for exactly five seconds, and that was long enough for Chim to wait until he turned back to his phone and then sneak a cookie anyway. “Hey!” Buck caught the movement too late. “You thief!” he practically yelled over the loft. 

Hen entered just in time to see Buck scowling and Chim chewing guiltily. “What’s going on in here?” she asked, one eyebrow already raised. “Cookie drama,” Chim said around a mouthful.

Hen leaned over the box, eyes twinkling. “Let me guess… (Y/n)’s spoiling Buck again?” she guessed, looking at the three persons standing spread over the loft. Buck lifted a hand. “For the record, I didn’t ask.” he said, with his mouth full.

Hen had a hand placed on her hip and smirked at Buck. “Uh-huh. And yet here you are, defending them like they’re state secrets.” 

(Y/n) shook her head, half-laughing. “You’re all impossible.” she said as she took a sip of her coffee. 

Hen moved towards the kitchen and poured herself coffee, muttering something about “oblivious men” as she left. Chim followed, still munching, before Buck could chase him down.

When the room finally quieted, Buck turned to (Y/n) again, cookie in hand, expression softening. “Seriously, though. These are incredible. You’re the best.” he said, sending her a kind, small smile.

She forced a light smile and took a sip of her coffee to hide the flush returning to her cheeks. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it.” she said.

He laughed, easy and bright, the sound echoing through the kitchen. And even though she knew he didn’t mean anything by it, she couldn’t stop the small ache that came with it.

The wail of the siren was a scream against the city’s early morning quiet. Hen’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel as the ambulance sped through the Los Angeles morning traffic as the world was flashing red and white. Beside Hen (Y/n) checked the medic bag for the third time, her heartbeat quick but steady, it was the way she always felt when they were going to a call.

The sharp smell of smoke hit before they even saw the flames. As Hen pulled to a stop beside the ladder truck, (Y/n) felt the vibration of the engines through her boots. The world outside was pure chaos. There was orange light covering up the sides of a three-story apartment building while thick gray smoke spread into the sky.

Hen put the car in park, killed the siren and got out of the ambulance in one smooth move like she had done a thousand times before. They met Bobby at the perimeter, his face hard with focus and ready to command his team. “Hen, (Y/n)—set up triage south side. We’ve got evacuees coming out fast.” Bobby ordered. 

“Copy that,” Hen said, (Y/n) hoisted her bag, slinging it across her shoulder as they sprinted toward the line of coughing residents. Even though they were at a safe distance from the burning building, they could feel the heat pressed against them like a living thing, radiating off the burning structure.

For several minutes, it was all motion. Hen checked vitals while (Y/n) flushed a burn with saline, her hands moving automatically. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and melted plastic, the metallic taste of adrenaline. A woman sobbed somewhere behind them; someone else coughed so hard it echoed through the chaos. But she stayed focussed on the patient right in front of her. 

Then the radio burst to life, first the sound of static filled the scene, but quickly it was taken over by a familiar voice. “Medic assist needed, interior, second floor east wing!” Eddie’s voice called over the radio. 

Hen’s head snapped up. She looked toward the building, then back to (Y/n). Their eyes met, and Hen motioned towards the structure. “Get in there. Grab an O2 tank, helmet and your bag.” she told her team member. (Y/n) nodded, “Got it,” she said as she was already moving. Just as she left the triage, she could hear Hen’s voice call “You got this!” after her, making her grin. 

The oxygen tank was heavier than she remembered, but she barely felt the weight as she ran toward the entrance. Firefighters moved past her in a blur, hauling hoses and axes. She shot up the stairs, and made her way towards the east wing as she arrived on the second floor. At the doorway, a figure emerged from the haze. It was Buck with his mask on, visor smudged with soot but his flashlight beam cutting through the smoke. “This way,” he called out, voice muffled through the mask.

He reached out instinctively as she approached, gloved hand brushing her back, a guiding pressure just below her shoulder blade. It was light, almost nothing, but she felt it, solid and grounding through the chaos. Then he was moving ahead again, leading her through the wreckage.

Inside, visibility dropped to almost nothing. Smoke curled through the hallway, hot and wet against her face. Her pulse was a hard, steady beat in her ears. They turned a corner where Eddie was kneeling beside a man pinned by debris, blood pooling dark beneath him. “Femoral bleed,” Eddie said as soon as she made eye contact with him. “He’s conscious but in shock.”

(Y/n) knelt beside him, dropping her bag. “Sir, my name’s (Y/n),” she said clearly, her voice calm and practiced. “We’re going to get you out, okay? Stay with me.” she said. The man groaned, fingers twitching weakly.  “Buck, I need you to press this dressing onto the wound” she said. “Got it,” he said, bracing down hard as she pulled the tourniquet from her kit, looping it high on his thigh, just above the wound. After that she twisted the windlass tight. When the bleeding slowed, she locked the velcro strap, securing it in place.

“Eddie, what’s his pressure?” she asked, already pulling the IV kit free. “Dropping. He’s going into shock.” he concluded. 

(Y/n) listened to his words and quickly made a choice. “Alright, I’m starting a line.” Her voice was steady, but she could feel the sting of sweat trickling under her mask. She worked quickly, inserting the needle into a vein at the crook of his arm. A bead of dark blood rose before she connected the tubing and held up the small morphine bag. “I’m pushing for pain.” she said, more to herself than to the two guys around her. 

She squeezed the bag, watching the clear liquid move down the line. The man’s breathing evened out slightly, the tension in his shoulders easing.

