My World

SET AFTER:

Rockstar - Brendon Park meets his match against PTMC’s fiery new attending.

Pussy Wagon - A spilled drink leads you to see a different side of your nemesis Park The Shark.

The First Time (NSFW) - Fireworks aren’t the only explosive thing happening at Jesse’s Fourth of July party.

A Loaded Gun (NSFW) - Hate sex has never been so fucking hot…

This Is Not A Love Story - Brandon tries to set a rule after a ‘sticky’ situation.

The Game - Brendon finds himself breaking his own rules when it comes to you.

Tell. Me. To. Stop (NSFW) - Jealousy is not an emotion Brendon Park is accustomed to.

Pittfest -Brendon comforts you when you fall apart after the events of Pittfest.

Is He Prettier Than Me? - Brandon gets curious when he learns you have other plans.

Confetti (NSFW) - Brendon Park doesn't do night clubs...

The Drawer - Brendon realises your relationship may be shifting when he discovers he has a drawer at your place.

Scrunchies - Scrunchies… they’re the downfall of Brendon Park.

Love Games (NSFW) - Brendon and you love to play games, especially with each other.

An Exquisite Form of Torture (NSFW) - Brendon continues to turn up the heat as he holds you captive.

Authentic - You and Jesse discuss your situationship with Brendon after you see him with another woman.

THAT Guy - Brendon is forced to face up to his feelings for you when he finds out your meeting up with an ex.

Seven Days - Seven days is far too long to go without you…

Save It - A thirty six hour shift leads to another admission about your relationship with Brendon.

Doctor Dick - Brendon’s day takes a turn when Whitaker gives him some critical information.

A Manipulative Fuck - You and Brendon discuss what happened with your ex.

The Call (NSFW) - Brendon decides to put a stop to David’s calls once and for all.

The One That Hates The Ravens - David’s attempt at revenge backfires spectacularly.

The Lovin Spoonful - You wake up to an unexpected surprise.

Delete, Block, Rinse, Repeat - A series of cryptic messages force Brendon to confront a secret he’s been keeping for almost a decade.

His Father’s Son - Brendon reflects on the past as he debates taking that first sip of whiskey.

The Cost of Dignity - Brendon’s greatest secret comes with a cost.

A Kiss For Luck - Brendon struggles to navigate working at the hospital after the release of THAT video.

The Craziest Fucking Thing - You take matters into your own hands after receiving bad news from Brendon.

Ride Or Die - You wake up to the sound of an angry blender after Brendon discovers what happened with Rowena.

Baby Shark - Once a year Brendon always ends up back at the aquarium.

Diamonds (NSFW) - A bet leads to naughty shenanigans in a five star restaurant.

The Call Out - Brendon’s focus on wedding planning is disrupted when he’s called out to the scene of a multi-car pile up.

Good Hands - Abbot reminds Brendon you’re in good hands as they proceed with the amputation.

Flayed - Brendon’s world crashes down as he learns the truth about the accident.

Ten Things I Love About You - Brendon discovers a pink envelope in the pocket of the jacket you were wearing at the time of the accident.

The Parent Trap - Brendon faces your parents, leading to a surprise revelation.

Sledgehammer - Brendon struggles to cope in the aftermath of everything that’s happened.

Et Tu Marianne? - Your mother throws Brendon under the bus after you wake up from surgery.

Roses - Brendon is forced to deal with a vindictive POS when a dozen red roses are delivered to your door.

The Fucking Patient - Abbot has some harsh words for Brendon regarding your care.

Chemistry - You and Brendon finally have a moment alone to talk.

A Serial Absconder - Your habit of disappearing leads to a healing journey Brendon doesn’t expect.

The Best the Ravens Have Ever Looked (NSFW) - Brendon has a real problem with your shorts.

Home - Brendon introduces you to your new home after the accident.

The Change Up - When you struggle to reacclimate at home Brendon realises you need a change up.

The Body Pillow - Brendon and you settle in for your first night at the new house.

Rae Days - You're forced to navigate your new limitations when Brendon returns to work full time.

The Liberator - Brandon asks Abbot's for advice with a very particular problem.

Grounded - Brendon gets a surprise when his brother turns up on his doorstep unexpectedly.

Watermelon Sugar (NSFW) - Brendon uses your favourite song against you when the sex cushion comes out to play.

Suck (NSFW) - Brendon's dommy side finally comes out to play for the first time since the accident.

You’re not supposed to use the new leg for this…

That’s what Brendon wants to tell you, the problem is its pretty fucking hard when you’re leaning over the kitchen table dressed in a sheer black body suit with dozens of stars woven into it. The translucent material frames that perfect peach of an ass, making his dick pulse as he watches you rock your hips against the table, testing your new leg’s manoeuvrability.

The doctor in him wants to tell you to give it a rest, to stick to your treatment plan. You’re only supposed to spend between 30-60 minutes on the damn thing during the first day and you’ve already over done that by running out and buying the lingerie you’re currently clad in.  

The man in him though, he wants to ravage you, to bend you over that table and fuck you until you’re coming all over his cock, until you’re filled to the brim with his cum. His dick throbs in the confines of his jeans, straining against the zipper as he tilts his head, getting a glimpse of the most perfect pussy, hiding between your thighs. You glance at him over your shoulder, that wicked look in your eyes, the one that sets his blood on fire as you arch your back like a cat.

“You’re not going to help me test it out?” You pout.

The way your back curves presents your ass to him once again. He wants to bite it, leave his teeth marks in the flesh, to spank it until it’s red raw and you’re begging for him to fuck that needy little cunt of yours.

“I’m trying to be a really good boy here.” His arm wraps around your waist, his lips running up the side of your throat until his breath ghosts in your ear. “But you are making it incredibly difficult.”

“I don’t want the good boy.” You lean back against him, your back slotting perfectly against his chest as he breathes in the scent of your shampoo. Your ass is nestled in the cradle of his pelvis, his cock resting between your ass cheeks through the denim. “I want the man that makes me scream.”

He laughs into your ear. It’s a rough sound, one that reverberates through your entire body as his foot slides between your legs, his boot kicking the good one aside, spreading you wider. The prosthesis takes the weight as you place your palms on the table to steady your balance.

“You’re such a bad girl Rae.” He whispers as his fingertips trail along the elastic that clings to your ass, twanging it. The snap vibrates through the room, your pussy soaking the sheer as the light sting ignites your nerve endings. “And bad girls get spanked.”

The first hit, shunts your hips against the table. Heat blossoms through your body as your back bows, a moan tearing from your throat. Brendon’s fingers tangle in your hair, wrapping it around his fist. Your scalp prickles with electricity, the lightning shooting down your spine as he pulls it, keeping your head tilted up towards the ceiling.

He strikes again, harder this time. The groan that leaves your mouth is feral, your pussy dripping with need as his hand delves between your thighs, fingers stroking over you. “Love that you got dressed up for me, makes me feel like the luckiest man in the damn world knowing I get to have you.”

His belt clunks and you think about asking for the kiss of leather across your ass, but it’s been too long since you’ve had him, since you’ve felt the hot press of his cock inside you, his deep thrusts and powerful strokes.

Next time, you promise yourself. Next time you’ll ask him to use the belt before he worships your pussy.

“Oh God, I need you.” He mutters as his zipper slides down, the teeth parting to make way for his desperate dick. The denim scratches at your thighs as he shoves his jeans down past his hips, his underwear going along with them. His shirt disappears, tossed God knows where in his urgency. “I’ve been trying to hold back baby, but I just don’t think I can anymore.”

His fingertips tease along the sheer that covers your ass, all the way to those discreet little buttons between your ass and pussy. He unfastens them one by one, freeing the damp fabric and baring you to him.

“Tell me you need me, Rae.” He whispers, notching his cock at your entrance. Your wetness smears over the tip as he rocks slowly, barely exerting enough pressure for you to part around him. “Tell me that you need me, just as much as I need you.”

“You know I do.” Your head tips back into his shoulder, as his mouth finds that deviant little spot underneath the hinge of your jaw, his teeth marking you. “I’ve been waiting for this for so long Brendon.”

He eases into you slowly, inch by inch, giving you time to adjust after months of emptiness. He curses his relief into your hair before he pulls out, his face tilting down to watch where the two of you join as he surges back in.

“God, Rae.” He whispers, his palms framing yours on the kitchen table as he buries himself all the way to the hilt. He says there, his cock nestled against that sweet spot, savouring that moment of connection. “Noone else can ruin me like this.”

He keeps a slow, frantic pace, a targeted attack on that bundle of nerves igniting your body like the fireworks at that Fourth of July party where this all started. His hand slips down your stomach, delving between your thighs, seeking out your clit.  

He starts to draw circles, deviant little patterns that send sparks shooting through your synapses that build into stars. He keeps his thrusts steady, each one striking its target, adding kindling to those burning bundles of white-hot heat. They grow, and they grow until you’re at the precipice of pleasure, until your breath is hitched, each one punctuated with an overwhelmed whine as Brendon keeps you pinned against that table, his own body trembling, his teeth gritting as he tries to stave off his own pleasure.

You start to quiver, your entire body on fire as the ecstasy hits you in a rush, combusting under your skin with the power of a thousand suns. It’s glorious, it’s overwhelming, it’s everything you need and more as Brendon chases you over that edge, his own release spurting inside you as he climaxes with you, fucking his spent as deep as he can.

“Oh god, that felt so good...” You mutter, your head tipping forward, your hair spilling over your features. “I’ve really missed-oh shit!”

Your knee buckles, the prosthesis slipping out from under you. You almost faceplant the table but as always Brendon’s there to catch you, to keep you supported as he nudges the foot back underneath you, giving you back that pillar.

“I think we pushed it a little too far.” He says, gently turning you to face him. He pulls up his underwear and jeans, leaving them unfastened before lifting you onto the table.  “Let’s get you off you leg and I can assess the damage.”

He kneels before you, his hand smoothing over the plastic before he removes the leg with a practised ease. The relief is palpable. You didn’t realise just how much until he pops it off your stump. He’s careful when he strips off the liner, but you still wince as he gets to the bottom of the limb, his fingertips tracing over the flesh that’s been rubbed raw.

“I didn’t realise how much it hurt until now.” You say, leaning back on your palms as he rises to his feet and picks up a clean dishtowel before soaking it with warm water.

“It’s the sex endorphins.” He returns to the table and begins to clean the chaffed skin. “We were too busy enjoying ourselves to notice. You got your antibacterial cream up there?”

You reach for your prescription bag, sifting through items until you find it. He dabs it across his fingers, rubbing it in gently across the soreness on residual limb.

“Is this weird?” You ask him, fiddling with the engagement ring on your finger. “You doing this after dicking me down? Tonight was supposed to be perfect…”

He tilts his head up to meet your gaze, the crease appearing between his dark brows as he studies you. You don’t make eye contact, you just focus on that ring, on twirling it around your finger, pulling at it until it’s half on, half off.

Abbot’s words come back to haunt him.

Rae… she’s going to tell you she’s fine about the way her body has changed, and she probably will be, but it takes a minute to come to terms with it especially when it comes to sex. Things you thought worked don’t and sometimes it can be demoralising because you realise things can’t go back to the way they were.

That’s what’s happening now, because despite the fact everything being the same between you, the physicality is different.

To Brendon that’s part of the fun, you get to learn things together.

To you…maybe it hits a little differently.

“This is just another part of aftercare.” He says, pushing to his feet. His hands come to rest on either side of your thighs, caging you in so that the two of you are as close as you can be. “Tonight was perfect. I got to have outrageous sex with the woman I love for the first time…” His fingers pull lightly at the sheer of the body suit, reminding you of its presence. “She wore this filthy little thing for me. I couldn’t have asked for a better night.”

“Are you sure this is what you want?” You say, the ring still hovering over your knuckle. “Because I would understand-”

“There’s nothing to understand.” His fingers cover yours, sliding that ring back down to the place where it belongs. “You’re what I want. You always have been, you always will be.”

Like My Work? - Tip your friendly fan fic writer here! Or be a sweetheart and drop me comment or reblog.

Confusion dwelled in his eyes when (Y/n) finally came into view, dumping her bag on the counter next to Jack's work backpack and his flask ready for a cup of tea he would make before he left.

"You're home early." He observed with caution in his voice, but his frown deepened when he watched (Y/n) walk towards him. She was slightly stooped forward like there was something wrong, like she physically couldn't or wouldn't straighten up.

"I threw up," (Y/n) couldn't help but grimace as she spoke. "Robby kind of ordered me home."

It hadn't been part of the plan to come home this early, but she hadn't exactly been given a choice in the matter.

Once Robby realised she had thrown up in the bin- unable to make it to the toilets in time- she had been politely told to go home early and rest. And (Y/n) was grateful, she wasn't sure she could have made the last forty minutes without being sick again, and all she wanted to do was clamber into bed and wake up feeling better, refreshed, normal. Especially if their shift ran over, (Y/n) wouldn't have survived any longer at work when she felt like this.

Her response earned a flare of panic within Jack and he set his fork down, his dinner almost finished anyway, and pushed up from the kitchen table. He was in front of (Y/n) before she even blinked, dressed in cargo pants and a plain black shirt because he'd only change into scrubs anyway once he got to work.

As soon as he was close enough, Jack's hands were cupping her neck, tilting her head up in his direction as he tried to assess her.

The back of his hand against her temple told him she was flushed and there was a light sheen of perspiration on her skin. Her pulse was slightly elevated when his fingers pressed over her pulse point. Pupils were constricted and she was leaning forwards slightly like she thought she might just be sick again.

"Do you need me to stay home? I can-"

"No, I- I just wanna go to bed. Robby will need you to take over anyway."

(Y/n) didn't want to drag Jack away from work, she didn't want to be the reason he called in at the last minute. He was the night shift attending, he was needed for that twelve hour shift that would probably extend into a fourteen or fifteen hour shift.

He wasn't going to stay home on her account. She would just need a shower and a long sleep, then she would feel better. By the time he came home in the morning she would be a lot better.

Her hands reached up to cup Jack's wrists, clinging to him and melting into his touch as both hands cradled her face like she was the most precious thing in the world. The way he looked at her made that heavy feeling in her stomach disappear and replaced it with a warm tingling dose of adrenaline.

He looked dubious, like he didn't really believe her and he didn't want to go when she didn't feel well. But it was a night shift, (Y/n) would hopefully sleep this sickness bug off and Jack would be of more use at work than here watching her sleep.

"As long as you text me if you feel any worse or need me." When she nodded, Jack hummed and slowly loosened his grip on her. "I'll get you some painkillers."

That sounded like a good idea. (Y/n)'s stomach was tying itself in knots. She wanted to get under hot running water and collapse into bed and sleep until Jack came home from work so it felt like he had never really left.

Sleep always helped.

Another sob wracked from (Y/n)'s lips when the call just kept ringing and ringing with no answer in sight. Just those three little chirps that indicated her call wasn't going to be answered.

He wasn't picking up.

The memory of this evening washed over her mind as tears stained her face like acid burning into her skin. Tremors coursed through her burning skin until she gave in and let herself shake back and forth like she was suffering a seizure.

Jack wasn't answering and deep down (Y/n) knew this would happen, she knew it was a possibility. Her husband was a doctor, he was a busy man with a high, demanding job and he couldn't always answer the phone or send her a text, and that was fine.

But (Y/n) was worse. She was so much worse than she had been when she came home just before Jack was due to leave for shift. She had felt groggy after a shower and he left once she had crawled into bed and he thought she was going to sleep it off.

For the last four hours (Y/n) had been trying to sleep, trying to ignore the pains that were getting worse, the sickness that made her head spin and her throat tighten and the knots in her stomach to twist even further in on themselves. She had taken the maximum amount of pain relief she could have, she had laid with a hot water bottle on her stomach, curled up and sobbed, held her breath, bit her hand to try and take her mind of the pain in the rest of her body.