Buck crouched beside her again, passing supplies before she even had to ask. His movements were sharp, precise, an extra pair of hands that seemed to anticipate her next need. When she shifted to check the other leg, his flashlight beam followed, revealing a shard of metal embedded near the knee. “Good catch,” she said, glancing up.

But he didn’t answer, he just met her eyes through the visor and gave a short nod, smoke curling between them. She worked as fast as she possibly could in a burning building, and then the radio crackled again: “All teams, evacuate! the structure is getting unstable!”

“Time to go!” Eddie barked. (Y/n) held the IV line steady, keeping the bag raised as Buck lifted the man and Eddie grabbed the tools they used to search the place. There was no time to call for a backboard. They needed to get the hell out of there. 

(Y/n) keyed her radio as they moved. “We’re coming out! Need a gurney ready at the south side of the building!”

“Copy that!” a voice answered through the static.

The building groaned above them, wood cracking, plaster falling in gray clouds. The smoke grew thicker, suffocating. (Y/n)’s lungs burned; her heartbeat pounded in her throat. Then, finally the daylight broke through the smoke like a promise.

Outside, a team was waiting with a gurney. “Right here!” another paramedic from another house called.

(Y/n) pulled off her helmet and oxygen mask and handed over the morphine bag she was holding to the paramedic. “Tourniquet high left thigh, shrapnel in right knee, morphine onboard,” (Y/n) reported quickly as Buck placed the patient onto the gurney. “BP dropping but stable for now.” Two other paramedics moved fast as they loaded the man into an additional ambulance.

She exhaled hard, tugging off the fabric hood from under her mask and just took some distance from the building. The air hit her face like ice, even though a mix of sweat and soot was dripping over her face. She undid her ponytail and ran a hand through her hair, shaking out the damp heat. For a moment, she just breathed, watching the fire crews still battling the blaze.

Buck appeared beside her, removing his own helmet, soot streaking the side of his face. His blonde curls were partly plastered to his forehead, eyes bright in the harsh light. “You okay?” he asked, voice low but edged with genuine concern as he held the fabric hood in his hands. 

She cleared her throat and nodded, still catching her breath. “Yeah. You?” she asked, glancing slightly at Buck. He managed a tired smile. “Fine. Just another day at work, right?” he said, slapping the fabric he was holding against her chest, playfully.

“Yeah,” she said softly, but her gaze lingered on him for a second longer than she meant it to. 

-

The rigs pulled into the bay just after three in the afternoon, the day still bright and hot. The sunlight slanted through the wide open doors while the hum of engines winding down filled the space. 

(Y/n) climbed out of the ambulance, helmet tucked under her arm. Sweat dampened the collar of her shirt, and the smell of smoke clung to her skin no matter how much fresh air filled her lungs. She hung her gear back, ready so if they needed to head out again, she could just slip into her gear and be ready. 

She made her way towards the locker room, in her movement stretching the stiffness from her back, her muscles humming as the adrenaline left her body. When she arrived at her locker, she looked up, eyes closed as she sighed. It has been a long call. She needed some peace and quiet. 

But the quiet got interrupted, quickly. Buck was a few feet away, unbuttoning his shirt as he made his way towards the lockers too. He didn’t want to linger at her, everyone had their own ways of handling intensive calls. And this was her way. 

She already sensed him. She could hear him breathing and the boots he was wearing squeaked at the friction with the floor. His shirt was streaked with ash, and the curls that earlier stuck to his skin were now dried up. 

“You good?” he asked with a small grin, his voice a little rough from smoke but steady. She kept her eyes closed as she slowly nodded and forced herself to open her eyes. “Yeah…” She said as she brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, “You?” she asked, turning her head towards him. 

Their eyes met, and he offered a tired but genuine smile. It was the kind that still made her chest feel unreasonably warm, even after the kind of call that left you exhausted down to the bone. 

He nodded, taking off his shirt “We got lucky in there. If that ceiling had gone just a minute earlier…” he didn’t finish the sentence, it was clear what he wanted to say with that. Buck turned towards his locker, and opened it as a silence fell between the two. 

“But it didn’t. You were quick. You carried that guy out before it even had the chance.” she said, looking at him as he was putting his shirt into his locker. He gave her a quiet, half-embarrassed laugh, looking down. “Well, Eddie had the fancy tools. I figured I’d do the heavy lifting.” he said, looking to the side.

She smiled, “You make it sound like nothing.” she said. “I had good backup,” he said, glancing back at her. His eyes lingered just a little longer than they should have. It was a look that made her forget for a heartbeat what she’d meant to say next. 

She cleared her throat. “I’m gonna hit the showers before the next call. I smell like a campfire.” she said. He grinned. “Good call, you smell like half the building.” he joked. (Y/n) shot him a look, one brow lifting as the corner of her mouth curved.

“Says the guy who smells like a barbecue gone wrong.” she shot back as she closed her locker. Buck laughed, mock-offended. “I’ll choose smelling like a barbecue over antiseptic any day.” 

She shook her head, smiling as she threw her towel over her shoulder. “Mmmm, sure you would, hero.” she said, patting Buck’s shoulder as she made her way towards the bathroom. Still laughing, he watched her walk away. 

Not long after, Eddie appeared beside Buck, arms crossed leaning with his shoulder against the lockers with an amused look on his face. “So…” he said slowly, nodding toward the path (Y/n) had just disappeared through. “You gonna tell me what’s going on there, or should i start guessing?”

Buck glanced at him and frowned at his words. “What? Nothing’s going on.” he said. Eddie raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Uh-huh.. really? Because you two have been… rather close lately… You notice her before anyone else does. You look for her on calls. That doesn’t sound like “nothing’s going on” man.” Eddie said, using his fingers to quote him.

Buck blinked, then let out a quick laugh, shaking his head. “Come on, it’s not like that.” He said. “Then what’s it like?” Eddie asked curious. Buck hesitated, staring down at his hands. “She’s… she’s just a friend. We work well together.”

Eddie tilted his head, unconvinced. “You sure that’s all?”

Buck’s shoulders lifted in a helpless shrug. “Yeah. She’s…” He paused mid-sentence searching for the right words. “She’s like a little sister, you know? Someone to look out for. To protect.” he explained. 

Eddie frowned at the chosen words and tilted his head, studying him. “A little sister?” he said. “Yeah,” Buck said, almost too quickly. “She’s good at what she does, and she’s part of the team. I just… don’t ever want her to get hurt. That’s all.”

Eddie watched him for a moment, but long enough that Buck started to feel it. Then he nodded once, slow. “That’s a nice thought, Buck. Just make sure you’re not the one doing the hurting.” 

Buck blinked, caught off guard. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Eddie pushed himself off the lockers. “Nothing. Just… sometimes we protect people so much, we don’t realize they don’t need it.”

He gave Buck a pat on the shoulder, gentle and walked out of the locker room. Leaving Buck standing there, unsure why that last line sat heavy in his chest.

In the bathroom everything was cooler and quieter, the kind of quiet that hummed in the air after a long call. (Y/n) dropped her things onto the bench and pulled at the ties of her boots. She reached for her caddy, then sighed. Shampoo. She’d left it in her locker where she had a conversation with Buck. 

She rolled her eyes at her own stupid mistake, and she long hall towards the lockers. But as she almost entered the locker room again, she froze. Voices carried from the room. Not loud, but clear enough. Familiar enough. “…She’s like a little sister,” Buck was saying, his tone light but sure. “Someone to look out for. To protect.”

For a heartbeat, she couldn’t breathe. The words hit somewhere deep, not a sharp sting, but a slow, spreading ache like a virus. Her hands curled into fists, tightening until her knuckles went white. 

Eddie said something she couldn’t catch, low and teasing. Buck laughed, that easy laugh she knew so well. And still, that one line replayed in her head. Little sister.

She stepped back into the bathroom before anyone could see her. The sound of running water filled the silence as she set her things down, moving almost mechanically now.

When she finally stepped under the shower, the heat hit her skin and her eyes burned, though she blamed the smoke for it. She let the water run over her face, washing away the soot, the smell of smoke and the sweat. But no matter how long she stood there, she couldn’t wash away the echo of his voice.

Maybe she should’ve known. Maybe it had always been that way. But standing there, surrounded by steam and silence, she realized something she hadn’t wanted to admit. She’d fallen for someone who didn’t see her in the same way. 

And for the first time since she joined the 118, the station didn’t feel like home.

______

Morning sunlight stretched across the firehouse kitchen. The air smelled like the usual mix of coffee and toast, the kind of comfort that only came between emergencies. Chim was bent over a bowl of cereal, drinking the milk that was left over after he ate all the cereal, dramatically while Eddie shook his head in mock disgust. Hen leaned back in her chair, half laughing and half disgusted by the sounds of it. 

Buck sat where he always did, elbow on the table, one leg kicked out, grinning at the chaos. It was ordinary. Familiar. But there was something that was missing. (Y/n) wasn’t beside him.

Her laugh, the one that always found its way into these mornings, was absent, replaced by the steady tap of keys. She sat across the table instead, near Hen, a tablet propped up in front of her. She was scrolling through reports with sharp focus, her hair was in a tight, neat ponytail, her uniform neat and tucked, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal the faint smudge of soot near her wrist.

There was no box of cookies on the counter this time. No mug of coffee quietly placed by his elbow like she did some of the times. Something felt off by the way she was acting.

Buck’s gaze lingered a second too long before he cleared his throat. “Hey,” he started, tone casual. “You were fast out there yesterday. That IV? Cleanest one I’ve seen.” He complimented her.

Hen grinned, her head turning from Buck towards (Y/n). Hen nudged (Y/n)’s arm, “Told you, she’s the sniper of veins.” She smiled.

(Y/n) glanced up briefly, a polite smile ghosting across her face. “He was an easy stick,” she said softly, eyes flicking back to the screen. “Got lucky with the placement.” She said as she was already lost inside the report that was on her tablet.

Buck’s grin faltered just a touch. “Yeah. Sure. Luck.” He mumbled. 

She didn’t look up.

The silence that followed wasn’t loud, but it definitely was noticeable. It stretched thin, like a breath held too long. Eddie looked up from his coffee, sensing it, but then decided to say nothing. Chim just raised his brows at Buck across the table asking him in silence “what did you do?”

Bobby walked in deeper into the loft as steam curled from his mug. “Alright, it has been a slow morning so far. Let’s try to keep it that way.” he said, breaking the silence that no one wanted to break. And with that, the rhythm of the room resumed.

Well… the entire room but except for Buck.