Nothing worked and (Y/n) was becoming desperate. Something wasn't right and she needed help, but her husband wasn't answering the phone and (Y/n) hated to have to talk to anyone else when she wasn't well. The good fortune of marrying a doctor meant that if she wasn't well he could look after her or speak on her behalf about the care or treatment she needed. And he wasn't here.

(Y/n) was a capable and sympathetic nurse, she was compassionate with the patients and able to speak on their behalf when needed. But where her own health was concerned, she wasn't so good. She didn't like being ill, being at the mercy of other people to care for her and help her, which was why she preferred Jack to be around.

A sob wracked past (Y/n)'s lips before she pushed forward and smothered her face into the pillow, contorting her shape until her chest was moulded over her thighs and her stomach was as compact as it could be.

Her fingers crashed over the screen of her phone, despite her eyes being screwed shut tight and her face being covered by the pillow she was at the point of chewing through in her dire frustration and agony. She whacked the screen until she heard the click and the dial tone ended. She had hung up. That was the third time in the last ten minutes she had tried calling Jack, but she couldn't get through.

Clearly he was having a busy night, but (Y/n) needed help somehow because she couldn't endure the rest of the night feeling like this, waiting for Jack to answer the phone or come home in the early morning.

She knew when something wasn't right with herself, and she knew that she needed someone's help. Now.

Her cheek felt glued to the pillow as she turned her head just enough so that she could see her phone screen and click onto the dial pad.

(Y/n) had never called an ambulance for herself before.

But she knew she wasn't overreacting, something was desperately wrong and she needed a doctor. Her insides felt like they were twisting in knots, maybe it was her intestine that had twisted on itself and cut off the blood supply. Perhaps she'd suffered some kind of rupture or haemorrhage. Maybe an organ had burst. That was how much excruciating pain she was in, and it was all in her stomach and abdomen.

"911, what services do you require?"

The voice on the other end of the line was soothing, calm, composed, everything (Y/n) knew she currently was not. She sucked in a deep breath through clenched teeth, sure that she could taste blood in her mouth as she tried to form the words to speak.

"Ambulance… please I- I don't know what to do. The pain, it- it's crippling me." She hated how she ended up sobbing down the line, her last words barely audible for how she mewled them.

She couldn't even answer when the dispatcher read out her location and asked if that was the correct address, all she could do was make a noise that sounded like a hum of agreement.

"I know it's hard, but can you describe the pain you're feeling, and where it is?"

"In my abdomen it's tw… it's twisting, sharp. And it's getting worse, it's c- coming in waves." (Y/n) wasn't sure if that made sense, but it was the only way she could describe the kind of pain she felt that seemed to lessen and then hit her full force. Then dissipate, then come back again and somehow keep getting worse.

It was why she wondered if she was bleeding out or had her intestine sectioned off because the longer she waited, the worse it was becoming. That suggested this could be something drastic, and that frightened her more than words could express.

Now she knew how the patients felt when they asked them to describe their symptoms and pains. (Y/n) could analyse and diagnose patients, but it was so much easier with a patient than trying to work out her own feelings. She couldn't decipher these feelings within her enough to articulate them to the dispatcher on the line.

"An ambulance is coming to your location, it will be about four minutes and I'll stay on the line with you."

A broken mewling of "I just want my husband," whispered past (Y/n)'s lips with a broken cry, though she was speaking more to herself than to the dispatcher.

The worst mistake of her life had been telling Jack that she would be fine if he went to work. If she'd of known that this pain would get worse, if she had that sense of hindsight then (Y/n) would of told him to stay, agreed with him and said she needed him.

Because she did, she needed Jack right now, and he wasn't here.

Why didn't she tell him to stay home with her?

***

God, was he ready to go home.

He didn't even want to check the clock and see how much overtime he had put in today, not when it wasn't quite over yet.

Robby ran his hands up and down his face, scratching at his burning eyes and ruffling his spiked hair that had been soaked through with sweat for most of the day. His body was running on last reserves and if he didn't get home to sleep soon then he was going to collapse in the toilets at this rate.

The day shift had bled into the night shift, both groups welding together to look after the flurry of patients that kept coming and coming after a coach tour bus had crashed on the motorway and caused a flood wave of patients to come through the Pittsburgh ER doors.

He wondered if he could sneak five minutes to go get an energy drink from the kitchen fridge, or maybe he could finally get a sandwich since he hadn't eaten in six hours and he was now starving beyond recognition.

The piercing sound of a woman's sharp scream flooded the air and felt like wall nails scratching down Robby's spine, tingling right down to his toes. He almost didn't want to turn, but his body twisted in the direction of the ER doors, ears tuned in to the sound of someone in agony who needed help, and he knew he was the closest person available when the rest of his staff were busy with other patients.

Oh, how he wished he hadn't looked.

The last remnants of colour Robby had, faded from his skin the moment his eyes locked on the gurney being rushed through the doors and he saw the writhing frame curled up on top.

His hand reached out to his right and grabbed onto Shen's arm when the doctor almost managed to sneak past Robby with at least three patient charts in his arms. He didn't want another job, another workload, but Robby had grabbed him and he couldn't escape in time.

"Go get Abbot, now."

The way Robby nudged him and roughly let go of his arm told Shen that this was something important, a dire situation that he didn't yet understand. The files in his arms shuddered as he stumbled back a step but nodded all the same and hurried to do as he had been asked. Though he wasn't quite sure whereabouts the night shift attending was, Shen was sure he would find him somewhere, and fast.

A renewed sense of energy flowed through Robby as he turned and jogged towards the gurney being wheeled into the ER. Now he was rather relieved he hadn't gone home yet. If (Y/n) was back here as a patient and not a helping hand then Jack was going to lose his mind, he would want to treat her even though he wasn't allowed; they would need all the help they could get.

"(Y/n)? Hey, what's going on, I thought I sent you home?" He sounded calm, almost too calm, as he snagged a pair of gloves from his back pocket and wrangled them over his hands.

He began walking backwards to be in line with the gurney and he was a little surprised when (Y/n) reached out for his hand as soon as he was close by.

She was writhing back and forth on the gurney that was close to toppling over with how much she was moving. It looked as if she couldn't bear to sit still, as if whatever ailment she was suffering was causing her so much grief that moving about was the only way to take her mind off it.

She hadn't been this bad when Robby told her to call it a night and head home. He knew if he hadn't seen her throw up in one of the bins in the hall, that she would have tried to keep going to the end of her shift. Maybe if she had, they would have seen how bad she was suffering and kept her in for observation instead of her needing to be brought back by ambulance.

Her upper body was arched forward, her body creasing like a piece of folded paper and her bare heels were digging down into the gurney like she wanted to launch herself up. The way (Y/n) shook made Robby's stomach twist in agony for her.

"Oh Robby…"

Tears drenched down (Y/n)'s burning features to the point that she could barely distinguish Robby stood beside her. If it weren't for his voice and his hand she had comandeered in hers, she wouldn't have known it was him hurrying alongside her.

Tilting his head up, Robby looked between the two paramedics, waiting for one of them to inform him of the situation so he knew what treatment he would need to administer. He found both of them looking sympathetic yet slightly uncomfortable on (Y/n)'s behalf.

"Called up with crippling stomach cramps… on exam we found her to be in labour and nearly dilated. Unknown pregnancy, clearly full term or thereabouts. BP keeps rising, almost touching one-thirty."

A deep sigh left Robby's lips as his head tilted back until he was staring up at the bright lights beaming down from the ceiling.

Oh God.

And he was going to have to break the news to Jack and let him know what was happening.

When he looked back down to reality again, Robby pointed in Ellis's direction when she caught his eye. "Ellis, page the maternity ward we need backup down here. Trauma one, off we go."

If this was labour- and Robby suspected it was because two paramedics couldn't be mistaken over something like this- then they needed a midwife and some equipment from the maternity ward. Robby knew for a fact that (Y/n) didn't know she was pregnant before now, that meant she had had no prenatal care.

There could be any number of complications stemming from this, anything could be wrong with her or the baby and they needed to be prepared for any situation that would arise.

Robby also knew with (Y/n)'s previous history in this department, it increased the risks and put them in a predicament. Three previous miscarriages, the last one being at twenty three weeks which landed (Y/n) on a ward for a week. That put the risks up of something going wrong and (Y/n) suffering complications. And Robby didn't even want to think about the strain this would put on (Y/n) mentally, after trying so long to have a baby, suffering so much, and now being put through this experience with no forewarning or preparation.

They were two feet away from trauma one when Jack came into view, or more precisely, when he spotted the gurney.

Robby held his breath. He had been hoping to get (Y/n) into the room and sorted on monitors and then to find Jack on his own to talk to him and give him the low down before Jack came in here. He didn't want Jack to catch his wife on the gurney and start to panic, but it was too late now.

The sheer anxiety was written across Jack's face the moment he looked towards the gurney and realised the woman writhing in agony, holding onto Robby's hand like it was her lifeline, was in fact his own wife.

Why was she here? Why wasn't she at home, asleep in bed? What had happened for her to be brought in by ambulance?

His jaw hung down in shock, blushing lips parted but no words escaped them as he stared at the gurney, then at Robby as they aimed for trauma one.

The gloves on Jack's hands were snapped off in an instant, holes tearing into them in his haste to get them off, whack his palm under the antiseptic dispenser and then find a fresh pair of gloves. Because there was no way he was hanging around out here or treating any other patient when he knew his wife was in trauma room one. That was where Jack needed to be, by (Y/n)'s side looking after her during whatever ailment she was suffering from.

"Robby, what the fuck?"

Jack could feel pins and needles igniting in his leg that wobbled when he pushed himself forward, his amputated leg feeling three times heavier against his prosthetic as he hurried to follow them into the room before anyone tried to shut him out.

He knew the rules, but right now he didn't care for them at all and was willing to break them. That was (Y/n) on that gurney, that was his wife and he was going to look after her and be a part of her care team no matter what anyone tried to say or do.

The moment Jack was in the room he felt like an invisible hand had broke through his ribcage and had a vice grip on his heart.

(Y/n) was putting up a fight. Robby, Mo- the night shift nurse who had been prepping the room for the next trauma- and the paramedics were all trying to get (Y/n) off the gurney and transferred onto the bed in the middle of the room. They weren't having much luck.

Her arms were swinging out at them, pushing them, legs shaking and flailing and sobs were howling past her lips like they were all trying to stab her instead of help her.

When (Y/n)'s body flopped to the right and her legs wrangled over the edge of the gurney, Robby swore under his breath and latched an arm around her waist. His other hand gripped her upper arm and he eased her down before she fell to the ground like a fish out of water.

She landed on her feet, her body doubling over the moment she was stood up because standing made the pain worse and her legs felt too hollow and weak to hold her up. But (Y/n) didn't want to be laid down any longer, she couldn't sit still and she didn't want to lie there with everyone surrounding her and making her feel penned in and claustraphobic.

Her hands latched onto Robby's arm to keep herself upright, mewling and groaning as Robby tried to hold her up.

"You've got some explaining to do." He murmured softly when he could feel Jack approaching them.

"Wh- why is she here?! Baby what's happened?"

Jack pushed his way forwards until he was stood in between the bed and the gurney, right beside Robby. And (Y/n) noticed his presence straight away, for she broke out of Robby's cautious hold so she could grab onto Jack. Her fingers scrunched up into his scrubs, pulling at the material like she was about to try and tear it off and her face smothered into his lower chest when she bent forward again.

Her tears soaked into his shirt and her shallow breathing made Jack's chest rumble and vibrate as he locked one arm around her waist and brought the other hand up to cup her neck. He wanted desperately for her to look up at him, to talk to him and let him know what was happening, but it was clear (Y/n) was in far too much agony to talk.

"She's in labour." Robby gave Jack a certain look, one that told him not to start an argument about how that wasn't right, it couldn't be possible, this couldn't be happening, because they had no time for debates.

When the paramedics started to move their gurney towards ghe doors, clearly wanting to leave so they weren't in the way, they had to bypass Ellis who jogged into the room.

"Ellis, scrub in we've got a birth and no time to transfer to maternity."

This was an emergency and they had no time to try and get (Y/n) taken up to the maternity ward. Staying here with the equipment and help and medication they might need was much safer than risking a quick hustle around the hospital.

Surprise flooded Ellis's face and her brows scrunched in concentration as she looked between the attendings and (Y/n) who looked to be hunkering down, ready to give birth. She had spoken to (Y/n) just a few days ago when they crossed paths on shift, and Ellis was always chatting to Jack when they had a spare five minutes here and there.

Neither of them had mentioned a baby.

She hurried to get an apron shrugged on and held one out for Robby while both of them kept looking in Jack's direction when he began to utter and babble under his breath.

"Labour- no. No she- you're not-"

"Jack!" (Y/n) hated that whining tone to her panicked, raised voice, but she couldn't help it when her emotions were getting the better of her and the pain was uncontrollable.

Her face smothered into his scrubs to the point she was almost cutting off her breathing, but it made her feel better somehow. To have Jack's hand cupping the back of her neck, his other arm around her waist binding her to him so she didn't collapse to the floor. To feel him this close and listen to the sound of his erratic heart thudding away in his chest, trying desperately to distract her from the agony she was feeling.

This was the relief (Y/n) had been searching for when she rang and rang his number and found no answer because of course he was too busy to help, too busy to answer the phone when he worked as a doctor here in the ER. But she was with him now, and that sense of panic could fade away now she was in Jack's arms and she knew he wasn't about to leave her, not for anything in the world.

"(Y/n) let's get you onto the bed-"

"No. No, no," the word kept uttering past her lips as she shook her head against Jack's chest.

She didn't want to sit or lie down.

(Y/n) desperately wanted to go home, to wake up and have this all be some horrid nightmare.

This wasn't what she meant when she prayed to have a baby, when she cried and broke down or sat staring into oblivion, wishing she could get through a full term pregnancy instead of striking out barely halfway through the process. The beginning of last year was the closest (Y/n) had gotten to having a baby, to feeling like she might just be able to do it, and then at twenty-three weeks, everything fell apart.

The world fell from underneath them and she and Jack barely managed to get themselves out of the cavern that disaster dropped them into.

(Y/n) wanted a baby, she wanted to get pregnant and get all the way to full term and have a healthy baby. She didn't want to have a miscarriage early on like the first two times, or hold her baby in her arms and know it would be the one and only time she could see their face, feel their tiny weight in her arms and feel like a mother.

But not like this. Not when the process had been snatched from her, taken away like she didn't deserve to know or experience it properly because she had failed so miserably three times previous. (Y/n) didn't want to skip the pregnancy and get to labour like this, she didn't want to have a baby with no preparations made, nothing ready to welcome a newborn- if their baby would even be okay after this trauma.

"At least come and lean on the bed, yeah? Then we can work around you if you're comfortable like this." Ellis had a comforting smile on her lips as she curled her hand around (Y/n)'s elbow and gently ushered her towards the bed.

If she didn't want to lie or sit down, at least she could lean on the bed and they would be a bit more able to work around her with her being stable rather than Jack holding her up like he was.

They stepped forward, slowly easing (Y/n) with them until her left forearm was pressing down into the bed and she was bent forward with her temple smothered against the bed too, muffling the scream that tore past her lips. She had her right hand clenched within Jack's, pulling him as close as he could get while he rested his other hand on the small of her back.

When Robby looked towards the door, a glimmer of relief lit up his eyes. "King, scrub in for a birth."

Though Mel had previously looked drained to the point of collapsing, those words revitalised something within her and she hurried inside and drew a curtain across the doors to give a bit of privacy.