He sat back, arms crossed, trying to tell himself he was imagining it. That maybe she was just tired, or distracted. But he glanced over at (Y/n) as her laughter mixed with Hen’s filled the room. It gnawed at him that it wasn’t his laugh that mixed with hers. He wasn’t sure what he did wrong, or what he was feeling. The only thing he was sure of, was the feeling that (Y/n) was acting differently around him, and he needed answers. 

It’s the day after their day off, a little more than 48 hours after their last shift. The air hummed with easy routine. The sound of, squeaking shoes against the polished floor, the muted sound of Eddie’s music coming from somewhere near the gym and compartments on the trucks opening and closing now and then. 

Buck tried to get his mind off things when he was on his day off, but somehow, his brain kept wandering back, subconsciously. And now he wandered toward the rigs, restless, searching for her.

It’s the beginning of the evening and the back doors of the ambulance were open, and (Y/n) was inside, clipboard balanced against her knee. She’d pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail, a few strands falling forward as she counted supplies. Methodical, focused, her brow furrowed in concentration.

Gauze rolls stacked neatly on one side. Saline bags lined up like soldiers on the shelf. Every movement was crisp and efficient, and maybe a little too careful. Buck leaned his shoulder against the doorframe of the ambulance. “You hiding from Hen,” he teased lightly, “or just really into inventory today?” Buck said, trying to make small talk.

Without looking up, she smiled. But it didn’t feel genuine. It felt practiced, polite. “Someone’s got to make sure you don’t run out of bandages next time you try to wrestle a patient.” she said, her eyes locked onto the clipboard that was still balancing on her lap.

He chuckled, looking down at the floor for a second. “Now okay, that was one time.” he said. 

She made a small sound, it wasn’t a laugh, but it was close. “Hmmm, and who had to tape your wrist after?”

“You did.” He grinned. “And you told me I’d live.” he added.

“See?” she said, finally glancing at him. “I’m always right.”

It should’ve felt like their usual conversations. Easy, quick, familiar. But it didn’t feel that way. Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Buck studied her quietly while she checked another box of equipment. Her fingers moved swiftly, confidently. She looked fine, composed, in control but there was something underneath it. Something tight. Something he had never seen before.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

(Y/n) froze, her pen hovering midair. She looked over at him, the slightest hesitation in her eyes before she smiled again. “I’m fine, Buck. Promise.” she said, her eyes meeting his.

He frowned slightly, arms crossing. “You sure? You’ve been a little quiet lately.” he said. He finally was having a conversation with her, so he decided to take his chance. 

She tilted her head, trying to sound breezy. “Just tired. It’s been a long shift.” (Y/n) answered, not too detailed. But her hands told a different story. How they stilled for half a beat before moving again, how her breath seemed shallower than usual.

Buck hesitated, the words pushing past his uncertainty. “Did I… do something?” he asked then. Her eyes flicked up, startled. “What?”

“I don’t know,” he said with a small shrug. “You’ve been different. Distant, maybe. I just… if I said something or did something, I’d rather know.” he explained.

For a long moment, she just looked at him. And god, the concern in his face. The genuine confusion, it almost broke her. Because he really didn’t know what he did.

She forced a smile, her voice soft but even. “You didn’t do anything, Buck.”

His brow furrowed. “Then why-” but before he could even finish that question, she cut him off gently, her tone lighter than she felt. “I’m just making sure everything’s stocked. Hen gets cranky when we’re missing stuff.”

And with that, she placed her clipboard underneath her arm, jumped lightly from the rig. Making Buck push himself off the part he was leaning on, and stepped back. She closed the back doors with a metallic thud. “Need help?” he offered quickly.

She shook her head, already walking toward the back hall. “No, I’ve got it.” she said over her shoulder, while sending him a small smile after.

He watched her go, the way her ponytail brushed her collar, the clipboard now pressed tightly to her chest like armor.

The silence that followed was heavier than any argument.

Buck stayed where he was, staring at the closed ambulance doors. His throat felt tight, though he couldn’t explain why. He told himself it was nothing, she was just tired, or busy, or focused. That she’d be back to normal soon. But deep down, something twisted uncomfortably in his chest. Because it didn’t feel like nothing.

It felt like losing something he hadn’t realized he needed.

_

It had been two full shifts since the fire, and the friendzoning words “little sister”. Two shifts since things between them had quietly changed, but not in the way people noticed.

(Y/n) still laughed with Hen, still showed up early, still did her job like the professional she was. But the small things, the ones that used to be Buck’s, were gone. No coffee quietly placed at his side. No little check-ins between calls. And when she smiled at him now, it never quite reached her eyes.

Buck told himself it was fine. People got tired. Things shifted. Not everything had to mean something. But when she brushed past him in the hallway and he felt her body tense just slightly, like she’d rather be anywhere else, it felt like a bruise he couldn’t stop pressing.

That night, the station was quiet. Most of the crew had already crashed in the bunks. A half-played deck of cards sat abandoned on the kitchen table. The overhead lights were dimmed to a tired amber glow, and outside, the city murmured against the windows.

Buck sat at the table, staring into a mug of cold coffee, jaw tight. He didn’t even remember pouring it or how long he had been sitting there.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, (Y/n) stepped onto the loft, hoodie half-zipped, her hair loose, shadows beneath her eyes. She stopped when she saw him, blinking like she hadn’t expected to find anyone awake.

He looked over and gave a small, tired smile. “Couldn’t sleep?” he asked. 

“Guess not.” She grabbed a glass and filled it with the tap, her movements quiet and methodical. “Long day.” she added.