She was quick to scrub in and step forward just as Robby and Ellis were working around (Y/n). They got her hooked onto a blood pressure cuff, an IV in the back of her left hand, monitors stuck to her chest and one on her stomach to check the baby's heartbeat. Although that seemed redundant now with how close she was to having the baby.

"Already crowning," Robby uttered, taking a swift breath as he knelt down on the floor behind (Y/n).

If this was how she wanted to stay and where she wanted to be, they couldn't argue with her or make her more uncomfortable by trying to move her. They had to do their best and work around her.

"You're almost there." Jack couldn't quite believe the words leaving his lips.

He bent to the left, leaning around to look down where Robby was knelt down with Mel alongside him while Ellis went to get the supplies and incubator for emergencies like this.

He couldn't believe they were in this situation. After the last pregnancy, Jack never thought they would get to this stage, he wondered if that was the last chance they had because he didn't want (Y/n) suffering like that again. He didn't want her hopes raising and her getting far enough to feel the baby kick and hear that heartbeat and finally start to show, just for that dream to be cruelly snatched away from her.

Now that dream was here, it was happening without any warning or preparation, and Jack hoped it wouldn't burst. He hoped they didn't suddenly find themselves in another nightmare with no way out.

His left arm secured a bit better around (Y/n)'s waist, holding onto her just to make sure she didn't suddenly start to go down on her knees. He couldn't feel his right hand that was laced within her grip, both their hands pressing down into the mattress which seemed to be helping and he wasn't about to move and disrupt the rhythm (Y/n) now had.

Jack couldn't seem to stop looking down at Robby, no matter how often he kept adverting his gaze back to (Y/n) to make sure she was alright and not about to fall or collapse or in any adverse pain. He kept looking back down, kept staring in amazement like he had never witnessed a birth before.

But this was different; this was their baby, and this couldn't end like the last time. It just couldn't.

The tears that had been streaming down (Y/n)'s face since she was back at home started to burn again and they felt like glue binding her face to the sheets on the bed she was resting against. Her breaths fanned against the material and her arms shook as she let her body do what it needed to do, what it had been doing since before she knew what was happening to her.

It pushed of its own accord, her muscles working from the sordid memory of her last pregnancy and natural instinct. And when that weight finally left her pelvis, (Y/n) felt sure that her knees were going to give out on her.

Jack couldn't believe it.

Tears were trickling down his face before he realised what was happening and his jaw hung slack as he stared at the life now resting in Robby's arms. But when he heard (Y/n) whispering and uttering something under her breath, he tore his gaze back to her and leant down.

"I'm sorry. Sorry. Sorry," the words tore past her lips through sobs that made it sound like (Y/n) couldn't catch her breath.

"Don't say that sweetheart, you're okay. Everything's okay." Jack pressed his lips to the back of her head, curving himself around her like a safety net while his chest stuttered and he struggled to remain composed.

There was no need for her to be sorry, she hadn't known this would happen and there was nothing that could be done about that now. (Y/n) was here, she was safe and she and the baby were being looked after, Jack saw no reason for anyone to be apologising, least of all (Y/n).

"Are they- are they okay?" The words came out in such a fragile, wavering voice that (Y/n) was surprised anyone could make out what she had said.

Her hand tugged on Jack's and she tried to look up at him through watering eyes, a sense of desperation flooding through her as memories overwhelmed her and flashed before her eyes.

The last time they had been in this situation, they knew the score. They knew there was no heartbeat when (Y/n) gave birth. They knew at twenty-three weeks it was classed as a miscarriage, not a stillbirth. They held their boy for the first and only time, knowing he was never going to take a breath, move a muscle, get any bigger, and never come home with them.

(Y/n) didn't want that experience again. She wouldn't. She wouldn't hold that baby in her arms if there was no life within them. Her heart couldn't handle it again.

"Robby? Brother, are they-"

"She's breathing, she's breathing I promise you brother. It's okay." His voice was solemn and when he looked up at Jack, there was a calm look on his face like he was their port in a storm.

The couple didn't have to worry. The baby in Robby's arms was breathing, even if she hadn't started to cry or liven up just yet due to the shock. There was nothing to panic and no life to mourn.

"Ooh, it's a girl." Mel cooed with a wide grin and such a look of adoration in her eyes. This might not be the first birth she had attended and helped with, but each one was different and special and just to be a part of this was a sense of magic to her.

She carefully took the newborn as soon as Robby cut the cord and handed her over, uttering for Mel to check the baby over before passing her to (Y/n).

The attending could see that (Y/n) was still in a state of shock and she needed to calm down and be attended to first before she was presented with this new life that she hadn't known about. This was no ordinary birth, things had to happen a bit differently this time around.

"Do you wanna get up on the bed now?" Ellis weaved around once she was back in the room, switching places so Mel could attend to the baby and Ellis could help Robby with (Y/n).

She rested a hand on (Y/n)'s shoulder, about to try and coax her up onto the bed with Jack, when (Y/n) cut them off. A deep groan rumbled in her chest and her head drooped forward towards the bed again as a shudder seemed to tear through her system. Both Ellis and Jack glanced at one another before looking back down at (Y/n). Perhaps it was best to leave her standing like this until the placenta had been delivered.

Their thoughts swiftly diverted down a different path when they heard Robby swear quietly but sharply under his breath.

"Haemorrhaging."

Jack felt like he was in some kind of movie or cartoon when he sharply turned to look down.

One moment he didn't notice anything, but the next, there was blood trickling down (Y/n)'s bare thighs and down her legs. There was blood forming a puddle on the sterile floor. There was blood on the blue latex gloves Robby wore and splashing onto the sleeves of the paper apron tied around his front.

"Sweetheart we need you on the bed. Now."

A whimper tore past (Y/n)'s lips at hearing Jack's tone, that sharp edge to his voice and sense of fastness like he wanted to spee dup the tempo in the room and work everyone and everything on double time.

She didn't have the energy or the nerve to argue when Jack let go of her hand to wrap both his arms around her middle and straighten her up beside him. Ellis soon reached out for her and with Robby hovering by in case help was needed, they lifted (Y/n) up onto the bed and got her laid down like they had wanted her to be when she first came into the room.

"Alright, prepping a dose of Oxytocin." Robby's voice cut through the air and Ellis leant back so that he could lean around her, lift the side of (Y/n)'s shirt up and inject the needle into her abdomen.

"Give her Misoprostol as well to get this under control."

A silent but demanding look passed between the two attendings as Robby's lips formed a straight line and one brow arched. He knew what he was doing, he was already one step ahead with the Misoprostol at hand on the medicine cart. He wasn't about to let (Y/n) bleed out like this and waste time hoping the Oxytocin would be enough on its own.

(Y/n) barely flinched as the second needle punctured her waist. She was already closing her eyes and pushing her head back into the pillow, features scrunched up in agony and eyes out of focus and hazy behind her eyelids.

It wasn't acting fast enough.

Jack stood on one side of the bed, his hand tangled with (Y/n)'s while Robby and Ellis stood on the other side. All three of them leant over (Y/n), trying to adjust her, to get her stable and check on the bleeding. But all of them could see that the sheets were quickly being dyed red.

Tremors were rattling through (Y/n) to the point the bedframe was shaking and her hips were raising off the bed as she groaned and sobbed. Both arms binding over her waist and pressing down on her abdomen like she was trying to imbed them into her stomach and stop the bleeding herself.

"Breathe, just breathe. This will help."

Ellis handed over the gas and air tube, pressing it to (Y/n)'s lips until she took it with one trembling hand and clamped her teeth around the plastic end.

She tried to breathe it in, to get the medication into her system so it would take the edge off, make her feel less like a punching bag and stop her head from feeling like it was one second away from exploding. Her pulse was throbbing in her temples like her head was a balloon that was being over-filled with air. She was going to pop. Her body was going to give out.

She could feel someone leaning over her, the heel of their hand rubbing against her pelvis in circles to try and prompt contractions to stop the bleeding or shift the placenta so her body would stop spasming and overreacting like this.

The gas and air didn't take the edge off. They lied. It wasn't helping, it wasn't doing anything except giving (Y/n) something to bite down on and release the tension and fear in a small outlet.

"Ellis get a pint of AB ready and call for an OR on standby." Jack barked the order as he weaved around to lean against the end of the bed.

He reached out for (Y/n)'s ankles, being as careful as he could to prop her feet up on the bed and push her knees so he could see if the bleeding was tapering off and if the placenta was coming away or not.

"OR won't take her unless we get vitals stabilised-"

"So get the atripine lined up and call them."

"Let me get a balloon in or she'll bleed out and won't get up to the OR." The equipment was already in Robby's hand. If they got a balloon into the cervix it would prompt the contractions and tension, it was their most effective method of stopping a mass haemorrhage like this.

If they didn't get the bleeding under control they weren't going to get a chance to take (Y/n) to an OR. They couldn't have her bleeding out down here like this.

"Jesus- placenta's coming we need that out the way first." Jack's left hand flanked out towards Robby to stop him in his tracks. "Ellis give the atripine. Baby," his hand shifted to cup the back of (Y/n)'s thigh, squeezing to get her attention but he only seemed to get a whimper in response.

"Baby… (Y/n) start pushing now. Come on you gotta do this now for me or we can't help you."

He hated to talk to her which such a stern tone, but he didn't have a choice. He had to be cruel to be kind. (Y/n) needed to push, to get the placenta out as quickly as possible so they could get the ballon in the cervix in its place and stop the bleeding that was still dripping onto the sheets.

Jack's teeth sank down into his lower lip. He could feel a fire burning in the pit of his stomach when his gloved hands finally grasped onto the placenta and he placed it in the metal tray Ellis held out to him.

"It's out, get the balloon in quick."

He took a back step, moving towards (Y/n)'s side and tearing the bloodied gloves from his hands. He tossed them in the bin so he could take (Y/n)'s hand in his and raise her clammy, tremoring hand to his lips.

It felt like hours passed them by as Robby crouched awkwardly at the foot of the bed, his right side laid on the mattress so he could see properly and get the balloon in place. He began inflating it, knowing it wasn't a great sign that (Y/n) barely shifted in discomfort or made a sound during the process.

"It's in place… bleeding's slowing down." Robby's arms crossed over his chest as he straightened up, eyes still focused on the bed to make sure no further bleeding started to happen again. "We're still gonna need that OR on standby."

"She needs to go up to the OR now… the placenta isn't in tact, part of it must be retained. I'll call and let them know."

Jack's head snapped in Ellis's direction, a fire lighting within them as his jaw clenched so tightly his teeth ground together and the muscles in his cheek threatened to puncture through the skin.

He watched her tilt the metal dish in his direction, as if showing him the proof he didn't need to double check. She had checked the placenta like they had to, and she could see it wasn't fully formed. Part still had to be in the womb and if it remained there for long (Y/n) could develop an infection and her situation would be a lot worse than this.

She needed that OR to remove the last of the placenta and to make sure this bleeding was kept under control and wouldn't reoccur.

"Fuck. Fuck!"

Jack's hand smashed against the wall behind the bed, rattling the frame and the oxygen tubes held there for emergencies.

This nightmare didn't look like it had an end within sight. Their only saving grace was the newborn Mel had taken out of the room to be properly assessed by the on-call midwife.

At least they would have a baby at the end of this ordeal.

Besides, at least a woman of your size wouldn't have to worry about the old men in your father's syndicate making unwanted advances. They prefer the small, petite girls that they actually have a chance of overpowering.

Still, a woman of your status was expected to marry well for your father's business. You tried, honestly you did, to get the attention of someone who would make father look good. You know better than to expect love, of course, but it would be nice to find someone who didn't immediately dismiss you when they saw you weren't wearing heels but were still eye level with them.

Honestly, the temptation to give in to the men who wanted you to step on them was getting harder and harder to fight. They'd promise you money, jewelry, custom made clothing and lingerie, just let them use your body how they wanted. All the while they made it clear you would just be a sex toy to them, not a person. You know love isn't an option but respect shouldn't be so hard to find.

It was quite the duality to have a body that was simultaneously seen as "unfit" and also fetishized.

So it was that, when your father called you into his office to tell you there had been offer for your hand, you were surprised and nervous.

"He's a former federal agent who helped our family get through some dicey times," Father explains. "He's out of the legit game, early retirement or whatever. But he's willing to continue helping us out with his connections so long as he gets you."

"I understand, Father," you nod. "Though I'm surprised you trust him enough. He betrayed his agency, why wouldn't he betray the family?"

"That's another reason I'm giving you to him. I trust you and I know where your loyalties lie."

"We'll probably have to come up with some new phrases," you nod.

"That's my girl," Father smiles. "He's asked you to meet him at your future home. Says he wants to get your opinion on things so he can get things renovated or fixed up before the wedding."

"That's...quite considerate of him," you blink. "What's his name?"

"August Walker."

The car pulls up to the townhouse you'll be moving into after the wedding. The exterior is quite plain but, if Mr. Walker can be expected to keep his word, you'll have a say in changing that.

When your car door opens, you're surprised to be greeted by your future husband, offering his hand to help you out of your seat.

"Thank you," you smile softly as you take his hand.

Stepping out of the car, you make sure to not put too much of your weight onto him, forever mindful that many cannot handle your size. But there is a strength in his arm that makes you wonder if he could.

Mr. Walker kisses the back of your hand and your cheeks heat up, unused to such gentlemanly behavior.

"I know this isn't a mansion or a penthouse, but I do hope the townhouse will be sufficient for you," he smiles. "Especially after all of your requested changes are made. I've got Mr. Carter, a local construction supervisor whom I trust, and who your father recommended, already inside, ready to take notes."

"Thank you, Mr. Walker."

"August, please. We will be married after all, and I would prefer my wife call me by my first name."

"I understand," you nod.

His lip twitches and you're not sure if it's in amusement or annoyance.

"Shall we?" he gestures to the front door.

"Please."

When you're inside, it's clear the townhouse is an older construction and you feel a slight thrill. You admire the custom work done that have withstood time. The contemporary style of everything being sleek, shiny and white has never appealed to you. Testing the waters of your fiance's promises to listen to you, you make sure to state aloud the fixtures you'd like to keep. You're pleased to not hear any arguments from Walker on the matter.

As the tour continues, you grow bolder, asking about replacing things that can't be kept with something similar in terms of style. Mr. Carter says he knows a very good woodworker who can provide some estimates and you find yourself smiling.

Every so often you catch a glimpse of Walker and you swear he's smiling more as you're going on.

"And now, for the final part of the tour," Walker takes your hand again, "the main reason I sought this house."

When he opens the final door you enter into a two-story tall library, making you gasp. You almost feel like Belle from Beauty and the Beast.

"The shelves are empty, waiting for the books you currently own and, hopefully, there will be enough room for future books you should seek to purchase," August informs you. "My own books will remain in my office and this will entire library will be yours."

"August..." you whisper.

"I have seen other men attempt to woo you with gold and riches," he explains. "But you are no Atalanta, distracted by shiny things. You are a woman who craves intelligence more than money or power. Our lives are not given to expectations of love, but having a wife I can respect? That's a very good start, in my book."

You beam at him, almost teary eyed, "and having a husband who can genuinely make me smile is far more than I could have ever expected. Thank you, August."

“I won't go through with this, father. I refuse to marry the Rogue Prince.”

Busting through my fathers study door I raised my voice at him as he stood in front of his desk looking over some documents. I didn’t care how I'd stormed out from breakfast and was interrupting the matters that he needed to attend to. Father tilted his head upright, groaning loudly under his breath. “Lacey, I already told you in the breakfast hall that this isn't up for discussion. King Viserys has agreed to the arrangement as has your mother. You will wed Daemon Targaryen without reservations.”

“That cannot be possible. He’s already been wed for years now.”

“That doesn’t matter anymore. His lady wife Laena passed away a few moons ago. Meaning he is in need of a new wife to provide him heirs and it is past time you were wed.”