He nodded, watching her reflection in the stainless steel cabinet. She looked… guarded. Like someone holding herself together out of habit. He didn’t bother easing into it this time. His voice was calm but certain.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” he said. 

She froze, her hand tightening around the glass. A small pause, a flicker of breath. Then she turned, leaning against the counter. “I’ve been busy.” she said, frowning at his comment.

“That’s not it.” he said while shaking his head, and his eyes locked with hers, once again. 

“Buck…” Her tone carried a warning, tired, but cautious.

“I mean it,” he said, standing from his chair. “You barely talk to me. You walk out of a room the second I walk in. I just know I-” His voice cracked just slightly. “I did something wrong in your eyes, And I..” he was searching for the words but he couldn’t quite put them into his mouth.

Her eyes softened, and for a moment she looked like she wanted to tell him everything. But then she exhaled, the breath shaky, and the mask slipped back into place. “I already told you, you didn’t do anything.” she said.

He frowned. “Then what’s going on?”

She shook her head. “Sometimes things just… change.” she stuttered. 

“Not like this.” He took a step closer. “You’re acting like I… like we-” He stopped, struggling to find the right words again. Her gaze met his, steady but distant. “Maybe we just stopped being on the same page, Buck. That happens.” she said, taking a sip from the glass of water that was still in her hand.

The quiet between them was heavy. He opened his mouth, to argue, to ask, to plead.. “(Y/n) if I-” but before he could speak, the alarm split through the room, sharp and jarring. 

“Station one eighteen, respond to a multi-vehicle collision, Highway 110 Northbound. Possible entrapments.” 

They both flinched instinctively, the moment shattering right in front of his eyes.

Without a word, (Y/n) set her glass down, and moved quickly towards the stairs where she bolted down. (Y/n) was halfway to the bay before Buck could even move. 

He followed her, heart pounding, the adrenaline already rising. Not just from the call, but from the ache that she’d just left him standing there, mid-sentence. Without answers.

As they reached their rigs, she stepped into her turnout gear and got into the ambulance beside Hen. Buck looked across the flashing lights as he stepped into his turnouts, catching her gaze through the windshield.

It was only a second. But there was something in her eyes. Something that said please don’t ask again, and I wish you would anyway.

_

The rain hadn’t stopped since sunset. It hammered against the rigs as they arrived on the scene. Lights painting the soaked asphalt in pulses of red and blue. The world beyond the windshield was chaos: twisted metal, shattered glass, and the distant echo of horns trapped in the storm.

Hen slowed the ambulance to a crawl, her wipers barely keeping up. “God, it’s a parking lot from hell.”  (Y/n) squinted through the streaked glass. “Dispatch said there were at least ten vehicles involved. Multi-impact.” she said. 

Bobby’s voice crackled over the radio, “We’ve got a multi-car pile up across both lanes. I want teams on extraction, medical triage, and containment. Be advices, one tanker truck’s leaking fuel. No sparks, people! Let’s move!” 

The moment they pulled to a stop, the doors flew open and the smell of gasoline hit hard, sharp, metallic, cutting right through the smell of the rain. 

“Hen, (Y/n),” Bobby barked as they jogged up to him, helmets low against the storm. “You two set up triage near the guardrail. Prioritize red tags, assist medics as needed. Chim, you and Vega handle suppression near that tanker. Keep a perimeter in case that thing lights up. Buck, Eddie, you’re on vehicle extractions. SUV on the west end looks like it took the brunt of the impact.” 

And with that, everyone moved. Years of muscle memory clicking into place.

Hen and (Y/n) grabbed their kits, sprinting through puddles toward the guardrail. The triage area was chaos already, bystanders dazed, some screaming, some eerily silent.

“Sir, can you hear me?” (Y/n) crouched beside a man slumped against a twisted bumper, her blue gloved hands already finding his pulse. Weak, but there. “You’re okay, I’ve got you. Hen, I need a pressure bandage!” she called. 

It took one second, she glances at her partner and she tossed one pressure bandage over. “Keep pressure on that leg. We’ll tag him yellow.” Hen added, (Y/n) nodded and did as Hen as a PIC told her to do. “Copy!” 

A call cut over the radio through the rain, it was Bobby again. “LAFD, sound off! Where’s that fire suppression team?”

“On it!” Chimney’s voice sounded over the radio. When (Y/n) looked over the scene while keeping pressure on the man’s leg, she found Chim on the west side, already working a foam line with Vega.

(Y/n) looked up, scanning the wrecks through the downpour. In the distance, she saw Buck and Eddie shoulder-deep in the crumpled remains of an SUV, working the jaws of life. Sparks lit the night for half a second, cutting through the storm as the door screeched free.

But then something else caught her eye.

Just beyond the chaos, faint, and barely visible through the rain, tire tracks, veering away from the pileup. They carved down the embankment toward the guardrail, where a section had been torn open.

Her stomach sank at the sight of it. “Hen,” she called, standing. “I think there’s another vehicle-” (Y/n) said. “Where?” Hen was already following her gaze.

(Y/n) jogged toward the edge, flashlight slicing through the dark. The beam caught on something far below: two faint red lights, flickering beneath the surface of the water.

“Down there,” she breathed. Then louder, into her radio, “Cap, this is (Y/n). I’ve got a submerged vehicle off the embankment, taillights visible. Looks like it’s going under!”

“Copy, (Y/n), hold position. Buck, Eddie-” Bobby’s voice crackled over the radio. But the rest of that sentence she couldn’t hear. Because she was already sliding down the muddy slope, boots skidding, rain blinding.

“(Y/n), wait!” Hen shouted, voice distant against the storm.

The cold hit her the moment she stepped into the water. It was shockingly deep, waist-high and rising fast with the current. Her flashlight beam trembled across the car as it sank nose-first.

“Sir! Sir, can you hear me?” she yelled. Inside, a man was pounding against the window, his face pale and wild. “I’m coming, just hold on!” she yelled, trying to make herself audible for the victim that was trapped inside.

She moved forward, and grabbed the door handle. But it wouldn’t open. She took a breath, ducked under, and yanked again, the pressure finally giving way as the door popped open with a violent rush of bubbles.

She surfaced, gasping. “Okay, door’s open! I’ve got you!” she said. But the man didn’t listen. He clawed for her, pure instinct taking over his thoughts and movements. His hands gripped her turnout jacket, dragging her toward him.

“Stop! Stop! You’re pulling us both under!” she shouted, trying to brace herself. But it didn’t do anything. He panicked harder, shoving against her shoulder in blind desperation to keep his head above water. Her footing slipped, the current tearing at her legs. 

The world disappeared in an instant. The cold hit like a fist. Her breath ripped out of her lungs before she could stop it, replaced by choking, metallic-tasting water.

The current pulled her sideways, tugging at her gear, dragging her deeper. She tried to push up but her foot caught on something. Her chest screamed. Her brain screamed. 

Her arms moved sluggishly, like she was underwater in a dream she couldn’t wake from. She felt the panic rising, sharp and bright, the kind that burns through every rational thought.

She clawed at the water, desperate for light, air, anything. Her lungs seized again, and the world narrowed to nothing but pressure and pounding.

Then came the quiet. A slow, creeping calm.

Her body stilled. Her eyes drifted toward the faint shimmer above her, growing smaller by the second.

Buck was elbow-deep in metal when he heard her voice through the static of his radio “I’ve got a submerged vehicle… I’m going in.”

His head snapped up, mid movement. “What?” he murmured under his breath. “Buck, door’s almost-” Eddie started, but Buck was already running towards the guardrail (Y/n) was just seconds ago. “Cap! She’s in the water!” Buck yelled. 

Bobby turned sharply, scanning the darkness. “(Y/n)! Report!” he called over the radio, but the only thing he got back was static. Nothing.

“Eddie, you’re with Buck! Hen, prep the med rig! Chim, hold that perimeter!”

Buck jumped over the guardrail, boots sliding down the slick slope. His flashlight beam skimmed across the black water. His chest went tight. “Oh, God-”

“Hey!” Buck yelled at the driver, who was half-crawling out of the shallows, coughing up water. “Where is she?!” The man looked dazed, shaking his head, eyes wide with panic.

Buck grabbed him by the soaked collar, voice breaking. “The woman who pulled you out, where is she?!” his voice filled with panic, fear and anger.

The man choked out a sob. “I-I don’t- she was there- and then- she went under-” the victim choked. Buck shoved him back toward the slope, fury and fear colliding in his chest. “Get up there! Hen’ll take care of you!” 

He turned back to the water, scanning desperately. Nothing but rain and ripples. “(Y/n)!” His voice tore through the storm.

Nothing.

His light swept across the surface again, and then caught something. A flash of reflective tape, drifting under the current. “Jesus- no-” he choked out. 

He dove in without hesitation. The cold was brutal, slicing through his gear, but he kicked hard, pushing deeper until he reached her. Buck’s lungs burned as he kicked downward, reaching blindly through the dark until his hand found fabric, the thick sleeve of a turnout jacket. He got her.

He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling hard. They broke the surface with a gasp, Buck dragging in lungfuls of air between words.

“I’ve got you,” he gasped, breath ragged. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you—come on, stay with me.”

Her head lolled against his shoulder, lips pale, lashes clumped with water. He swam hard for the bank, every stroke feeling slower, the weight of her gear dragging both of them down.

“Eddie!” he yelled hoarsely, voice cracking over the storm.

Eddie was already moving, sprinting down the embankment as Buck half-carried, half-pulled her through the shallows. Together, they got her onto solid ground.

“(Y/n)! Hey come on!” Buck’s hands were shaking as he turned her onto her back. Her skin was cold as ice, lips tinged blue. “She’s not breathing-” Buck choked out, his teeth almost clattering because of the cold.

Buck knelt opposite him, fumbling at the buckles of her turnout jacket. Buck’s hands were clumsy, slick with river water, but he forced the latches open, pulling the heavy coat apart to give her chest room to rise. “Come on, (Y/n), don’t do this to me…” he muttered.

“I’ve got it!” Eddie dropped to his knees beside her, immediately starting compressions. “One, two, three—come on, come on—” Eddie mumbled as he pressed down.

“Hen!” Eddie shouted over his shoulder as she came sliding down the hill. “Airway bag, now!” he ordered as he kept pushing her chest.

Hen dropped beside them, already fitting the mask, counting under her breath as she squeezed the bag valve in rhythm with Eddie’s compressions.

Buck’s world had shrunk to the sound of her name in his head, over and over. Breathe. Please. Just breathe.

Then a cough.

A wet, choking sound that cracked the night. Water spilled from her mouth as she convulsed, dragging in a desperate gasp of air.