Rolling my eyes I scoffed, dropping my hands harshly down to my sides. “I suppose a lady just does what she’s told ,especially if she’s your own daughter!”

“Watch your tongue, girl!”

“Why should I listen to you when you don’t listen to my dreams and desires. Every single one of your children you have never let them figure out what they want for themselves, especially me.”

Jason glared down at me stomping across the room until we were standing directly in front of each other. He grasped my chin in his thumb and index finger of his left hand, forcing me to look him in the eye. “I’ve had just about enough of you. I have entertained your ridiculous behavior over the years. The refusal to act like a proper lady, the lack of respect to honor the family properly and now this ridiculous thought of trying to understand High Valyrian.”

“If you intend for me to marry Daemon, surely that is honoring the family by embracing my betroth’s house.”

He raised his stern tone back at me. “You have no right to entertain that desire for knowledge while you still live under my roof!”

“Seven hells, father. You're never going to see the truth are you. Cerelle was married off before she could breathe. Tyshara before she could think. Loreon is groomed like a prized hound. And Ceryse - she’s already being shaped into your perfect little lioness.”

Jason’s nostrils flared. “Do not speak of your siblings that way.”

“I’m speaking of you,” I fired back. “You never let any of us choose anything.”

“Jason.”

My mother’s voice cut through the thick tension built up in the small study. Johanna stood in the doorway, hands folded, looking at me first showing her eyes full of worry.

“Johanna, make your ungrateful daughter understand the decision that we have made together.”

“Mother, you know I have no interest in -“

Father cut me off abruptly. “Interest has nothing to do with upholding the family traditions.”

“Lacey,” she murmured, stepping forward as she finally spoke up. “your father only wants -”

“No,” I said, stepping back so fast Jason’s hand slipped from my chin. “Do not defend him.”

“Sweet girl-”

“You are only going to say what he wants you to say. I refuse to be commanded around like some servant who you give no respect for. I refuse to act like you if I am forced to marry anyone!”

“You will show your mother respect-”

“I’ll show her respect when the gods make you treat your children better!” Forcefully shoving my body past his and around my mother my boots made heavy footsteps sounds on the stone floor. Storming out of the room I left them both standing there, ignoring how my mother called out my name.

“Lacey!”

That next morning the life that I had lived for eighteen years would never be the same again. I’d never set foot in Casterly Rock again nor see my siblings. I didn’t recall much of the long months it took to get from our home to the uncomfortably busy city that is Kings Landing. Our travels had taken all day just for us to get inside the large castle itself and everyone settled into their bedchambers. The hours had grown late as I sat at my vanity pinning my hair in a braid falling over my right shoulder.

Crossing the room in my nightgown I opened up one of the crates my things from home had been brought up in. Inside was a simple red cloak with no sigil representing my house anywhere on it. This was the one I would wear when I didn’t want anyone to recognize me, I’d made it for this occasion. Lifting it up and outside of the crate I dug out my boots as well, slipping those on securely before connecting the clasp of the cloak around my neck not bothering to change out of the white nightgown some servants had switched me into. Bending down I reach inside one of my combat boots wrapping my fingers around the handle of a tiny dagger making a mental note to always keep it on me.

Carefully pushing my chamber door open and shut as quietly as possible I yanked the hood over my head shielding my face from being recognized. Walking down the long hallway I glanced around the hallway stretched long and dim, lit only by a few torches flickering against the stone. I’d only been in the Red Keep for a day, and already I hated it. I tried to retrace the path the servants had shown me earlier, but everything blurred together. I passed a set of stairs I didn’t recognize. Then a hallway lined with old armor. Then a door that led into a storage room instead of the courtyard.

The Keep felt like a maze designed to trap me as I tried another staircase, hoping it led down toward the main gates, but it only twisted into another unfamiliar passage. “Seven hells, I’m lost.” Eventually, I found a door cracked open and slipped through to find myself in a small alleyway with stacks of supplies sitting around meaning I had to be out of the suffocating castle.

The smell of smoke, salt and spilled ale rushed in. Lanterns swung from crooked posts. People crowded every inch of the street, shouting, laughing, arguing, singing. Moving forward slowly my chest tightened in anticipation and excitement where I bolted into a quick run not thinking. I walked deeper into the city, letting the crowd swallow me whole where I was just a girl standing in a crowd unnoticed by anyone else. Sailors stumbled out of taverns. Merchants shouted over each other. Children darted between legs. A woman sang on a corner, her voice rough but beautiful.

My feet kept moving through the crowd, letting the chaos drown out the echo of my father’s voice in my head. The moonlight glinted off rooftops, turning the streets into a maze of shadows, flickering lanterns but most of all I was able to just be Lacey, not Jason Lannister's daughter. Passing another tavern door someone bumped harshly into my back stumbling out the doorway causing me to lose my footing when the person kicked the back of my leg. My body fell forward and a scream escaped past my lips with me nearly slamming into the harsh stone street until a hand grasped the back of my cloak and nightgown.

The person that had grabbed me by my back gently yanked me backwards to keep me from falling face forward harshly. Looking over my shoulder my back was pressing into their front as I was able to see long silver hair falling over their shoulders, dark eyes I couldn’t tell the color of by the faint lighting and hidden underneath a dark black cloak. “Watch where you're going, otherwise you’ll get trampled.”

“I was watching. It was that drunk that wasn’t looking.”

“Blame others for your mere misfortune I see.”

Rolling my eyes, this man was getting on my nerves rather quickly and we’d hadn’t spoken for long. “You are in no position to judge me, Ser. With that being said I would like to continue my stroll, so you may release me now.”

“A woman out here alone in a city like this is dangerous.”

“I can take care of myself, thank you.”

Spinning around on my feet I faced him directly walking backwards for a minute until one of my boots mistepped where I tripped over a rock falling backwards till he snagged my wrist, tugging me forward back into his chest quickly with my hands landing flat there. One of my ankles twisted sharply where I bit my lip pushing through the pain, doing my best to ignore it.

“You might want to retract that comment, my lady. Now are you injured anywhere?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Are you lying to me?”

“No, now let me go.”

The mysterious man stared down at me with a serious expression. “Let me tend to you just to be sure.”

“Not going to happen.” Pushing my hands off his firm chest forcing myself away from him. My left foot twisted around creating a sharp pain to through my ankle where I grabbed it nearly tumbling over.

“I knew something was wrong. You should listen to me, foolish girl.”

The man with white looking hair came forward grasping my forearm in order to keep me steady so he could look at the swelling. While he had his head lowered I slid my freehand downward to my other boot, drawing out the hidden dagger. Pressing the cold blade against his throat the man leaned back in surprise as I bared my teeth spitting in his face.

“Ao istan ñuha kepa ( You act like my father.”

The white haired man opened his lips and confusion spread across his face instantly as he attempted to process what he had heard. “How ... .how do you know High Valyrian?” His gaze fixed onto mine briefly acknowledging the blade in my hand with my gaze meeting his and I swore that his eyes seemed to have the deep violet color.

“We are done having this conversation. You will let me go alone and do not follow me. Do you understand?”

A smirk spread across his lips, removing his hands from my forearm. “You are a fiery one.”

“Do you understand me, yes or no?”

“Understood, my lady.”

Removing the dagger away from being harshly pressed against his throat I stuck the dagger back inside my boot watching him for a few minutes. The stranger watched me turn on my feet rushing as fast as I could away from him with my burning ankle and back to the Red Keep.

1: Sweet Home, Colorado ℧ Read now on Patreon! || Tumblr: August 2

2: Too Close to the Heat 🌹 Read on Patreon: July 24 || Tumblr: August 9

3: Nature, Nurture, Heaven & Home ℧ Read on Patreon: July 31 || Tumblr: August 16

4: My Diamond is Too Rough 🌹 Read on Patreon: August 7 || Tumblr: August 23

5: Time Bent Like an Hourglass

6: Word Gets Out When You Get Around

7: Every Moment's a Crime

8: What We Said and What We Meant

9: Hear Your Heart Beat Next to Mine

10: Wait for the River to Roll

11: Pay No Mind to the Battles You've Won

12: It'll Take a Lot More Than Words & Guns

13: It's a High Price, Paid in Blood

l4: The Roots Through Southern Ground

15: Brave the Forests, Brave the Stone

16: Sunshine on the Water

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And in happier news, Bran had woken up last week. Though Maester Luwin said he could never walk again, you were thankful to the gods that he was alive, everything else could be sorted out.

Needless to say, Bran didn’t see it that way.

“Have you two seen Rickon?”

Both Jon and Theon stopped eating their breakfast and looked up at you at the same time.

“Wasn’t he with you and Robb?” Jon asked and you shook your head.

“Robb went to visit Bran in his room, I figured they would want to talk alone. The last time I talked to him, he wasn’t really…” you trailed off and shrugged. “Which is expected.”

“Aye, he wasn’t really interested in talking to me either.” 

“He just needs time,” Theon said. “That’s it—oh, there’s Rickon.”

You turned your head to find Rickon absolutely covered in mud, making you gasp. The little boy didn’t seem like he minded the mud on his clothes at all, judging by the toothless smile he gave you when he reached the table.

“Hello!”

“What’s happened?!” you asked, covering your mouth with your hands and he looked down at himself.

“I was playing with Shaggy.”

“In the mud?”

“Aye!”

You seemed to be the only one who was shocked at the state of him, because instead of reacting in any way, Jon just ruffled his little brother’s hair while Theon let out a laugh. Rickon grabbed a piece of cheese from Theon’s plate without even wiping his hands, then darted through the hall before you could stop him, almost crashing into Robb’s legs on his way out. Robb looked over his shoulder to check where his little brother was rushing off to, then approached you and pressed a kiss on your temple.

“Here you are,” he said and touched the small of your back before he sat down, so you took the seat next to Jon’s. “Where’s he going?”

“To the yard, I’d say,” Jon answered while you stared at the entrance, your mouth half agape.

“He’s covered in mud,” you managed to say, “and he ate food without cleaning his hands.”  

“He does that.”

Your eyes widened. “But that’s not healthy!”

“He has never fallen ill his entire life,” Jon said and Robb nodded.

“Besides, it’s Rickon,” he stated as if that was enough of an explanation, and reached out to steal a piece of bread from Jon’s plate, but Jon swatted his hand away.

“Go get your own plate!”

“I’m not really hungry.”

“Then keep your hands off my food!”

“So you’re saying you won’t share your bread with me? Your brother? Your blood?”

“Aye, that’s what I’m saying—”

“Did someone at least tell Rickon that it’s not good manners to walk around covered in mud?”

“Multiple septas did.” Robb filled himself a drink and offered you, but you shook your head. “He doesn’t listen.”

“Besides, he’s northern,” Theon said. “He’s not gonna grow to be one of those flowery Reach knights with their southern manners and poems—”

“What is it with your animosity toward poetry, Greyjoy?” you asked with a frown. “Is it because you can’t read?”

“Your brother asked me the same thing—I can read!”

“Allegedly,” you pointed out, and Robb and Jon exchanged glances, both biting back identical grins. “I’ve heard Ironborn look down on literacy to the point of accusing people who can read as sorcerers.”

“Well, seeing the raids on the Reach, we’re still better fighters than—”

“None of that,” Robb interrupted him while you glared at Theon, and Jon heaved a sigh.

 “How’s Bran?”

“As expected,” Robb muttered. “I don’t think staying in that room is going to make him feel better. I’ll get him out to the yard the moment Maester Luwin says we can.”

“That should help.”

“I hope so.”

“Has father written back yet?”

“No ravens arrived,” Robb said while Jorelle made her way to you. “Should be any day now, though.”

“My lady, you wanted me to remind you about your meeting with Lady Sabitha,” she said. “She’s waiting for you.”  

Theon nodded at Jorelle with a smirk.

“Lady Jorelle,” he greeted her. “Hello.”

Robb and Jon both looked from Theon to Jorelle with the exact same expression of boyish wonder on their faces, and Jorelle raised her brows, eyed him up and down, then chortled.

“Absolutely not, Greyjoy.”

Robb stifled a laugh and kicked Jon under the table while Jon pressed his fist on his lips to hide his smile. Theon sat up straighter, clearly not discouraged as he puffed his chest.

“But I’m…”

“Greyjoy, I understand that you lack subtlety so I’m going to be as direct as my manners allow me,” you told him and stood up from your seat. “If you ever bother my ladies-in-waiting, I’ll make sure you can never speak a word to them or anyone else ever again. I’m sure the whole castle will thank me for it.”

There was a proud grin on Robb’s face as you pecked him on the cheek, then you threw an arm over Jorelle’s shoulder and you both walked away from the table, giggling.

After your small meeting with Lady Sabitha, the rest of your day was considerably idle. You visited Bran, you spent some time with Rickon, and now you and your ladies-in-waiting had nothing to do but remain in your room and gossip until dinner time. You laid in your bed, with Jorelle by your side and Wylla laid on her stomach at the foot of the bed, reading a book. Alys was braiding Lyra’s hair and Barbrey was embroidering something for her new gown on the sofa across the hearth, occasionally holding it up for Alys and Lyra’s opinion.

It reminded you of the Reach, back when you and Margaery and your friends would spend time together before the jousts.

“Jo?”

Jorelle turned her head to see you better. “Hm?”

“What kind of husband do you want?”

The question gathered everyone’s attention in the room. Alys stopped braiding Lyra’s hair, Lyra’s head snapped around and Barbrey looked up from her embroidery, her eyes widening. Wylla pursed her lips without pulling her gaze off the page, but you could tell her ears perked up with the way she stopped following the lines. Jorelle craned her head to see you better.  

“What brought this on?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking,” you said. “You know, when Greyjoy tried to talk to you earlier today—”

“Gods no!”

“No, obviously not him!” you said in a rush. “None of you will wed him, are you jesting? I hate him, he’s vile.”

“He’s your lord husband’s best friend,” Wylla pointed out and you shrugged.

“I still hate him, Robb knows it,” you said. “But it made me think, it’s clear you have admirers, all of you.” You motioned around the room. “Silas fixed my betrothal, and it took him such a long time to make a decision. And you’re my ladies-in-waiting, it’s my responsibility to find you good suitors. I’m determined to find you the best men in the realm, but I can only do that if I know what kind of husbands you want.”

Alys thought for a second. “Perhaps we should make a list.”

“Good idea!” You jumped from the bed and rushed to the desk to grab the inkpot and the quill, and parchments. You dipped the quill into the inkpot, then wrote all their names on different parchments and pointed at Lyra with your quill.

“Lyra, are you certain—”

“I won’t wed, I’m certain,” Lyra cut you off. “Men can be so annoying.”

“She’s not wrong on that one,” Jorelle muttered and Lyra gave her a grin.

“I can also fight Greyjoy if he bothers you.”

“Not needed at this point, but thank you Lyra.”

“Me next!” Barbrey said, sitting up straighter. “I want a southron husband.”

“Where in the south?” you asked and Barbrey frowned as if the thought hadn’t hit her before.

“Um, the Reach?”

“The men of the Reach are full of audacity, I’ve found,” Jorelle grumbled and you shot her a smirk.

“I think you mean the men of Dorne.”

Jorelle bit back a laugh and held up her hands. “All the same to me.”

“And I want him to be a knight,” Barbrey added, her nose stuck in the air. “Like…like that knight you danced with on your wedding.”

You blinked a couple of times. “Loras?”

“Yes, The Knight of Flowers!” Barbrey said. “Oh he was so handsome!”

“Barbrey.” You tried to control your expression. “You would not want Loras as a husband.”

“Why did you not?” Alys asked and shifted her weight. “I mean I know Lord Robb is the love of your life, but before that? The Knight of Flowers is your best friend’s brother, and you two looked like the perfect southron lady and the knight when you danced.”

Well, there were many reasons; the main one being that your brother was Loras’ type and not you, regardless of how you two looked while you were dancing.

“Loras is like a brother to me,” you said. “We could never see each other like that. How about you, Alys? What kind of husband do you want?”

“I don’t want a southron,” Alys said. “I don’t want to be so far away from my family. I want a brave northern fighter, but he must be handsome, and my age.”

 “Do you have someone in mind?”

Her cheeks got pink and she averted her glances.

“…No.”

You arched a brow. “Alys.”

“I don’t have anyone in mind, I just—”

“She admires the heir of House Ryswell,” Wylla sang without looking up from her book, making Alys gasp.

“I do not!”

“You danced with him at the wedding and you were flustered afterwards.”

“Wylla!”

“How else are you going to get the husband you want if you keep it a secret?”

“What kind of reading is that?” Jorelle asked her, gesturing at the book in front of Wylla. “You keep chiming in.”

“Yes well, while you are all listing your requirements for suitors…” Wylla wiggled her brows and turned the page before she held it up so that all could see the vulgar illustration. “I’m learning how to keep my future husband under my spell.”

The room exploded into chaos in a second. Alys jumped from her seat at the same time with Barbrey, who nearly face planted on Lyra in her haste to rush to Wylla. Jorelle sat up in bed and snatched the book from Wylla’s hands, holding it out of her reach while she all but wrestled her to get it back.

“Jo!”

“Where did you find, this?”

“Let me see! Let me see!”

“What does it say?”

“Oh it says everything.”

“Barbrey, stop pushing!”

“You won’t even wed, Lyra, no need for you to see!”

The title of the book was familiar to you; it was very famous all over the south. Of course all the septas and the maesters forbid it, saying that it was not appropriate for ladies, but that had never stopped you or any of your friends. All it required was a couple gold dragons given to the right maid, and a ball thrown in someone’s honor so that you and your friends could gather in one of your bedchambers while the rest of the household was busy with the guests.

Though, you were rather surprised to see it was famous enough to be found in the north as well.

“That’s disgusting!” Barbrey let out a squeal as she leaned in to grimace at the drawing. “So very disgusting!”

“Then stop looking?”

“I cannot!”

You pressed your fist on your mouth so that you could hide your smile, leaning back to the table while they all gathered around the bed and turned the page.

“But I don’t—but—” Alys stammered. “My lady mother said, on my wedding night, I’m to just lay there.”

“So did mine! My husband will know what to do, she said.”

Gods, the north really was different than the south, this was yet another proof of it. All your ladies-in-waiting were the same age as you, women grown, and yet they were clueless when it came to certain things because the north was incredibly strict on such matters.

Jorelle turned the page again and yelped in surprise, a scowl twisting her beautiful face. “Seven hells, I’m not doing that!”

“Let me see—”

“I’m a lady,” Barbrey insisted. “I care not what the book says, I’m not putting my mouth anywhere near…that thing.”

“Do all men know about this?”

“I’d say so.”

“Do you suppose there’s a book for them as well?”

“A book?” Wylla asked with a scoff. “They have no need to read about it. What do you think they do in brothels, hold hands?”

“Lady wives don’t do such things,” Alys insisted while Jorelle lifted her head as if she just remembered your presence in the room. “I’m sure of it.”

“I still don’t understand the—the physics of this?”

“You know what Lyra, you were right. If this is what will be expected of me, I’m not going to wed either.”

“My personal feelings aside, it does sound very uncomfortable, I’m not going to lie.”

“Is it?” Jorelle asked you, her voice cutting through the chatter. “Is it very uncomfortable?”

Stunned silence fell upon the room as all the girls turned their heads to stare at you while you bit back your grin.

“Hm?”

“Oh but she doesn’t do that!” Alys said in a haste. “She’s the most graceful lady of the south, Jo.”

“And she’s been quiet since the beginning of this conversation,” Lyra pointed out, narrowing her eyes at you. “Too quiet.”

Barbrey held up the book and pointed at the illustration on the page. “Did you do this?”

Wylla elbowed her. “Barbrey!”

“What? Lord Robb is mesmerized by her, everyone knows it!”

“Because she is beautiful, you idiot, not because she does such tricks!”

You dragged the tip of your tongue on your lip, then heaved a dramatic sigh.

“You see, I would tell you,” you said. “But since such conversations are unladylike, you’d have to swear—”

“I swear it! I swear on my honor!”

“Me too!”

“So do I, on my honor and house!”

“Aye, on my house too!”

“I will never breathe a word, I swear it.” 

“…That it doesn’t leave this room,” you finished your sentence with a laugh. “Very well then.”

They all plopped down on your huge bed, their attention fully on you as you jumped to sit on the desk.

“Lady Olenna, my best friend’s grandmother always said the marital bed is the way to keep one’s husband mesmerized,” you said. “It matters even more than how you look, how much wealth your family has, or what your house is; that right there is the key, she would say.”

“So you knew about all these things?”

“I did,” you said airily. “The south isn’t as strict as the north, and though I lacked practice, I didn’t lack knowledge.”

“Yes well,” Alys grumbled. “In the north we lack both for some reason.”

Barbrey raised the book again, pointing at the page without a word and you nodded, making all of them gasp.

“You did that?!”

Well, they didn’t need to know how you did exactly that in Robb’s solar the other day.

“I reacted similarly when I first heard about it,” you admitted, “It sounded intimidating, the idea of doing that with some faceless husband in the future that I couldn’t even imagine. And unlike what everyone keeps telling women, you shouldn’t do anything you don’t want to. I wouldn’t, if I didn’t want to. However, Robb is…” You tried to find the right words. “I desire him so much that sometimes I feel like I can’t even think or breathe. I don’t speak for all married women obviously, but for me it wasn’t uncomfortable.”

“I’d be so embarrassed to do that though,” Wylla muttered and you cleared your throat.

“At first I was too, but then—” You fixed your skirts just so that you could do something with your hands. “He’s never made me feel uncomfortable, no matter what we’re doing. That’s why I find the marital bed so much fun.”

  “Fun!?”

“Of course,” you said. “It can be very pleasurable you know? For women as well, not just men.”

“I heard it’s terrible for women.”

“It’s not terrible.” Your laugh echoed in the room. “Not even close. When you wed someone who loves you, they simply want you to be happy. Not only outside, but also in your bedchambers.”

Barbrey pointed at the next page, making you hiss in a breath.

“Um, no.” You grimaced and shook your head. “Not that, I would not.”

Jorelle leaned over to peek at what it was before Barbrey showed you another illustration.

“How about this?”

“Oh.” Your face grew hotter. “He does that. A lot.”

Jorelle’s jaw dropped. “You’re jesting, surely!”

“I thought at first his beard would be a problem, but as it turns out—”

“Your lord husband kisses you there?”

“Yes.”

“Why? That doesn’t lead to an heir.”

“Well.” You pressed your palms on your cheeks to soothe the fire. “Not everything is about siring heirs.”

“But how come no one said it’d be fun?” Wylla asked to the room. “All I kept hearing was the importance of heirs, why was I not told it could be fun?”

“I think unfortunately many women don’t know,” you said. “But thankfully I know, because I wed the love of my life, and so will all of you. I’ll make sure of it.” You winked at Lyra. “As long as you want to wed, of course. There’s always the option not to.”

“I’ll take that option,” Lyra stated. “I’m uninterested.”

“I’m interested,” Barbrey pointed out and shuffled the pages before she held up the book again. “Not the other thing, but I want to try this.”

You leaned in with the rest of the girls to see the illustration better. Jorelle narrowed her eyes while Wylla tilted her head, Lyra’s lips curled downwards and Alys put a hand on her hip, letting out a hum.

“Oh I haven’t tried that one yet either,” you said after a beat and held out your hand to motion at the book. “But as my best friend would say, every skill needs honing. May I?”

An hour before dinner, you had already changed your gown and had your maid do your hair while your ladies-in-waiting went to their own bedchambers to get ready. You had dismissed your maid to read some more in secret, so engrossed in the book that you had lost the track of time, hence why you didn’t even hear Robb’s approaching footsteps until the door opened. Your head whipped up and you jolted in bed as if someone pricked you with a needle, a gasp catching in your throat.

 “My love!” you squealed, closing the book and pushing it under the bed in haste. “You’re back!”

“I am.” He came closer to peck you on the lips before he flung himself on the bed, and tilted his head. “Why are you out of breath?”

Seven hells.

“I was reading poetry,” you said after a pause, waving a hand in the air. “It always evokes feelings in me, I get very emotional.”

Confusion pinched his brows and you took a deep breath to calm yourself, then pushed yourself from the bed to make your way to the big table, earning a groan of displeasure from him.

“Come back.”

You let out a giggle and held up a cup, but he shook his head, so you only filled one cup with wine before you returned to bed. After taking a sip, you put the cup on your bedside table and let him pull you back in the bed so that you could straddle him while he wrapped his arms around your waist, nuzzling to your bosom.

“Gods, you smell so good,” he murmured and you stifled a laugh.

“How was your day?” you asked, playing with the auburn curls at the nape of his neck, and he hummed.

“Busy. Yours?”

“Not as busy,” you said. “What’s happened?”

“There’s some unrest between two families up in the mountains,” he said, his voice muffled against your skin. “Norreys and Burleys. Both too stubborn to speak to each other without drawing swords.”

“Oh my poor love,” you cooed, a smile curling your lips when his shoulders relaxed. “And you must be the peacemaker?”

He nodded. “In person, probably.”

The simple sentence was more than enough to wipe your smile off your face, your body tensing up. The memory of what had happened the last time he was away flashed before your eyes, your stomach doing a painful flip as you gulped. You knew that he had no idea, you had made sure that he would have no idea, but it didn’t mean you were ready for him to leave once again, this time for more than just one week—probably for a moon, with how far the mountains were from Winterfell.

But what were you supposed to say?

I don’t feel safe here when you’re away?

That was out of the question. Lady Olenna would’ve reprimanded you if she heard you even consider saying such a thing; a lady didn’t demand or plead, she made people think they wanted what she wanted all along.

In the subtlest manner, of course.

“Oh my,” you said. “Well, I’m quite excited to meet them then. Do you suppose their wives will come with as well? When you invite those lords here?”

He pulled back to give you a fond smile.

“You misunderstand me, sweeting—”

“I suppose they will, considering the distance,” you cut him off. “And I understand why, if you went off to the mountains to settle such dispute, it’d take what? Almost a moon for you to come back? Gods, it’d break my heart so terribly.” You curled your fingers over the back of his hand so that you could press his palm on the soft swell of your chest where he could feel your heartbeat. “To be away from you for that long. I’d miss you so, so much.”

Robb’s eyes darkened with desire as they lingered on your cleavage, then snapped up to your lips again. “Would you?”

You knew you were supposed to come up with a seductive remark as an answer, this was the perfect moment; and yet what you ended up saying was more of a heartfelt confession rather than some southern wordplay.

“I know the whole north says it’s just because we’re newlyweds, but…” You lowered your glances, your heart skipping a beat at the heat of his gaze alone. “Robb, I don’t believe anyone understands how much I crave you, all the time. It’s intimidating sometimes.”

He swallowed thickly, his other hand sliding up to cradle your cheek, tracing the line of your bottom lip with his thumb as he tilted your head up.

“And why is it intimidating, my beautiful wife?” he asked, the deep rumble of his voice sending a pleasant shiver through you before he pressed open-mouthed kisses on your chest while tugging at the front laces of your gown. “My heart is at your command forever, you know this.”

You had to try really, really hard to focus and pull yourself together through the haze of want, especially with the way you could feel the proof of his desire under you.

“I thought, for—” A curt laugh escaped you. “I feared for a moment just now, that you would go to them and not the other way around. But you would not, surely?”

He paused for a second, then he lifted his head to look at you; his eyes heavy-lidded like he was as intoxicated with your presence as you were with his.

“Of course not.”

You nodded, batting your lashes. “They’ll come here instead?”

“Aye,” he murmured. “They’ll come here instead.”

You couldn’t stop the proud smile lighting up your face before he grabbed your waist and flipped you under him, making you squeal.

“Robb! My love, we have guests for dinner—”

“You also had a pretty good idea tossed in with that plan of yours.”

“What idea is that?”

“About hitting up one of the cafes.   I need caffeine. As much as humanly possible.”

“I know I could use a tea. Or two. Or three. Or a dozen.”

“Not to mention I could eat the ass out of a low-flying duck.”

She laughs. “What?”

“It’s an Aussie thing.  I’m saying I’m starving.”

“Well, in that case…” She snags a small bag of bath and shower necessities from her carry-on. “... I could eat the ass out of a low-flying duck, too.”

“You know, you’re catching on pretty fast. Only been a couple of days, and you’re already using some of the slang.”

“Maybe if we get the chance, you can teach me more of it.  That would really confuse people in Prague; if a transplanted American busted out some Australian slang.”

“Something tells me the locals are used to you being a study in contradiction.”

“It’s kinda funny you’d say that.  I’ve been thinking the same thing about you. I bet you surprise a lot of  people.”

“I don’t know a lot of people.  In the same way they don’t know me.”

“Is that by choice or…?”

“Necessity.”

“Theirs or yours?”

“Maybe a little bit of both.”

“I know you.”

“You think so, do you?”

“It’s only been a few days. Since we met.  And something tells me I’ve seen more of the real you than anyone else ever has.”

With a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, he nods in the direction of the bathroom.   “I really do hope there’s some hot water left for you.”

Esme relents, noticing the tension in his shoulders and the tightness of his jaw. It’s a source of discomfort for him; the fact that she’s able to read him so well and doesn’t shy away from asking the hard questions.  And while she continues to make gains in getting past his tough exterior, she knows when not to push her luck.  Success only guaranteed if he allows her to breach the first of many walls he’d long ago built around himself. 

To take the time to cherish each other’s company, to be able to see each other. 

The dining table was stretched to its fullest length, every chair occupied. Platters passed from one pair of hands to another. Your dad was laughing far too loudly at something Ellie had said. Liv insisted she'd done absolutely nothing wrong, which only made everyone suspicious.

Dana sighed into her wine, "Every time you say that, I know something’s about to bite me in the arse."

"Mom," Liv groaned, “I really didn’t do anything that bad”

While you only laughed harder. 

"And yet I don’t feel any better from you saying that," your Mama teased her. 

Your Dad chuckled from beside her, he adds, "And I've learned not to ask questions,” whilst your Mama elbows him lightly. 

Around the table, conversation flowed effortlessly. 

Rosie and Finnick–now four years old and full of boundless energy–had long since abandoned the adults in favour of playing with their cousin in the lounge room.

Or...

At least they had.

"Daddy!"

Brendon looked up from helping your Dad clear a plate, "Yes, sweetheart?"

Rosie's curls bounced as she ran into the dining room, eyes gleaming whilst she pleaded, "We need you."

He smiled, tilting his head, "What for?"

"A very important meeting,” Rosie declared, about as headstrong as her grandma you thought. 

Finnick appeared beside her, gripping a tiny plastic teapot, "You have tea."

Brendon looked at you.

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself laughing, "I think you've been summoned."

Your Dad took the plates from Brendon’s grasp, "Oh, you've got no choice now,” he said with a knowing look. The look of a father who had been dragged into many tea parties before. 

Dana didn't even look up from cutting another slice of roast, "Good luck."

Brendon sighed with exaggerated resignation, "I suppose duty calls,” but even he couldn’t suppress the smile that spread across his face when Rosie seized one hand. And Finn took the other. 

Between the two of them they practically dragged the six-foot orthopaedic surgeon down the hallway.

Finn instructed, "Daddy sit!"

"I am sitting,” he claimed. 

"No,” Rosie pointed firmly, "There."

"Oh. My mistake,” he nodded before he folded himself with surprising grace onto a tiny pink plastic chair that looked as though it might collapse beneath him.