Buck’s breath hitched half relief, half disbelief. “That’s it. That’s it, sweetheart, I’ve got you.” he said. Not noticing he actually called her that. 

Eddie leaned back, panting, letting Hen take over as she fitted the oxygen mask to (Y/n)’s face. “She’s back.” he panted.

“She’s hypothermic,” Hen said sharply, checking her pulse. “We need her wrapped and moving now.”

Buck nodded, still hovering protectively over her, brushing soaked hair from her face with trembling fingers. (Y/n) moved her hand towards the oxygen mask, but before she could push it off, Buck gripped her hand. “D-d-d-river?” she mumbled through her chattering teeth. 

Buck managed a small gentle smile, of course she was thinking about that asshole after she almost died. “The driver’s okay,” he whispered to her, voice rough. “You did good. You did so damn good.” he said, pressing her hand, he was still holding, to his chest. 

Her eyes barely opened, glassy and unfocused. “Cold…” she whispered. “I know,” Buck said softly, throat tight. “We’re getting you warm.”

They managed to bring her back to the guardrail and moved her onto the gurney, securing her under thermal blankets. When they eased her into the rig, Buck hesitated for a moment. His gaze met Bobby’s, who gave him a small nod, telling him to get in the rig with her. 

Buck climbed into the rig without a second thought, dripping wet, hand still gripping hers as the ambulance doors slammed shut.

______

The city below stretched like a river of gold and silver, streets gleaming under the fading sunlight. (Y/n) sat near the edge of the firehouse roof, wrapped in a hoodie, a steaming cup of tea cupped between her hands. The warmth seeped slowly into her fingers, grounding her, but it didn’t calm the flutter in her chest.

It has been a week since the water incident, and this is her first shift back on the job. They had just gotten back from a call, and somehow, the sounds inside of the firehouse were too loud for her, so she came up here.

(Y/n) could hear the door towards the roof opening and closing, footsteps softly approaching her, but she didn’t turn, even though she knew by the sound of his breathing and the footsteps, that it was Buck. 

“Mind if I join you?” Buck’s voice asked, (Y/n) glanced over her shoulder Buck stopped a few feet away, hands in his pockets, his gaze fixed on her. (Y/n)’s eyes wandered back to the view of the city. “It’s yours” she said lightly, as she gestured to the empty space beside her. 

He took place beside her, and for a moment neither spoke. The distant hum of the city and the wind tugging at their jackets filled the silence. Finally, Buck exhaled. “I’ve been thinking… about the call. About you.” Buck said, breaking the silence.

(Y/n) met his gaze. “The water?” she asked, just to be sure they were on the same page. “Yeah,” he said, voice low. “Seeing you in the water… I don’t know. I thought I’d lost you. And I realized… I can’t just treat you like anyone else.” 

(Y/n)’s gaze drifted away, and she set her cup down next to her. She shifted slightly, gathering courage. “Buck…” she said quietly. “there’s something I need to tell you.” she continued. 

She closed her eyes for a moment, not making any eye contact, but gathering the courage to come clean. “I heard you… and Eddie. Back at the station.” she said. 

Buck stiffened slightly, his eyebrows frowning at her confession.  “Um… what do you mean?” he asked, not sure what she was talking about.

“In the locker room, you were talking to Eddie… about me” She cleared her throat softly, and scratched the back of her neck, a nervous habit. “You told him you see me as a little sister, someone to protect…”

He looked down at his hands, running a thumb along the back of one. “(Y/n) I’m so sorry… that’s-” He stopped. “It’s not what I meant..” he stuttered. 

“I know,” she interrupted gently, a small, rueful smile tugging at her lips. “And I get it now. But… I wish we could start over.”

He blinked, looking at her. “Start over?”

She nodded, shrugging slightly. “I did some dumb shit too. I avoided you, overthought everything… I don’t want to do that anymore.”

Buck’s chest rose and fell as if he’d been holding his breath for weeks. “You really mean that?”

“I do,” she said quietly.

For a long moment, they just stared at each other. Then, almost without thinking, she leaned in. They hugged tight, full of relief, fear, gratitude, and the unspoken weight of everything between them. Her head rested lightly on his shoulder; his arms wrapped around her automatically.

When they pulled back, their eyes met again. Too close. Too intense. They both could feel it, the brush of lips, the lingering closeness. The air around them seemed to thrum with possibility.

And then the door to the staircase that led to the rooftop got pushed open, a loud thud sounding. “Oh hey sweethearts, dinner is served!” Hen informed the two, eyebrows furrowing at the sight of the two.

Both jumped slightly, breaking the tension and immediately creating more space in between the two of them. “We’re coming Hen, just give us a second.” Buck answered, Hen smirked and nodded. “Hmm” she mumbled and took off again.

They laughed nervously as she left, hearts still racing. Buck exhaled, “I’m Buck,” he said, grinning softly, trying to anchor the moment in something safe.

She laughed, shaking her head at his “joke,” but took his hand anyway. “(Y/n),” she said, letting the words land. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, (Y/n)”

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

She moved to the side and allowed Buck to come in. She closed the door and immediately after he pressed his lips against hers.

“How’s the light duty going for you?” He questioned, rubbing his hand against her bump.

“Boring. I haven’t been able to do anything. Half the time I am trying to stay up or clean up that, I don’t know if I’m doing my job correctly. I miss the adrenaline of it all.” Buck started to chuckle.