It somehow survived.

Barely.

His knees were practically level with his shoulders.

The children immediately began issuing instructions, "Cup,” Rosie poured a cup of tea for him. 

"Thank you,” Brendon nodded appreciatively. 

"Cake,” Finn passed a wooden plate over to him with a fake slice of cake. 

Miming taking a sip, Brendon plays along, just as he always had, just as he always will. Becoming putty beneath their demands, "Oh, very delicious."

"You have to pinky."

"I absolutely have to pinky."

They spent the next fifteen minutes correcting his tea-party etiquette with absolute seriousness.

"No, Daddy,” Rosie shook her head, “You sip. Like this,” Rosie demonstrated.

Brendon copied her exactly.

"Perfect,” Rosie grinned triumphantly, whilst Isla giggled along. 

Finnick nodded solemnly, "He’s learning."

The adults watched from the dining room doorway.

Your father laughed so hard he had to wipe tears from his eyes.

Dana quietly reached for her phone, "I'm taking a photo."

Brendon looked over, "Please don't."

"It's already been sent to the family group chat,” Dana claimed with a teasing grin. 

"Dana,” he sighs, but no bite laced his words. In fact, the shine in his eyes led you to believe he was enjoying this all. 

Everyone burst into laughter.

You couldn't stop smiling.

It was impossible to reconcile this gentle, endlessly patient father with the guarded man you'd first met all those years ago.

The one who had kept everyone at arm's length.

Who had spoken in clipped sentences.

Who'd hidden every vulnerable part of himself.

Now he wore a plastic tiara.

Entirely by choice.

This was your life. Your family. And you loved them all so much. 

And yet–

Despite you knowing that. 

Despite you being completely aware that Brendon would always love you. 

You had a little niggling of fear. 

Of worry. 

Creeps into the forefront of your mind. 

It was silly. 

Really. 

But weren't most fears at the end of the day, a little unfounded?

Fear might’ve been a bit too strong of a word. A better description for the way you felt might be fretting. 

Yeah. 

You were simply fretting. 

Later, while everyone was distracted by dessert, by the orange and poppy seed cake topped with cream cheese frosting and slight shavings of dark chocolate on top, delicate and spongy with each bite.

Whilst they ate and enjoyed the night, you slipped quietly onto the back verandah.

The evening air was cool.

Comfortable. 

Your hands rested unconsciously over your stomach.

You hadn't told anyone.

Not yet.

Not even Brendon.

The test sat hidden in your handbag.

Positive.

Again.

You should have been excited.

Instead...

The worry had arrived first.

The door creaked open behind you, "You've got your mother's thinking face."

You smiled faintly from the familiar sound of your Dad’s voice. 

You simply stare out at the garden, not meeting his eyes. 

Your Dad stepped outside, gently closing the door behind him. He leaned against the railing beside you.

Neither of you spoke for a while.

The silence wasn't uncomfortable.

It never had been.

"You alright, Cupcake?"

You bite your lip with a furrow of your brow, "I don't know."

That was enough.

He didn't press.

Didn't interrogate.

Just waited.

Just like he’d always done. 

Just like he always would, for as long as you needed him to. 

He always made sure his girls were all good. 

And if they weren’t. 

Well he always made sure you all knew he was there for you. 

He was there for you during your first heartbreak. 

He was there to quell your Mama when you had called home to say you were staying in Paris. 

He soothed your worries, assuring you that your Mama was going to come around eventually. 

He was there telling you he was only a phone call away if ever you needed. 

Benji is the perfect girl dad. 

Long before girl dads were ever a thing. 

He was the original. 

He was Brendon’s role model. 

And your source of comfort without you ever asking him to be. 

Eventually...

"I'm pregnant."

His head turned towards you. A slow smile spread across his face, he reached over and squeezed your shoulder, "That's wonderful."

"I know,” You swallowed, sniffling lightly, whilst the next words came out shakily, "I think."

He heard the uncertainty immediately, "You're frightened."

You nodded, feeling the burning well of tears threaten to fall from your eyes whilst you continued, "It just–It just all came back, the miscarriage, the waiting, the appointments, the heartache–"

Your breathing shakes, your heart races, "And then I started thinking...What if I can't do this again? What if I'm not strong enough?"

Your dad was quiet for a long moment.

Then he smiled, "Can I ask you something?"

You hummed with a slight nod, feeling your Dad’s arm wrap around your shoulder comfortingly. 

"Have you met your husband?"

His question catches you off guard, whilst you raise your brow, “Dad, what–”

"I'm serious,” He laughed softly, before saying sincerely, "That man would move heaven and earth for you."

Your throat tightened, "You know..."

He looked through the window towards the lounge room.

Brendon was still pretending to drink invisible tea. Rosie was enthusiastically feeding him a plastic biscuit. Finn grinning whilst he drank from his own cup. 

"It wasn't easy watching you girls grow up,” His voice softened, rubbing your shoulder, "I know every parent says that. But one day you're teaching your daughter to ride a bike...and the next she's building a life of her own."

But then he smiled proudly, "I worry, every father does, every parent does. I worried whether someone would see you the way I always hoped they would."

His eyes stayed fixed on Brendon, "I don't mean that in some old-fashioned sense. It was never about needing a husband. It was about hoping you'd find someone who made your life gentler. Someone who'd carry the heavy things with you."

He nodded towards the lounge room, "I found out I didn't have to worry."

You followed his gaze.

Brendon was now allowing himself to be crowned "Princess Daddy."

Without complaint.

Without embarrassment.

Without a single thought for himself.

Your Dad smiled.

"Whatever you decide to do...Whether you keep this baby. Whether life throws another curveball. I know one thing,” He squeezed your shoulder again, "Brendon's going to be there. For whatever you choose. He'll never let you carry it alone."

Your eyes filled, leaning your head against his shoulder, smiling softly, "Thanks, Dad."

"Anytime, Cupcake,” He nodded before grinning, "And besides–IIf he ever starts acting up. You let us know, you know your Mama and I won't let any nonsense or shit slide."

You laughed, with a slight shake of your head, "Dad."

"What?" He shrugged, “Just gotta keep him on his toes."

“You’re as bad as Mama,” you retorted. 

He only shakes his head, pressing a kiss to your head, your tears now dried, while he adds, “We just love you.”

And just perhaps. 

Your Dad’s words come into mind once more, later that very same night. After you had said your goodbyes at the doorstep of your parents. 

Brendon carries both Finn and Rosie, while their eyes flutter close, exhaustion taking over the two little kids. 

Taking Rosie into your arms, while you strap them both in the car. 

Your Dad’s words enter your mind. 

Watching Brendon’s careful movements, the unending admiration and love pooling in his bright blue eyes. 

The very same eyes that promised you a life shared together, forever. 

Your heart warms at the sight, and whilst he drives you all back home, his hand holds yours, gentle and sweet. 

It is those little actions. 

Those small moments. 

That reminds you why you stay. Reminds you why you fell in love with him in the first place, and continue to do so. 

That same evening, whilst you tuck the twins into bed, 

Rosie pleaded for Brendon to read them a story. Precisely two, actually. 

Finnick had corrected Brendon twice because he'd accidentally given the dragon the wrong voice.

Eventually...

Two sleepy goodnight kisses later...

The twins were asleep. Drifting off into a world of slumber. 

Brendon quietly pulled their bedroom door almost closed. Walking quietly down the hall, he found you sitting on the couch.

One hand resting over your stomach.

And somewhere. 

Deep down. 

He had a feeling–an inkling about what was happening with you. 

He had noticed, of course he had–he had seen the signs. 

The vaguely familiar look in your eye. 

"What’s going on with you?" He asked gently, stopping just a few feet away. Giving you space. Room to breathe. 

You looked up, hands shifting to twist in your lap, "I found something out."

He crossed the room in three strides, kneeling in front of you, "Were you waiting for the right time to tell me?"

You nodded.

He smiled gently, "Okay."

You reached into your pocket.

Placed the pregnancy test into his hand.

He stared.

Then looked back at you.

Then back at the test.

His eyes filled almost instantly, "We're?–”

You nodded, a small smile spreading across your lips, "We're pregnant."

He laughed. The soft, disbelieving kind that dissolved into tears before it was finished, "Oh, sweetheart..." He rested his forehead against yours.

For a long moment he couldn't speak.

When he finally did...

His voice was barely above a whisper, "I'm here."

Those two little words. 

Just as meaningful. 

Just as profound as I love you.

The very phrase was more than just words, more than just a promise. 

Because–

Because he always followed through. 

Always stayed true to his word. 

Because he truly was. 

Always here for you. 

"I know,” you smiled softly, eyes tracing the features of his face, simply drinking his appearance in. 

No matter how many years pass, no matter how tired, exhausted, or whatever else. 

Brendon was always the most handsome man in your eyes. 

He cupped your face, "I mean it. I'm here,” softly kissing your forehead, "For whatever you choose."

You nodded slowly. Nerves on fire. 

Mind buzzing from the way he made your heart pulsate. 

Brendon never pushed, never demanded. Every decision was made together, with each other in mind. 

Just like this one. 

"I've been thinking–I think..." A smile spread across your face, "...We'll keep them."

His laugh escaped before he could stop it, "Them?"

You blinked realising your mishap. Grinning sheepishly, "Force of habit."

He chuckled softly, his thumb gently caressing your cheek, "Let's hope it's just one this time."

You laughed, smile widening, "I'd be happy either way, it’d be nice for Rosie and Finn to have another sibling."

"I like that idea too," he agrees wholeheartedly. 

Silence settled between you.

Comfortable.

Warm.

You looked down, those worries coming back to your mind, no longer taking over, just simply there, always just there. 

"You sure you're up for this again?” You asked, before listing off, “You know, with all the late-night supermarket runs, the cravings–"

He laughed softly, "You mean the night you absolutely needed watermelon and cheetos."

“Don’t forget the cookie dough ice cream,” you added, before stating with a dreamy sigh, "They were perfect together."

"They absolutely were not,” he snorted a small shake of his head. 

"They absolutely were,” you protested. Before shifting slightly, reaching up to grasp his hands with your own, pulling them down into your lap. 

Your smile dampens, “Can’t forget the mood swings–I remember being terribly angsty the last time…” your voice trails off, swallowing the thick lump beginning to form. 

“And what if it’s not easy…What if it doesn’t go to plan?…” You say, airing out your fears. 

Smiling softly. 

Understandingly. 

“Sweetheart–I’m here for it all,” His hands still intertwined with yours whilst he lifts them to press a gentle kiss to yours, eyes flickering up to meet yours. 

"I didn't marry you because I thought life was going to be sunshine every day. And I didn't marry you simply because I wanted to wake up beside you,” he shared, "I married you because I knew life would be hard. Marriage is hard. Children are hard."

He pauses for a moment before adding, “Grief is hard, and so is growing old.” 

His thumb brushed across your wedding ring, "I wanted every single part of it. Not because it would always be easy...But because it would be with you. The woman with such a big heart that in the first time we met, gave me a delicious slice of rosemary shortbread, the woman I fell in love with"

Pure adoration. 

Pure love simply poured out of him, with each and every word, “I married you because I want to love you everyday, through every tough day, I want to be your rock through every curve ball. And simply be there with you through it all.”

Your heart simply melts from his admission. 

From the way he looks at you. 

Even after having been married for so long, he still makes your heart skip a beat just like the very first time he told you he loved you. 

"And if that means driving across the city at midnight because the baby you're growing suddenly decides watermelon tastes best with cheetos, and cookie dough ice cream–” He shrugged, "Then I guess I'm buying Cheetos."

You laughed so hard tears rolled down your cheeks.

He kissed them away.

Just as he always had.

…

And true to his word. Loyal to a fault. His promise to you, to always be there for you, never breaks. 

Brendon was there for you. 

In every way that mattered. 

He was there. 

Through thick and thin. 

Through the highs and lows. 

Through everything that life brought your way. 

Not only for the milestones people filled photo albums with–

But for the quiet moments that mattered just as much.

When your family gathered around the dinner table and you shared the news that there would be another little heartbeat joining the family.

When morning sickness stole your appetite.

When your ankles swelled.

When exhaustion made even standing at the kitchen bench feel like climbing a mountain.

He was there.

When your water broke halfway through baking a batch of madeleines. Whilst you had stared at the puddle on the kitchen floor.

Then at the tray still sitting on the bench.

Then back at Brendon, "I don't think these are getting finished."

He chuckled lightly, already moving to grab the preprepared bag, "The madeleines can wait."

A memory you both laughed about for years.

Especially after your daughter arrived.

Tiny.

Perfect.

Just a little impatient.

Little Madeline.

Maddie.

Named after the little cakes that never made it into the oven.

And just perhaps…

You just happened to know of a shark swimming in the gulf of Mexico named Madeline when she was tagged…just a little something you had seen when scrolling instagram. 

You never told Brendon.

You simply smiled every time he called your daughter by her name.

A private joke you'd keep tucked safely away for another rainy day.

Maddie arrived with all ten fingers.

All ten toes.

Bright eyes and cherub cheeks.

A determined cry that filled the delivery room with relief.

It hadn’t been the smoothest of pregnancies–not the easiest of times. 

Perhaps none of them ever truly were.

But she was finally here, in your arms. 

Perhaps a little premature. 

But she had made it. 

You couldn’t help but sob when you heard her first cry, leaning into Brendon’s embrace whilst you cherished this moment together. 

Brendon was there through all the moments that mattered. 

The Emergency Department staff watched Rosie, Finn and Maddie grow up one homemade baked treat at a time.

You'd appear carrying tins of cookies balanced on one arm.

Baby Maddie strapped against your chest.

Finn clinging to your hand.

Whilst Rosie proudly announced to anyone willing to listen that Daddy fixed bones.

They cooed over your kids, and even more so when they saw both Dana and Brendon become absolute putty for the kids. So soft hearted, the polar opposite of the more hardened facade they put up at work. 

You and Brendon were quite a team. 

The perfect parental duo. Perfect might be a bit of a stretch….but you’d like to think you came pretty close to it. 

You went through every experience. 

Together. 

Through scraped knees and bedtime stories.

Through toddler tantrums and endless "why?" questions.

Through to the first time you kiss your kids goodbye whilst they start their first day at school…

Until all too soon your little kids grow up. 

Soon becoming their own person. 

Through slammed teenage bedroom doors and arguments spoken in frustration rather than truth.

But no matter what the children always came home. 

Sometimes late.

Sometimes sheepish.

Always to find the porch light on.

The kitchen, warm with fresh baked goods, ranging from cookies, to brownies, or even muffins or savoury delights waiting on the bench.

You learned something your own parents had taught you years before.

Understanding first.

Questions later.

A cup of tea before advice.

Knowing better than to scold before understanding–even if it takes everything within you not to simply ground them. 

Brendon’s calm demeanor helps keep you settled, eased, before you completely lose it. 

Though he struggles to conceal his own concern behind a thinly veiled facade…considering mere moments before he was almost definitely pacing the halls ready to jump in the car and find his kid. 

Rather than pushing your kids away with screaming words and harsh conclusions…

You both learn to understand first. 

Just to show them that they can always come to you if ever they had a problem–however small or big. 

Brendon is right there by your side. 

Especially when you hold back, fail to hold back tears. Holding onto your little babies, now grown and ready to flee the coop. 

And with each child that leaves. 

When Rosie, Finn and eventually Maddie leave home…

Each of them leave with a neatly made recipe book. An idea that Brendon had given you. Late nights spent awake working together to put them all together. 

Inside were family favourites, each tailored to each child and their personal favourites. 

From brown butter oat cookies, to crumbling melting moments with a passionfruit tang, or red velvet cookies with a cream cheese glaze.

The perfect recipe for flaky croissants. And all the little tips and tricks you had learnt written all throughout the recipe. 

Varying versions of cinnamon scrolls. Always a crowd pleaser, whether they be coffee scrolls, vanilla scrolls or even your own specialty key lime pie scroll. 

Apple crumble, Finn’s favourite adding rhubarb to the recipe whilst Maddie’s had raisins in the crumble mix for an added sweetness.

Pasta sauces, including your Dad’s signature bolognese, whilst Rosie’s book included a pesto sauce that Brendon prided himself with.

Each recipe accompanied by your neat handwriting.

For when the world feels too loud.

For celebrating good news.

For when the marks weren't what you hoped.

For feeding friends.

For impressing someone you secretly hope becomes something more.

For homesick days.

For remembering that home isn't a place–it's the people who love you.

You and Brendon had thought it all out. 

Giving them a taste of home if ever they needed it. 

Each time, his own tears remain unshed, just until they leave your view. Just until they’re out of sight. By then the tears flowed from both of you, simply holding onto one another. 

Waited until the car disappeared around the corner.

Only then did his shoulders sag.

Only then did you wrap your arms around him.

And together...You mourned the beautiful ache of raising children well enough that they were ready to leave.

The hardest part was always saying goodbye. 

Even if it was exciting. 

Even if it was thrilling that your kids were finally going out into the world to make their own lives. 

You were so proud of them…

But that didn’t mean it didn’t make you or Brendon any less sad to see them go. 

Your Dad was right, saying goodbye and seeing your children leave was both the happiest and saddest part of being a parent…

…

“A vacation...really?” Rosie had asked whilst on the phone with you. Your phone precariously perched upon a shelf whilst your hands fold the dough before you. 

Going through the motions like it was second nature. 

The bakery had been going extremely well over the years, well enough that you had even established another two stores around the city. 

And well–

Considering how hard you’ve been working as of late. 

And how much Brendon’s been working…

You believed your family was overdue for a vacation. 

“And where did you have in mind Mom?” Rosie followed up. Breaking you from thought. 

Plucking a knife you begin slicing the dough into triangles. Preparing them to be rolled into croissants ready to be proofed, before sliding into the oven to become buttery flaky delights. 

“Paris,” you said with a smile. 

Mind drifting back to fond memories. 

You and Brendon had gone back every few years, and usually around the time of your wedding anniversary.

And even going to visit Paris to further your own training and understanding of all the trade secrets from some of the world’s best bakeries and pattisseries. 

But you had never once gone with your kids. 

Sure you had all taken family vacations together. But Paris was special for both you and Brendon, simply waiting for the right time to take them. 

“And why Paris?” Rosie probed. 

You shrug despite knowing she couldn’t see you, wiping your brow with your elbow, the warmth of the ovens around you starts to get to you. 

“I think it’ll be nice,” you vaguely explained, before rambling on excitedly, “We can make a whole trip of it, we can go to Paris and any other places in Europe, explore it together as a family, you’ve all got some time off between studies and jobs, and my bakeries will be fine–and your Dad has a lot of leave accumulated–so what do you say?”

“You still didn’t say why it has to be Paris specifically? Why can’t we just go to some resort and fully relax?” 

You clicked your tongue, “Where is your sense of adventure?”

“Is something going on?” A tinge of concern laces Rosie’s tone. 

“Nothing’s wrong, I just think Paris will be really nice–”

“I don’t know, don’t you think it’s a little touristy?” Rosie added a little unsure. 

You could practically envision her mouth twisting in thought. The very same look Brendon would have at times. 

“Did I ever tell you that me and your Dad went there on our honeymoon?” you said, whilst your fingers deftly arranged the croissants on the tray. 

“Only about a million times–”

“Well have I ever mentioned that’s also where I fell in love with baking–and lived there,” you cut her off. 

Somehow, throughout the years these little facts slipped through the cracks. 

It was hard for kids to see their parents as their own people with their own histories. It was sometimes easier to just see them as only parents and nothing more…

“What? No! How did grandma react to that?” she exclaimed, whilst you laughed from her outburst. 

“I could’ve sworn I had told you,” you said between laughs, “Doesn’t matter–I’ll tell you all about it, if you agree to come to Paris”

“Its a deal,” she said quickly. 

“Great! I’ll call your brother and sister, and get them on board–”

“No need, I’ve messaged them already and Maddie’s already asking when to pack,” Rosie added, “–and Finn’s asking when he can start booking tickets for the galleries”

And so… 

Plans were made. 

Flights booked. 

Hotels arranged. 

And soon you’re all landing in Paris, ready to share a little slice of your youth with your children. Your arm wrapped around Brendon, both smiling warmly, feeling a sense of home overcome you both. 

Walking the same streets.

Eating from the same little bakeries.

The city still felt like a love letter. 

And Brendon still adored the way your face would light up, reliving the past, the way you’d still after all this time, lead him down narrow cobbled streets, past doors he could’ve sworn led to nowhere. 

Regardless of that he trusted you. 

Whilst you lead the way, finding the perfect hidden little secrets. Showing him a different side to Paris that wasn’t plastered across social media. 

This time, however...

You weren't alone.

Rosie.

Finn.

Maddie.

All grown now.

Walking beside you, sending you a questioning look each time you led them this way and that. 

A little story with each place you went to. 

Now curating new memories with your entire family. The people you held dearest to your heart. 

It brought you a thrill to see them enjoy the city you still treasured after all these years. 

Seeing them explore and find little secrets of their own. 

But today. 

You were all together once more, strolling through the Jardin du Luxembourg. 

Finn and Maddie rent one of the little sailboats to sail around the pond. In an instant their behaviour morphs back into the children they once were whilst they playfully argue on how to steer the boat. 

Rosie sitting on one of the chairs, a sketchbook in hand supposedly tracing out the scenery before you…

Though you had a feeling she was sketching out anatomical images, her mind, not straying very far from her medical studies. 

But then. 

Just like that day all those years ago, despite the sun shining high in the sky. Clouds rolled in, sweeping overhead. 

And then the rain falls without warning. 

Soft at first.

Then steady.

Just as it had on your honeymoon. 

The crowds scatter, umbrellas pop up. 

But you can’t help but smile, closing your eyes whilst the rain cascades down and drenches your clothes and hair. A laugh bubbling out. 

"So..." Brendon asked, already smiling, "Still think Paris looks prettiest in the rain?"

You looked around.

At your children.

At the city that had witnessed your honeymoon.

At the husband who still reached for your hand without thinking.

At the life you'd built together.

"I do,” He slipped his fingers between yours. 

Exactly as he always had.

So warm and comforting. 

Pulling you closer, just to keep you a little warm whilst the rain falls. 

He hums lowly, a familiar tune filling your ears, whilst you rest your head onto his chest, falling into a gentle sway. 

The quiet murmurs escape his lips, for your ears only. 

I love you to the bone I love every beat of you Every measure and note And so, if I stand the chance May I ask you for this dance?

“Mom! Dad! C’mon!” Maddie calls out, all of your kids already ready to make a run for it, "Honestly. Now is not the time to live out the notebook!"

Rosie called out over the rain, "Can you stop looking at each other like that for five minutes?"

“We get it you’re in love,” Finn adds hurriedly, “Now can we please get out of the rain before we spend the rest of the vacation sick!”

Looking up you meet Brendon’s eyes, a little twinkle in them, full of amusement whilst you both laugh softly. 

Then, wordlessly, he pulled back not before placing one sweet kiss upon your lips, lingering for just a moment, you feel his lips curve into a smile whilst they press against yours. 

Sighing softly when he pulls away, his hand settles at the small of your back.

Your arm curling around his, before you follow after your kids. 

Lightly jogging to seek shelter whilst the rain continues to pour. 

Just as it had all those years ago.

"You know..." he murmured.

Looking up at the man who had loved you through grief and joy, through ordinary days and extraordinary ones, through every promise he'd ever made...

“Somehow, with each passing day I just fall more and more in love with you,” he pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek. 

A wide grin spreads across your lips. 

“Careful there, if you talk too loudly the kids are going to scold you for loving their Mom so much,” you tease lightly. 

“Let them,” he shrugged, “Let them see just how much I love you, I don’t want them ever thinking that I don’t,” he says so tenderly and sweetly. 

Your eyes drift up ahead, seeing Rosie, Finn and Maddie standing under an awning waving you both over, ready to spend the afternoon in a cafe and out of the rainstorm. 

But before you manage to continue over. 

Your sweet, dear husband. 

The ever loving Brendon. 

Twists you around, so smoothly, so fluidly. 

Before leaning down to capture your lips with his. 

Kissing you so slowly.

Tenderly.

Like he still had all the time in the world.

And perhaps...

He did.

Because the greatest love stories were never about the wedding. Were never about the honeymoon. Not even about the first date. 

They were about choosing one another...

Again.

And again.

And again.

Every ordinary day thereafter.

He leans his forehead against yours, eyes peering down into yours, with an endless devotion that had never once faded. 

Even through the hard times. 

Through the arguments. 

Through the fights. 

You always found your way back together. 

Hearts grow fonder and fonder of each other with each passing day. 

Just as Brendon said. 

You simply fell in love with each other more and more. 

Your lips curl into a smile. Heart warming at the thought. Whilst his heart races, with one thought on his mind. 

He would always be so grateful to you. 

Grateful to share this life with you.

His face morphs into a gentle smile. A smile reserved only for you. 

You were the only one who truly knew him, inside and out. Beyond the steely facade he wore to work. Beyond the shark, cold blooded persona.

"You are my home, my family, my life," you whisper softly, "my forever"

"I love you," he says sweetly, echoing the sentiment, "forever"

Burying his nose into the top of your head, holding you close. Cherishing this moment.

One you were sure to look back on fondly.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed part 8 and the series! Sadly it is the final part, but it has been so fun writing such pure sweetness for these two! I've had a blast and hope you have too! Hope you enjoyed the little full circle moment of ending it in Paris - Just know that I am picturing Rosie has gone off to study medicine (not necessarily to go into orthopaedics - but you're almost certain that she's into it because Brendon used to read medical textbooks to them as story books - worked like a charm to get Finn to sleep) Meanwhile I'm imagining Finn might fall in love with baking while on the trip to Paris, so he might take over the bakery business, and little Maddie is very keen on studying marine biology something about Shark's just make her absolutely light up ♥️ Let me know what you thought of this part or of the series in general✨ Read my Bonus Part: The Evans' Family Tree here! Comments, Reblogs and Likes are welcomed and appreciated 💕 Help yourself and check out my other Pitt Works on My Masterlist Here!

Brendon is working on paperwork for a string of consults he had just finished when a laugh pulls him from his thoughts.

Not just any laugh.

Yours.

He looks up to see you laughing in conversation with Trinity Santos.

He’s immediately captivated by you.

Brendon’s had a crush on you for a few months now but is scared you won’t reciprocate the feelings or give him a chance.

You’re sunshine embodied. You wear your heart on your sleeve and have more empathy in one finger than anyone could have in their entire body.

Then there’s him with a brooding attitude, resting bitch face, and intimidating demeanor that is completely opposite of you.

He sees you look over at him, your smile getting bigger,

You wave at him before saying something to Trinity before making your way over to him.

“Hey shark!” you say while propping your arms on the desk counter.

He can’t help but smile back, completely smitten with you.

“Hey star” he greets while giving you his full attention.

The nickname was specifically picked by Brendon in reference to your bright and glowing personality. 

It was special and you loved it.

You loved more than the nickname.

You loved Brendon.

Some of the pitt crew tried encouraging you to say something to him but you couldn’t.

What if I’m annoying?

Does he think I’m ‘too happy’?

What if I don’t look good today?

Would he even feel the same?

Those were just a few thoughts that held you back every day from pursuing your favorite surgeon.

You gently tap his hand as you start to back away.

“If I don’t see you before shift change, have a great day and a good night Brendon.”

“I told you it’s okay to call me Bren, sweetheart,” he raises an eyebrow playfully at you “but I hope you have a great shift too, star.”

Your heart skips a beat from him calling you ‘sweetheart’.

“Thank you Bren. See you when I see you” 

Then you hurry away to find Robby for your next line of cases.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

You’re currently catching up on charts when you glance over to a room close to you. There’s a patient there, just resting. But something is telling you to go check on them. You’re not sure why but you trust your gut and make your way over.

You pull his chart from the end of the bed 

Samuel Kingston, age 57

You close the chart and go to his side.

“Mr. Kingston, I’m a nurse and I just wanted to check and make sure you’re doing alright tonight.”

Mr. Kingston can barely open his eyes. He can barely respond and you notice his shallow but slightly rapid breathing.

“Mr. Kingston? Are you feeling okay?”

You quickly examine his eyes. Unfocused.

You can see sweat start to form on his hairline.

Quickly you take his blood pressure manually.

Fuck. It’s low. Way too low.

You reach for his chart and check his medication doses since being admitted.

The chart states he is on strict blood pressure medication for hypotension.

Then you see the medication doses.

He was supposed to have a dose earlier this morning and the space is blank.

No time administered or an initial to indicate he was checked on.

The resident on his case was Dr. Menton, a newer resident.

You quickly make it to a supply cart and find a bottle of Midodrine. As you start administering it, a voice enters the room.

“Hey Mr. Kingston, It’s Dr. Ment– HEY!”

As you finish the medication dose, a hand grabs your arm and pulls you back and grabs the syringe from you.

“What do you think you’re fucking doing?”

You look at him bewildered.

“What am I doing?” you start “Where the fuck have you been? Mr. Kingston wasn’t given his morning dose of meds for his hypotension. You’re lucky I was even over here. He could have d–”

“What the hell is going on here?” Robby’s voice cuts through the chaos.

You both turn towards the chief attending as he rushes in with another resident on his heels.

“I came in and I–” you’re quickly cut off by Dr. Menton

“I came in, Dr. Robby and found Mr. Kingston suffering symptoms of his hypotension. Whoever was supposed to administer his medication this morning didn’t . Luckily I was just outside to notice him suffering the consequences of that missed dose.”

Menton gestures towards you “your nurse here, gave me attitude and tried telling me how to do my job.”

Your eyes widen in absolute shock.

“What are y-”

“ENOUGH!” Robby shouts as he shakes his head.

“Thank you Dr. Menton for stepping in and helping Mr. Kingston. Star, go find something to do and please show more respect for your resident.”

Dr. Menton glances at you with a smirk and follows Robby out of the room after Mr. Kingston is stabilized.

You stay stuck to your spot and stare at nothing.

Tears start to fill your eyes as your breathing becomes uneven.

What. The. Actual. Fuck.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Brendon is on his way back to the orthopedic floor, hoping to pass you on his way.

Just as he’s about to turn the corner he hears sniffling.

He stops momentarily to listen closely.

There’s more sniffing followed by muffled crying.

Brendon walks towards the noise and pulls back the curtain to the room it’s coming from.

Who he sees standing there makes his blood run ice cold.

There you are, his star, face wet from tears, eyes red and lips trembling as you silently cry.

“Star…” he can barely get the word out.

You look up and see Brendon.

His face softens at your distressed state as his anger simmers inside.

Whoever did this to you would suffer greatly.

“C’mere sweetheart,” he walks to you and pulls you into his arms.

The gentle gesture makes you cry even harder.

“Shhh star, I’m right here.” 

His low and soft tone soothes you and makes you feel safe. 

After a few minutes he slowly pulls himself back and lifts your chin to meet his eyes.

“You know you’re not leaving this room without telling me who did this and what happened.”

You huff lightly “I know, Bren” you say in a whisper.

You then spend the next twenty minutes explaining to Brendon what happened with Dr. Menton

As you do, he can’t help but clench his fists and hope he gets the chance to meet Dr. Menton and give him a tip or two about how to not upset his crush favorite nurse.

He wipes a tear from your face as you finish.