It was strange that they hadn’t moved in with each other yet, but were expecting a child together. (Y/N) liked the freedom and she technically couldn’t. She was waiting for the divorce to finalize from her abusive ex and had not fully told Buck the truth about why she came to California in the first place.

One of the biggest reasons she left her home town was because of him. She couldn’t fathom being trapped in that space anymore, so she felt and sent divorce papers. Admittedly, she was young when she got married. Naive to all the red flags until it started to escalate. Either she escape or be trapped in a relationship. She thought this time would be only about her and her healing, but once she joined the 118 she couldn’t stop thinking about Buck.

…..

“I really had a great time with you tonight.” (Y/N) shyly said to Buck. All he did was smile. “But.” She started to trail off.

“But what?” Buck hesitantly said. He began to get a little uneasy by the silence between the two.

“I’m in the process of getting a divorce. I’m not sure you want to deal with that.”

“Oh” Buck said, placing one foot in front of the other to continue their walk. “Why are you getting a divorce.”

“It wasn’t a good relationship for me. He wasn’t always kind to say the least.” She took a pause. Debating on what to say next. Buck could see her hesitation.

“You don’t have to tell me if you aren’t ready. I’m willing to explore this if you are. But only if you are ready.” (Y/N) pressed her lips against his to solidify that she wanted to be with him.

Months moved along quickly and with ease when she was with him. She had never been happier until she found out she was pregnant. Both of them had wanted children and felt like this was the perfect opportunity. Everything was falling into place.

……

Everyone was waiting around the station for another bell to ring. All day was a constant race of when where they going to be able to sit down and rest. Due to the fact that (Y/N) was increasingly becoming more pregnant, Bobby decided it was best for her to be on non-hazardous assignments. Her job was to stay outside and help those who were injured.

The bell rang and they all rushed out but (Y/N). Considering how much up and down she had gone through today alone her body wasn’t able to take it. Buck ran back to her at the lockers. He knew she always went there to escape.

“I have to sit this one out Buck. I can’t do it.” He shook his head in agreement.

“If you need anything you call me. If you can’t reach me-“

“Call 911. I know the drill Buck.” He kissed her forehead quickly and ran back to the truck. (Y/N) sat there watching them leave.

It sucked not being able to help people. She enjoyed the rush of saving lives. She knew what how much it could mean to someone. When there is no hope, then someone comes along to be there in times of need. It was rewarding.

Two hours had passed and (Y/N) was cleaning around the station to kill time. They had gotten another call while they were out and weren’t coming back anytime soon. She went back over to her locker to check her phone. One text from Buck.

“Long time no see (Y/N).” She heard a familiar voice behind her. She knew immediately who it was. She responded back to Buck quickly.

“Tell Maddie to stay on the line for my call. Can’t talk.” She hurriedly pressed send and dialed 911. She put her phone back in the locker but didn’t close it. She could hear Maddie’s voice saying hello quietly. Several pings rang off.

“What are you doing here?” She said with panic in her voice. (Y/N) was trapped in the locker area with no place to go. She put her hand against her stomach feeling the babies kicking increase. She was stressed and it was stressing the baby out even more.

“I came here for you, but apparently you’ve moved on.” He grabbed her wrist and yanked her closer only to shove her down to the ground. She managed to catch herself but the way she landed put too much pressure on her wrist. She felt a pain shoot up her hand and yelled out in pain.

“Dispatch to 118. We have a firefighter in distress at the station.” Maddie said over the line. Everyone looked over to Buck. He froze. For a split second he felt like he was having an out of body experience. “Sounds like an altercation. It’s hard to tell.” Maddie continued.

Buck started to panic. What kind of altercation? (Y/N) was pregnant and wasn’t a threat to anyone. Thoughts swirled around in his mind causing the car ride to fell like an eternity.

When they made it to the station, Buck darted out of the truck before it was even at a halt. He ran looking in every direction until he spotted her on the locker floor. Beaten.

He rushed to her side. Small poodles of blood were everywhere. Luckily she was still breathing, faintly. He noticed something off. The color of her pants looked darker than usual. He touched between her thighs and saw the blood on his finger tips. He yelled out for Hen.

She rushed over. Surprised by what she was seeing.

“She bleeding.” Buck used his eyes to pint in the direction of her pants. Hen lifted (Y/N)s head some to keep her awake. She slowly pulled off her work pants and saw the baby crowning. Fear washed over her. “What is it?” Buck panicked as he watched her.

“She needs to push.” Hen blankly stated. “Chim I need you to have the ambulance ready!” She yelled.

“She can’t push. Look at her. She’s barely awake.”

“If she doesn’t, you could lose both of them.” Buck nodded in agreement. Patting (Y/N)s face to wake her some more.

“Baby. I need you to push?” (Y/N) nodded her head. She was so out of it that she naturally let her body take over. She heard Hen encouraging her on. Buck stayed behind her as her anchor. She could feel her body starting to give up with each push.

“One more (Y/N).” Hen commanded. With one more push she let out a scream. She heard a faint cry. Her legs crumbled onto the floor. The bleeding had not stopped. Hen held the baby to her chest. Buck looked down and saw more blood than usual. He pressed his two fingers against her neck to check her pulse. Barely there. He layed her on her back to get a better assessment.

He glanced down and she already looked dead. He froze. Everything moved slowly. Eddie and Chimney got (Y/N) on the gurney. Hen was taking the baby along. Bobby was trying to get him to snap out of it. Blood covered his uniform.

“Buck.” Bobby kept repeating. Buck went numb from it all.