“I just wish I had said something and not let him think he could do that shit.”

You say in frustration.

“I know I'm not intimidating but like I could learn to be tough, I think.”

Brendon smiles at you pacing while talking to yourself. You’re definitely not intimidating by a mile. That’s fine with him because he’d prefer to defend your honor and you just stand back and look cute.

But he understands your frustration.

“Okay star, listen,” he grabs your shoulders and turns you towards him.

“You’re gonna find this jackass. When you do, you look him in the eyes and you tell him that shit won’t fly anymore. You might feel scared and that’s okay because you’re standing up for yourself and getting the respect you deserve. I don’t think Dr. jackass will try that shit ever again.”

You tilt your head a little and look up at him with your big sad eyes.

“You think so?”

He smiles wide, “I know so, baby.”

Standing on your tiptoes you kiss Brendon’s cheek “Thank you Bren. You’re the best.”

The touch of your lips on him has his whole body go still but feel on fire.

Yeah, he’s definitely head over heels for you.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

It’s getting close to the end of your shift when you pass a room and you see Dr. Menton looking at some paperwork.

You take a deep breath and walk in.

“Dr. Menton…”

He looks up and immediately rolls his eyes.

“Well if it isn’t miss ‘can’t mind her own business’. What do you want?”.

Your eyebrows furrow at his tone.

“Listen here Menton,” you get in his face “I did my damn job today. Actually no, I did your damn job. You’re lucky Mr. Kingston didn’t die from your negligence. So, as of today, that shit won’t happen again. I won’t tolerate your shit.”

Dr. Menton chuckles in amusement, about to not take you seriously at first but he sees something in his peripheral. Glancing over your shoulder he sees something truly intimidating.

Brendon Park. 

Also known as the shark and for good reason.

Getting on his bad side is waiting for a bomb to go off so most people steer clear.

Brendon stands around a corner outside of the room in the distance, arms crossed with a scowl. When he makes eye contact with Brendon, he gives a stare that screams “listen to her or I’ll make you”

Menton’s eyes widen as he looks back to you.

You poke a finger into his chest “So here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re going to find Robby and tell him what really happened. You’re going to give me the credit I deserved. And lastly, you’re not going to pull this shit ever again. Not with me and definitely not with anyone else. Are we clear?”

He briefly looks back to where Brendon is. Scowl still in place he starts cracking a few knuckles for emphasis.

Menton nods his head quickly as he looks back to you

“Y-yeah I got it. I’ll go find Robby now and tell him. S-sorry.” He says quickly before leaving the room in a hurry.

Park smirks from his hiding spot at the resident scrambling to hopefully make corrections.

He walks from around the corner and acts as if he didn’t witness a thing.

You smile at how Menton seemed to take you seriously. As you leave the room you see Brendon walking from the hallway.

“Bren!” you call his name

He smiles and makes his way towards you.

“Bren! I did it! I told him to tell Robby the truth and not do that shit again. And I think he got the memo. I can’t believe I did that and he seemed like he genuinely heard me.”

Brendon beams at you with pride “I told you, star. I’m proud of you.”

You smile wide, not knowing you had more help than you were aware of but he wouldn’t ruin your glow.

As far as you knew, you had a ‘scary’ streak now.

A scary streak that was madly in love with you

You’d know soon enough.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Your match would have gone as well as you could have wanted, really. You'd only been on the main roster for a few weeks now, but you could really feel like you were making an impact with what time you were given. You'd worked with Chelsea before back on the indy circut so it was nice to get back in the ring with someone you knew and were comfortable with in a world where everything was new. But, Punk and Roman needed the time, so it were cut with ten minutes before you were supposed to go out.

The first big blow of the evening.

“The snow hasn’t let up,” you hear Becky from down the hall to her husband Seth Rollins.

“We’ll be fine, just gonna drive slow that’s all,” he replied with a calm tone as he pushed the large metal double doors open and you feel a gust of icy air whisk down the hallway and wrap around your frame. The doors slammed shut and you groaned to yourself.

You hate snow.

Actually, no. You didn’t hate snow, under the right conditions - you thrived on a snow day. No, you hated driving in the snow. It was one hundred miles to the airport and you’d be spending the next few hours going way under the speed limit on the brink of tears with white knuckles.

The second big blow of the evening.

You grabbed your duffle bag and slung it over your shoulder before zipping up your gray puffer jacket. Might as well get it over with, right?

The sound of your footsteps echo as your heeled boots clacked along the concrete floors towards the doors. You could see the snow through the small window and internally groaned. You paused with your hand on the push handle before gathering your strength and pushing hard.

A gust of wind whipped as soon as you did, your TV-ready curls whipping all around your face.

“Son of a bitch,” you sigh, pulling at your face to rid it from the strands. Already feeling like you were off to a great start, you found your rental car and sighed as you saw at least three inches of fresh snow on covering it.

You fumble to find your keys, toss your bag in and pop the trunk, slipping along the icy asphalt here and there. As your eyes scanned the trunk bed of your car, a sinking sense of dread started to wash over you.

No snow brush.

The third and final big blow of the evening.

“Of course not, why the fuck would there be a brush in a rental car that was rented in a state where it fucking snows?”

You’re too busy ranting to yourself to see a figure approaching cautiously.

“Need a hand?”

You whip your head around and see CM Punk, but he’d tell you ‘call me Phil’ standing with an extra large snow brush in his tattooed hand. Even in the blizzard, he looked relaxed and comfortable. He didn’t have hair stuck in his lip gloss, the bastard.

The pair of you hadn’t really crossed paths before now. He usually stuck to his circle of veterans, the guys that he’d known for a decade plus. Or at least that’s what you had heard. The World Heavyweight Champion was always around. Nobody really bothered him, now that you think about it. You’d always thought it was by design. But here he was, in the middle of a massive snowstorm offering to help you.

“Uh, yeah — thank you,” you say graciously, fishing a beanie out of the bag in the passenger seat and pulling it over your head.

“No problem,” he shrugged and instantly started brushing snow off of the car. “You gotta make sure you ask like, three times,” he said nonchalantly, ‘that they put the fucking brush in, I swear.”

You nod, shivering in the cold as snow started to accumulate in your eyelashes.

“Crank it, get the heater blasting at least,” he points to the driver side door and you feel like an idiot for just standing there. You turn the heater up and point it at the windshield before hopping back out.

He was about halfway done, “You don’t have to stay out here, it’s cold as balls,” he offers an escape.

“You’re out here,” you state, hands in your jacket pockets. “Helping me, mind you. Least I could do is just stand here and be miserable with you.”

He yelps out a laugh.

“Who said I was miserable in this? Reminds me of home,” he lifted a windshield wiper and knocked the ice particles off of it.

You think about your travel experiences in the good old city of Chicago. It was either too cold for its own good or hotter than hell and muggy for days at a time. Maybe you were just not equipped for weather.

“You got anybody you’re riding with?” he tries to sound unbothered, but you notice the slight concern in his voice. “You ever drive in stuff like this before?”

You shake your head, deciding not to let him know that you’d declined to ride in the backseat with Seth and Becky.

And Raquel and Liv.

Maybe it was just you wanting to be alone after having your match cut, but you were willing to suffer the conditions to get some decompression time.

“I’ll be fine,” you state, somewhat defensively. “If it gets too bad, I’ll just pull off and wait for it to pass through.”

Phil’s mouth popped open and he stared across the car hood at you.

“Shit’s been coming down for six hours, I don’t think you’ll be able to wait it out.”

You feel annoyed at the fact that he has the audacity to insert himself in your evening’s plan. And then you’re reminded that he’s part of the reason you weren’t on the show tonight and your eyes grow cold.

“Don’t you have a Tribal Chief to annoy?”

He smirks and looks down at the brush in his hand.

“First cut?”

You’re about to reply but he continues.

“Get used to it, kid. It ain’t always gonna be about you.”

You scoff, kicking at the ground. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

“It should mean more because it’s coming from me,” he counters, rounding the front of the car and stepping in front of you.

He’s taller than you expected? Even in your heels, he has a good two inches on you. He glances down at you and motions at the now snow-free vehicle in front of you.

“Your chariot awaits,” he said sarcastically. He flips the brush in his hand and nods as you thank him once again. But he doesn’t leave.

You both stand there for a moment before he breaks the silence.

“D’you wanna ride with me?” he asks and genuinely takes you aback. He rambles on as you stare confusedly at him. “This isn’t the worst I’ve driven in — you can call your rental company in the morning and cancel. You can get a ride to the airport tomorrow.

You heavily consider the offer. You wouldn’t be behind the wheel, scared and trying your best not to die — but you’d be in a car with him for as long as he’d take to get to the airport.

“Or you can spend the night on the side of the road in a fetal position.”

You hesitate but he’s already grabbing your duffle from the passenger seat and shuts the car off. He puts the keys under the mat and shuts the door, glancing over at you.

“Take your pick.”

He’s halfway across the parking lot with your bag when you finally follow behind him. He’s got a pickup truck, way better than your little sedan. He opens the door for you and you climb into the warmed cab.

And you’re off. He’s a much better driver in the snow than you were - his confidence in the ring seemed to transfer over because there were a few moments you were frightened but he simply fixed the wheel and you’d straighten out quick.

About twenty minutes into the drive, he asked how you had gotten into the business.

You rambled on about how your big brothers were super into wrestling when you were kids. How they always tried moves out on you, the story of you being tombstoned at age six made him laugh particularly hard. When you’d graduated high school you decided to go to college and started training in your spare time. You’d realized college wasn’t for you and that wrestling was what you wanted to do. After a few years on the independents, Shawn Michaels had called you up personally to offer you an NXT tryout. That was two years ago. And how you’d been called up to RAW recently.

“I’m just trying to figure out what to do,” you say with a sigh.

He clears his throat and shrugs, “Just do what you’ve been doing. Seems to have gotten you this far.”

You nod, “Yeah, I guess so. I don’t wanna get lost in the mix, y’know?”

Grinning, he shook his head. “I have no idea what you mean,” he deadpanned. “Nah, you won’t. Just find what makes you you and crank it up,” he rolled his eyes at his own cliche advice before you could.

“Just ride the wave as long as you can,” he tells you seriously. “I’ve been here for a while. I’ve seen a lot of people come and go, this business will chew you up and spit you out if you let it. But enjoy it, too. Don’t get too caught up in what’s next to enjoy what’s in front of you..”

You look over at him and see that he’s staring at you.

Is — is he fucking flirting?

“Thanks, Punk,” you state sweetly.

“Phil, please.”

“Alright then, thanks, Phil.”

A ding sounds and you check your phone and groan.

‘FLIGHT 2256 HAS BEEN CANCELLED.’

“Got it,” he’s on his phone and googles the hotel he’s got a reservation at and hands you the phone. “Book a room, it’s the company card,” he shrugs. “You’ll have better luck getting out in the morning.”

The rest of the drive was surprisingly comfortable. You two realize that you’ve got more in common than originally thought. You liked the same music and found a game where you played the most random song from your childhoods and would ask ‘what’d you know about this one?’ or ‘let it breathe’ before blaring the music.

The highway was deserted, you two were the only car within eyesight going either way and you couldn’t help but wonder if everybody else was having as much fun as you were.

When he turned off of the highway for some gas, you’d seen a Starbucks drive-thru that was 24/7 and he couldn’t tell you no. No, actually it was actually really annoying to him how he couldn’t tell you no already. But the way your eyes had widened at the sight of the logo, he had to turn the car into the lot.

The snow had settled somewhat, flurries were still coming down but way, way lighter. He thanks the graveyard shift workers profusely as they handed him two coffees and two pastries, handing them over to you, as you start to organize the items in the shared cup holder between the pair of you. You clutched your coffee cup in your hands and took a slow sip.

“Thank you,” you say in a sing song voice as he gets back onto the highway. The GPS screen on the dashboard said that the ETA was about twenty minutes out.

“Yep,” he chirps, focusing on the road before finally settling in the middle lane going the speed limit.

“Really though, thank you again for the ride,” you’ve said for the umpteenth time. But you really meant it.

Phil shook his head, “Don’t worry about it really. I don’t think I’d be able to sleep at night knowing the newest signing was somewhere on the highway snowed in,” he said.

You try not to read into it. It’s just a ride. It was just a throwaway statement. He didn’t mean anything by it.

He pulled up into the hotel parking lot about fifteen minutes later, parked and got out to help you. You jump out and stretch your arms above your head and out of the corner of your eye you catch a glimpse of his eyes on your stomach.

He led you inside and you smiled softly to the front desk clerk and opened your mouth but Phil’s voice sounded first.

“Two rooms, Brooks and Y/L/N,” he said matter of factly. He’d done this a million times over his career. You laid your ID on the counter and watched as the desk clerk made your keys and handed them over.

Graciously accepting the key, you head towards the elevator with Phil behind you dragging his suitcase along the floor. He punched the up button with his knuckle and swayed on the balls of his feet as he waited with you for the doors to open.

You tried to push the feeling that he was walking you home from a date out of your mind as you pushed the ‘4’ button, waiting for him to push his own floor. But he stayed still.

Great, you think, same floor.

The doors slide shut and you’re left in an awkward silence again. You feel the elevator begin to rise and you shift in your spot. You can feel his eyes on you but you stare straight ahead, afraid to catch his glimpse this close to your hotel rooms.

As you reach the fourth floor, there’s a ding and the elevator opens — he motions for you to go first, a gentleman, and you step out looking up and down the hall for your room number. You say good night to Phil who gives you a curt nod and tells you to get some sleep before heading down the hallway.

“417, 418, here,” you mumble to yourself as you come upon room 419, pulling the keycard out of its pouch. As you scan the key, you hear a soft scoff down the hall and you see Phil, two doors down, trying to scan his key, a red light flashing every time he did.

You hesitate with your hand on your open room door before you drop your bag down and start down towards him. You take his key from his hand and rub it down the side of your jeans before placing the card back to the scanner.

A green flash and a chime sounded and his door opened.

He looked at you and then the door before he grunted his thanks and stepped in.

You’re halfway down the hall when his head pops back into the hallway, calling out to you.

“I can give you a ride tomorrow,” he said. “Just be ready by 8:30am.”

—

The next morning came quicker than you were expecting — you woke up at 8 and went downstairs for breakfast. At least the snow had stopped. While there, you saw who had braved it through the night to make it here by morning — Becky and Seth were finishing up their food and getting ready to head to a local CrossFit gym they’d found, LA Knight was reading something on his iPad eating a muffin and Phil was sitting alone in a corner watching ESPN on the lone television in the dingy reception hall of the dated hotel. It wasn’t a five star resort by any means but it was a bed and a hot meal while you were on the road. You couldn’t complain.

You picked over the breakfast buffet, which was slacking in options, and picked a plain bagel and cream cheese before walking over to Punk’s table. He barely looked up from the screen as you stood.

“Mind if I sit here?” you ask, tentatively. What if last night was a fluke and this really was the CM Punk you’d heard all about.

“Free country,” he says, shrugging and taking a grape from his plate, popping it into his mouth.

“Get any rest?” you ask, pulling your bagel apart and spreading some cream cheese across a half.

He looks around the room and catches everybody glancing away from him. A smirk graces his lips. Just the way he likes it. His eyes finally land back on you.

“Like a baby.”

“Good,” you nod, taking a bite.

Another awkward silence and you look up at the television that’s showing highlights of the Chicago Blackhawks game from last night. They won 4-2, you notice a smile on his face.

He stays in his seat but doesn’t talk. You eat your bagel feeing as though you might have offended him by helping him last night. Maybe he thought you were calling him old, obviously something that you learned he did not like, courtesy of Roman Reigns last week.

You accept the silence and when you finish eating, you stand up and are surprised that he stands up as well. You look at him before walking to the door, tossing your trash in the can beside you as you left.